Page 8 of Learn Your Limits
I’ve never been much of a drinker, and I’ve gotten used to being the only completely sober one in social situations. It’s easier to maintain the image expected of me when my mind andbody aren’t weighed down by inebriating vices. If I ever made a mistake while under the influence, I would never hear the end of it. It wouldn’t matter how small the mistake was, my parents would never forgive me. Who I am and how I behave is a direct reflection of them, and I’m supposed to make sure they’re painted in a good light.
I have no choice but to be perfect.
Thankfully, the backyard is empty when I step outside. Everyone else is surrounding the TV in the living room. They are either trying to pretend to understand what’s happening, or they’re just as invested as Matt, yelling and screaming like their voices will be heard through the screen.
Pulling my phone from my pocket, I open the app from last night and immediately find Milo’s message. I need to apologize. He asked me where the shy young man had gone and had expressed liking vulnerability and eagerness. Well, here I am, being shy again and feeling uncomfortably eager as I finally,finally,type out a response.
CallMeCal:Hey, Milo.
What the heck am I thinking? Hey, Milo? That’s not enough. Not after the way I was drawn to him last night. Like some kind of invisible tether was connecting me to this handsome stranger through our phone screens, and I was helpless against it. I don’t even know what to say here. I need to pull myself together and stop sending him dozens of back-to-back short messages. I’m fully capable of stringing together more than a few sentences at a time.
Last night was merely a fluke. The exhilaration coursing through me had my body on overload, and my brain was firing faster than I could type. I need him to know that I’m serious about getting to know him and that suddenly dropping the conversation isn’t something that will happen again.
CallMeCal:I wasn’t trying to deceive you. I’m sorry for just now responding.
CallMeCal:Last night was a lot for me. I wasn’t expecting to meet someone and feel so connected that fast. I’m not used to being open with anyone. I spend a lot of time being who others expect me to be, and after sending you a picture of the sketch I’d spent all day working on, I felt exposed.
CallMeCal:I hadn’t even hesitated to let you see that piece of me, and it scared the shit out of me.
There. Was that enough?
Slipping around to the side of the house where there’s a bit of shade, I press my back to the wall, leaning against it as I prop a single foot up. I hold my phone out with the front-facing camera angled toward my body and capture a small part of my face in the photo this time, just enough to show the slight smile across my face and the bit of auburn scruff that lines my jaw, concealing some of the freckles decorating my skin. The solid black shirt and dark wash jeans I’m wearing at least make me seem more put together, unlike half the guys here who are wearing OU shirts and basketball shorts.
CallMeCal:[attached image]
CallMeCal:I hope you’re having a good day.
CallMeCal:Please forgive me.
I take a second to read back over the messages I’ve sent, a huff of laughter escaping me. Apparently back-to-back text messages are unavoidable when it comes to Milo. Heaving a sigh, I run a hand down the back of my neck and press my head back against the wall of the house. How is one person able to turn me into such a mess?
Chapter eight
Emiliano
I fucked up.
It was evident Cal was new to talking to others—possibly othermenfrom what I’ve gathered—even if it was only a few texts on some dating app. I pushed him a little too fast with some of the flirting and my sarcasm that may have come across the wrong way.
Did you plan on deceiving me this whole time?
Of course, I didn’t mean it literally. Is this why emojis are so important? Should I have sent a little winking face with it? An absurd emoji with a tongue sticking out?
He probably thinks I’m some older asshole trying to control him.
My messages began to go unanswered last night around eleven p.m, and I finally gave up waiting for a reply about forty-five minutes later. At my age, I’ve had my fair share of missed connections and people losing interest in me, but none have stung this much.
I crave Cal’s attention.
Sighing into my cup of coffee, I sit quietly in the back of the conference room for our department meeting. As much as I’m not one for formal meetings like this, I am actually getting some good information on new policies we’ll have to implement this year.
Listening to our department chair clarify a question from a fellow professor, I realize I’m about to finish my third cup of the day, and it only just hit noon. Fuck, I’m deregulated and not able to focus because I’m haunted by the image of Cal’s body as much as I’m haunted from his desertion.
Perhaps I deserve it after all. In what right mind would it be okay to be interested in someone fourteen years younger than me? Especially if there’s a chance he might be a fucking student of mine.
That little nagging voice stays in the back of my mind, though it should be at the forefront. I know he’s a student at Oakhart, and that’s fine, I’ve made my peace with that. It’s something that I would be willing to accept because I am so enraptured by him.
Oh fuck, he doesn’t know I am a professor here, does he?
