Page 4 of His Property

I point to the notebook. “I hope that’s your term paper.”

TJ glances at me then hurriedly slams his notebook shut. He goes back to watching the TV, and I let my lips lift into a tiny smile. He’d never admit it, but he’s embarrassed. One day in class, I saw him writing while I was lecturing, and I made him bring me the notebook. I only read the first paragraph before I realized it was a love letter. He told me about his pen pal later that day, and while I’m sure he didn’t appreciate it knocking him a few pegs down on the macho scale, I found it endearing. There’s something about handwritten snail mail that adds a charming touch to communication. Plus, at least the kid is writing.

Using my shirt as a barrier, I twist the beer cap off and toss it onto the coffee table. It rattles before stilling.

“Long day?” he asks, his eyes not leaving the screen.

“You can’t even imagine.”

I sink into the cushion and prop my feet on the table, taking a swig of beer as I do.

“Somehow, I doubt your life is unimaginably interesting.”

I roll my eyes and chuckle. “You’re an ass.”

TJ doesn’t respond, and when the Warriors make a basket, he sits up, his eyes glued to the TV. I glance at the score. Sixty to fifty-eight, with the Miami Heat winning.

“I didn’t know you were a basketball fan.”

“Shh.” He holds up a hand and waves me off, never even looking at me. He looks far more intense than the slacker eighteen-year-old who pulls his flat-bill cap down over his eyes in class as if I won’t know he’s sleeping. He’s usually carefree and funny, one of the least serious people I know. This is out of character for him.

A player for the Heat makes a shot, then another, and finally, TJ leans back and relaxes.

“You know, you really shouldn’t be here, TJ,” I say, setting my beer on the table and conjuring up my lecturing voice. “If someone were to find out I had one of my students at my place late at night, what do you think they’d suspect?”

TJ snorts and looks my way. “First of all, it’s eight thirty, not exactly late at night. Second of all, you’re the only person I know who still has cable, and this is an important game. Chill. No one will ever know I was here, and I’ll leave as soon as it’s over. I promise.”

I grit my teeth but don’t tell him to leave, even though what I’d love right now is a bubble bath and a quiet house. I’m a pushover and I know it. Always have been. But TJ is a really good kid, and sometimes I see so much of myself in him. Both of our moms are flaky at best and are never there when you need them. TJ spends a hell of a lot of nights alone, and sometimes, he just needs somebody. The biggest difference between the two of us is I had my dad to raise me. His mom is all he has.

I relax my jaw and pull my knees up before tucking my feet underneath me.

“Besides, no one would ever suspect you to be fucking one of your students. You’re way too much of a goodie two-shoes.”

I narrow my eyes and prop an elbow on my couch while turning toward TJ. I don’t know why I’m so offended by that. It isn’t like I’d want people to think I’d do something as awful as have sex with one of my students, but still. I’m a twenty-six-year-old single woman, not a ninety-year-old spinster.

“You don’t know me as well as you think, TJ. You’re a student. I don’t tell you everything that goes on in my life.”

He looks at me and raises a brow. “Are you offended?”

Yes.

“No. But you should know there are boundaries we can’t cross, and one of those is letting you in on the details of my personal life.”

TJ laughs. “Mae, you’re like my sister. Your mom talks about you all the time and about how you’re a saint. There’s a picture hanging up of you in my house from when you were like, four. I know you. You’re like, the nicest person there is.Everyoneknows that.”

I don’t respond to that, and TJ goes on. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, you’re hot, but you’re not like ‘bangable teacher’ kind of hot. More like a ‘probably a virgin, so don’t bother’ kind of hot. Everyone sees your chastity belt.”

“Good,” I say, even though I’m weirdly disappointed at the perception people have of me. They’re wrong. I’m definitely not a virgin. I’m not a predator either, but my sexuality is far from vanilla.

I go back to watching the basketball game, and TJ does as well. My lips are set in a small frown, and I pick up my beer to take a sip.

“Wanna prove you’re not a do-gooder?” he asks.

“There’s nothing wrong with being a ‘do-gooder’,” I counter.

“You should let me have a beer.”

I laugh and throw him a glance. “In your dreams, kid.”

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