Page 83 of Teacher of the Year

“Just like his dad.”

“Only for you.”

Since Bloody Wednesday (what I’m calling the day of Teddy’s accident), we’ve been getting to know each other on a deeper level. My feelings for him are developing in a way I wasn’t sure possible. Even in a relatively short time, our conversations become intense. This feels so right.

Saturday night, we cook giant bowls of spaghetti because Olan believes half a box is the right measurement per person. Once the copious leftovers are packed and Illona’s in bed, we chill on the sofa, my head on his lap, his hands tangled in my hair, massaging my scalp, my eyes closed from the utter relaxation. I work up the courage to ask a question I’ve been wondering about for some time.

“So, you’ve been with Isabella and now me. Do you think you’re bi?”

“I’m not sure how I identify. Maybe I’m bisexual. I don’t know. Do I need to label myself?”

“No, of course not.”

“I definitely enjoyed being with Isabella, at least at first, and now, this.” He motions between us. “You. I’m not sure what it means, but I definitely like it.”

“Like what?” I poke his thigh.

He leans over, and his face comes closer to mine. “You. I like you. A lot.”

He glides his fingers on my face, his thumb resting on my cheek.

I lift my torso and scoot into his lap, my hands on his chest.

“Oh, you like me? I would never have guessed. Would you say we’re dating?”

He almost chokes on his laugh, it comes so fast. “Uh, yeah, I’d say we’re more than dating, Marvin.”

“Oh, we are?”

“You are so damn adorable. Yes, we’re dating. Yesterday, Jack was asking about you and I referred to you as my boyfriend.”

“Excuse me? Boyfriend? How is your sponsor finding out I’m your boyfriend before me?”

“Are you okay with that?”

“I think so,” I say, unable to hide my smile.

And now we’re talking about feelings. This isn’t about lust or desire but the steady, tender yearning of care. Of a fire you want to keep blazing. And the way he’s looking at me, honestly, the way he’s looked at me for a while, he doesn’t even need to tell me. We spend a good ten minutes without moving much, but the talking leads to kissing. Olan does that thing where he starts nibbling my earlobe, sending an instant shudder of adrenaline to my core, and I murmur, “Let’s go upstairs.”

It seems odd, but the sex is actually getting hotter. The more we let each other in emotionally, the more I let my defenses down, and being intimate becomes more than a physical act. We connect with our bodies, yes. It’s exquisitely hot, wild, and raw, but our hearts also clamp onto each other. The relationship we’re building propels the sex into the stratosphere.

A quick shower and I’m back in bed with Olan. He extends his left arm, inviting me into my favorite spot, lying my head on his chest. He gets to stroke my hair, and I get my cheek on his pec, so it’s a true win-win situation. Between sex and the hot shower, I’m about to doze off.

“Hey, I need to tell you something,” Olan begins.

“Mmmmh,” I groan.

“So you know the reading celebration?”

“Yeah, it’s next Friday.”

“Illona’s really excited about it.”

“She’s a cupcake.”

“A cupcake?” Olan’s face twists with confusion.

“In the story, the caterpillar eats all this random food – fruit, cake, a lollipop, a salami, and she wanted to be the cupcake. Wait until you see her outfit. She’s precious.”

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