Page 59 of Toy for the Teachers (Forbidden Fantasies)

I could hear her laughter on the other end as she pretended to flip pages. The rustling of paper filled the car.

“What does your calendar say?”

Millie brought the phone back to her face. “That I’m free for all of tonight, actually.”

“Would you be free until tomorrow morning?”

“I need to be at the university by eight-thirty.”

“Well, if you pack a bag, I could drive us both there.”

“You know, I don’t mind the sound of that.”

It wasn’t like me to invite a woman over to my place. I knew women often preferred their own places, their own beds, but Millie swore her bedroom wasn’t the kind for company. As long as I had my evenings with her, I realized the location didn’t matter much.

She stood outside the tall, sleek apartment complex, just waiting for me to arrive. With a quick flourish, she tossed her work things and overnight bag into the back before hopping in beside me. Her lavender dress was a bright spot in the dark interior.

“I didn’t know if we were going out tonight,” she remarked.

“We can, but I was thinking about staying in tonight.”

Millie rested her head against the passenger seat. Her smile gleamed with the temptation of mischievous sin.

“Well, I don’t mind dressing up just for you.”

“I don’t either,” I agreed. “Personally, I’m looking forward to taking that dress off of you tonight.”

Millie’s laughter bubbled around the car as I headed south towards my apartment. Her building, though I had been there twice, never felt like her. It surprised me to see her in a place so trendy and new. Millie always seemed to love timeless things, antiques, and history.

That building was antithetical to everything she was.

“It’s my sister’s place,” she explained as I drove. “I’m living with her while I look for a place of my own.”

“Well, then, maybe there’s a free apartment in my building,” I half-joked. “Having you as a neighbor would be much more convenient.”

“It would,” she had to admit. “Any time I needed a cup of sugar, I could come knock on your door.”

“Is that a euphemism?”

“No.” Millie grinned. “I guess it could be, though.”

No matter what my family wanted, no matter what my mother expected of me as her only son, I couldn’t deny that nights like this felt natural, effortless even. Millie fit right into my loft apartment. Her manicured hands ran along the exposed bricks of the old printing press building, and her bare feet padded across the knotty wood floors. As I roasted salmon for us both, Millie thumbed through my record collection, admiring the vinyls she knew and the ones she didn’t.

“I didn’t take you for a jazz-type guy,” she called from across the room.

“Those were my father’s,” I explained, my skillet sizzling as I began to add in the haricot verts. “I started collecting records because of him. They were his one indulgence.”

“The only one?”

“He was a very… pragmatic man. One treat was almost one too many for him.”

Amongst the old records, Millie found an old Eartha Kitt album amongst the hoard. The iconic songstress began singing in French as Millie crossed the open main room to find me in the kitchen. Before she could ask, I topped off her glass of white wine, watching as she drew the stemware to her lips with a smile.

“Merci,” she offered jokingly. “You know, we’ve been seeing each other for almost a month now.”

“And yet, it feels like a day.”

“But… I don’t hear you talk about your family much,” she mused more softly this time.

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