Page 6 of An Introvert's Guide to Life and Love
“Call him Alex,” I mutter, and even just saying his name sours my stomach.
Carmen bursts into uncontrollable giggles.
“I still can’t believe you—”
“Shut. Up.”
“And you’re so sensitive about it. I would want everyone to know. He was thehotteacher.”
With a groan, I rest my head on the bar. It’s sticky. “Can we please not talk about him?”
“Fine.” Carmen slurps down the rest of her cocktail and motions to the bartender for another. “But I will never stop finding it hilarious. Imagine telling your sophomore-year self that you fucked Mr. Edelman.”
Like I said: too much shared history. I resist the urge to push her off her stool and instead steal her fresh Plum Blossom for myself.
Chapter 4
It’s not what it sounds like.
Unless what it sounds like is that I had sex with my high school teacher. Because technically, that is what happened. Butas an adult!
This is why I don’t like talking about it. People immediately get the wrong idea. I get it, it sounds bad. But it wasn’t bad. Or maybe it was, and that’s why it had to end.
I was twenty-five, and Alex—Mr. Edelman, our sophomore-year history teacher—was thirty-six. Our paths crossed virtually, on Jdate. It was during the height of dating apps, so it seemed like half the world’s population was actively swiping and chatting. Including me. I came across his profile one night and felt a shit-eating grin spread across my face. I had absolutely had a major crush on him in high school (and so had most of my friends). He’d been married for a while but had gotten divorced. And his profile was so endearing, so earnest. Plus he was still smoking hot.
I read and re-read his bio, pacing around my apartment with hot-girl anthems blaring, drinking more Pinot than I’d normally drink at home alone.
“Oh, what the hell,” I finally said to myself. “He probably won’t respond.” So I sent him a “like” and then messaged him:Fancy seeing you here, Mr. E! Remember me?
He replied almost immediately.
Of course I remember you, Mallory. How are you?
I had to sit down after that; my limbs had turned to jelly.Of coursehe remembered me? Was there a hint in there? Or was he just being polite?
Things are great! What about you? Still working at North Lake?
I am. Still teaching history. I’m one of the old-timers there now.
You are definitely not old, Mr. E.
There was a pause, and I thought that might be the end of our conversation. But then he wrote:Call me Alex.
I did a little silent shimmy-scream. I could notbelieveI was actually flirting withAlex Edelman. Holy crap. I took another gulp of wine, my fingers shaking as I tried to think of something suitably cool and funny to say in response.
So you’re working in tech?He messaged me before I could reply—showing that he’d read my profile.
Yep. I’m a project manager.
Awesome. I knew you would be successful. You always had potential.
At this, I had to sit down. I curled my legs under me on the couch and read his message four or five times. It did something to me. I felt floaty, like my blood was shimmering. I felt like a teenager again, before my dreams were crushed. I felt proud.
It’s just a job, but I’m pretty good at it, I wrote.So tell me, Alex, have you had any luck on this app so far?
There was a long, long pause. I wondered if he’d gone to sleep or maybe just decided that this was a bad idea.
Not until tonight.
