Page 12 of Private Tutoring
Her breath caught, the dusky rose color rushing into her cheeks.
I loved putting that blush on her face. I appreciated beauty and passion, and Harmony had both in spades.
The warning sign flashed in my mind’s eye.
“Like how I’d call you my crush?” She slapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes going so wide she reminded me of a cartoon character. “Shit. I have to go.” With a whirl of her ponytail, she rushed from the room.
I sank into the chair, my mind scrambling to make sense of what just happened. I wasn’t supposed to flirt with students. It created expectations that I could never meet.
Harmony had a crush on me.
My body heated, and it had nothing to do with embarrassment. I eyed the door, wishing she’d come back and finish the conversation.
Damn it to hell. Damnmeto hell. It was the absolute worst thing to happen, and the worst timing. How was I supposed to tutor her when every single part of me wanted her in my bed?
6
MATTHEW
Thursday’s class ended up being a shit show of kids not remembering their lines and girls doing their best to show off while walking across the stage like it was a catwalk. I’d stopped them so many times that my ears rang. They’d taken every order to start again as a challenge.
If I didn’t know better, I’d swear I was being punished for something. Some classes were like this. Tomorrow, this same group might perform with perfect harmony.
It was the trial I endured to work together with so many creatives. At least none of them had decided they knew better than me and tried to change the entire character. I drew the line at that level of improv.
Kicking my feet up on the corner of my desk, I read through the script for our upcoming rendition ofLes Mis.I’d always loved the complexity and character range of the story.
“Professor?” A quick knock on the open door followed the questioning tone.
I glanced away from the rolled-up script.
Harmony stood in the doorway wearing a sheepish expression.
“Yes?” I dropped my feet to the floor but didn’t stand. There was no need for it. “Do you need something, Harmony?”
I never should have said her name out loud. It did things to me that I never anticipated, things that I hid behind the careful mask of indifference I’d curated over years as a performer.
“I wanted to thank you for talking to Professors Harding and Rossi. They’ve both agreed to tutor me so I can improve my grades.” She remained in the doorway, taking stock of the small office I’d stuffed full of years of play memorabilia and books.
I adjusted my glasses when they slid down my nose. One of these days I might switch to contacts, but I liked my glasses. They were comfortable and familiar on the bridge of my nose. And they gave me excuses to move when exasperation made me want to throw my hands up in the air.
“You’re welcome.” I used the script to point at the chair. “Care to have a seat?”
Why did I offer to spend more time with her? I should be ushering her away, not closer.
“I should go, but I did have a question about the musical.” She took a single step into the room. “You’ve doneLes Misseveral times.”
I waited for the question. When she stood there in complete silence except for several short, rapid breaths, I swung around and reached into the bookshelf behind me. “Eight times. It’s one of our most popular productions.”
“Why?” Genuine curiosity raised her voice.
I recognized the pitch tinged with excitement. “Well.” I gripped the photo album and opened it to the beginning. My very first production ofLes Mis.“I suppose I enjoy the redemption.”
“I always wondered if he was genuinely sorry, or if he was so worried about being caught that he turned his life around.” She sat and leaned forward.
I turned the scrapbook around and tapped the opening shot. “Could be a little of both. And it seems like the rendition of the character changes a bit with each production, depending on who plays as Jean.”
She pinched the page between her thumb and forefinger and turned it to the next page.
