Page 13 of Taming His Teacher

After shutting the door and leaving me in the middle of his small sitting room, he disappears down the hall. I stand there, not wanting to take any liberties, looking around and trying not to eavesdrop on the conversation taking place on the other side of a door.

But it’s a tiny space, smaller than mine, and I catch some words: “Leaving... Fault she can’t… At my door… Soon as I can.”

There’s a minute before his door swings open again. When it does, it’s to a Will who’s more familiar. A few steps and he’s in the living room, hands at my elbows, offering me a broad smile.

“Erin, angel, what’re you doing standing here in your coat?” He ducks his head and pecks my cheek, hands coming to my zipper and tugging it down. He pushes it over my shoulders and flings my freed parka over the arm of the couch. Not bothering with my scarf, he pulls on my belt loops until the fronts of our bodies are flush. “It’s good to see you. I missed you.”

Pleasure blooms in my chest but it’s quashed by the fleeting memory of the phone call I heard. “You could’ve called.”

“I wish I could have. My family is insanity at the holidays. My mom needs help with things around the house, my nephew’s failing his seventh grade Shakespeare unit so my sister insisted I intervene, they dragged me to a million parties. It was awful. Forgive me. I would’ve much rather been curled up in front of a fire with you. You believe me, don’t you?”

The firm hold he’s got on my pants is convincing and his dulcet tones, deep with desire, don’t indicate he’s telling anything but the truth. I’m loath to wreck what I’m guessing would be a halfway decent roll in the hay, but I can’t let him continue to kiss my jaw.

“Will—”

“Yes, angel?”

His attentions don’t stop so I wedge my hands between us, palms flat on his chest, and push until he backs up. “We need to talk.”

“Next time we go on break, I swear I’ll call. Don’t be like that. Now, come on—”

He kisses me again, hoping to end the conversation. I screw my eyes shut because I have to work up my nerve to say this. I never will if he’s making advances.

“Will, I’m pregnant.”

His lips drop from my skin, leaving the faint burn of the scritch of his beard on my cheek.

“What?”

“I’m pregnant.”

He stares at me for a few seconds before half his face scrunches up and a laugh puffs from between his lips.

“That’s not funny.”

“I don’t think so either, but it’s true.”

I can’t look at him. Instead, my gaze roves all over his apartment; his books, family photos, paintings.

“Are you sure it’s mine?”

Seriously?“Yeah. I haven’t been with anyone but you since...”

I don’t want to finish that sentence. Since my junior year in college. I’ve had boyfriends since then, been on dates, but no one I’d trusted enough to have sex with. Now I know why. I hate,hate, that I’ve slept with a man who thinks I’d have been with anyone else.

“How many people haveyouslept with this semester?” I’ve asked it as an absentminded joke, but when his eyes bug and his breath catches, I know the answer isn’t one. I guess we never said we were exclusive, but I’d thought… I’m so ridiculous. And I want to believe his “Just you, angel” so badly.

“That’s less than ideal. But luckily we live in blue-state America. You don’t have dark room duty Friday and Andy can run rehearsal without me. We’ll go to Planned Parenthood in Somerville and get this, uh, taken care of. No problem.”

The fact that he knows where the closest Planned Parenthood is doesn’t inspire confidence, but that’s not my biggest problem.

“I don’t want to take care of it.”

His hands grip my arms in a way that makes me yelp and his face goes rock hard.

“What do you mean?” His head is cocked threateningly and his words are murderous sharp, so my words are meek when I say, “I don’t want to get an abortion. I…I’m going to keep the baby.”

He shoves me back as his fingers explode off of me. “The hell you are!”

---