Page 7 of Tempting the Teacher

A wistful sigh escapes her lips, the stern set of her face wavering. “You’re asking for a lot, Chad.”

“I know. But it’s worth it.” I reply instantly, heart thumping in my chest. This is it, the climax, the make-or-break moment. “But I can’t do it alone. With you at the helm, it won’t just be some flash-in-the-pan project. It’ll be a legacy, something that will actually make a difference.”

Her dark eyes search mine, and I can almost hear the gears whirring in her head, sifting through memories, possibilities, future what-ifs. Then, ever so slowly, the corners of her mouth twitch upwards. Not a smile, not yet, but the precursor to one. A maybe in a world of no.

“I’ll consider it,” she says finally, but her voice is softer now, the frosty edge melted away.

“Good enough for me,” I say, getting up. My eyes never leaving hers. This is far from a yes, far from a reconciliation, but it’s a start.

I move toward the door but then pause, turning back to her. “This place has a lot of memories for me. The good ones are because they were spent with you. I hope we can create new ones, better ones, that will overshadow the past.”

As I pull the door open, my phone buzzes in my pocket. A message from Ryan, probably asking where the hell I’ve been. But for the first time in a long time, I don’t care about an urgent business email or a buddy’s call for drinks. What I care about stands before me in a humble computer lab in a small town—a new project, a new beginning, and maybe, just maybe, a new chapter in an old love story.

I give her one last lingering look, memorizing every detail of this moment—the way her dark hair frames her face, the way her eyes finally meet mine without a trace of hostility, the way the buzzing fluorescent lights cast a halo around her, as if finally catching up to what I’ve known all along.

“I’ll be in touch,” I say, holding her gaze. “This isn’t goodbye. This tech center is happening. I hope you’ll be a part of it. But I’ll accept it if you aren’t.” The next part is going to sound cocky and arrogant. But I don’t give a fuck. She deserves the fair warning. “This thing between us is happening, too. I messed up. I apologized. There’s not a damn thing I can do about it. We wasted fifteen years waiting for me to grow up. I’m not going to waste another day. If you thought you had a chance with someone else, you should have taken it.”

Raya narrows her eyes at me. “How do you know I didn’t?”

A vicious strike of jealousy riles me. I’ve told her, told myself, I’ve changed. Yet my first instinct is to strike back. “Because that finger is still bare. Because he’s not here staking his claim. He wasn’t with you at the funeral, either. So, you either don’t have a man, or you’re with a fool. I know you would never pick a fool. You can take your time to get used to the idea. I had to do the same after I saw you again.”

“Do you really think I’ll put everything behind us, just like that?”

I want to be patient. Be a better man than I’ve shown her in the past. But I’m not used to being denied the things I want. I’ve been a spoiled, selfish brat, and old habits die hard. I pinch the bridge of my nose and take a deep breath before I answer. “Raya, I said I’m sorry once. If you want me on my knees, I’m willing. But make sure that’s what you want. Because while I’m down there, I’ll be sucking your pussy lips. Covering the inside of your thighs with love bites. Burying my fingers inside you so that I can carve my name, like I did on the desk. Leave you permanently marked as mine.” I can’t grin at her wide eyes because I’m deadly serious about this shit. “So, you let me know when you’re ready for another apology.”

In a dick move worthy of the old Chad. I walk out, leaving her mouth open and her face flushed. Our future is uncertain, definitely complicated, but infinitely worth exploring. I won’t let it slip through my fingers again. This time, I’m all in, ready to fight, ready to love, ready to create something that, if given the chance, could be extraordinary.

I make my way through the now empty hallways, footsteps echoing in the silence. Gone are the rowdy clamor of students, the locker slams, the rushing to classes. My phone buzzes, snapping me back to reality. I glance at the screen—a message from Bryan. ‘Dude, where are you?’

Normally, I’d be the life of the party, the guy who’d never miss a chance to catch up with old friends and make some bad decisions. But tonight, the high school reunion party feels less pressing, less urgent than what just unfolded in that computer lab. I text Bryan back. ‘Had something to take care of. Be there soon.’

When I reach my car, I sit behind the wheel but don’t immediately start the engine. Instead, my eyes catch my reflection in the rearview mirror. Gone is the brash teenager. In his place is a man who’s been humbled by missed opportunities. A man who’s ready for the unknown, because he’s got the best possible reason to explore it.

I drive away, speeding down the roads that once felt like they led nowhere. Now, I realize they were always leading me here—to this crossroads, this second chance, this new beginning.

Raya

“Chad, I can help you down here!” Sherry’s voice pierces the air, buzzing with the excited chatter of fans and the sizzle of burgers on the grill. She’s a good three cash registers away from me but acts like she’s snagged a front-row seat at a rock concert. Flagging Chad down with the enthusiasm you’d expect from long-lost friends. A customer, oblivious to her celebrity hunting, waits patiently in front of her, scanning the menu that hangs overhead.

Chad, however, doesn’t bite. He remains rooted in my line, his eyes meeting mine with a silent sort of acknowledgment. A wry smile crosses his lips, and he gives a subtle shake of his head. Guess he’s not up for the Sherry experience today.

Turning my attention back to Mr. Ellis, I masterfully drizzle mustard and relish on his hot dog. “Here you are, Mr. Ellis,” I offer, handing over the culinary masterpiece with a flourish.

“Ah, Raya, always a pleasure,” he says, his face brightening up like the stadium lights. He grabs a fistful of napkins, leans toward Chad, and mutters something about ‘great taste.’ Then, hot dog in hand, Mr. Ellis ambles back toward the cacophony of the stands, where spectators are restless as they wait for the halftime show. The crowd ordering refreshments has about five minutes to shuffle back into their seats if they want to catch Alix’s performance.

Alix Chat gracing the homecoming stage is still buzzworthy, even though she’s practically a town legend by now. Sure, she may not have always felt like one of us—heck, we didn’t always make her feel that way, either. But times have changed. The town’s grown up. People have changed. We’re not the same old Bear Ridge.

Families like mine have contributed a square to the expanding quilt of diversity that our community is slowly, but surely, stitching together. And just like in football, in life, progress is measured one yard at a time. Change might be slow coming, but it’s as inevitable as the next play. And right now, that next play involves Chad, standing in my line, waiting for his turn, even when Sherry’s waving him down like a shipwreck survivor spotting a rescue plane.

Chad ignores her. Instead, his eyes lock onto mine, like he’s just plugged into my internal monologue. It’s uncanny. How does he know that I’m reflecting on how people can change, something I’ve long defended in parent-teacher conferences and faculty meetings? When I’m in that teacher’s lounge, and some of my colleagues are quick to write off a challenging student, I’m usually the first to jump in.

“Wait a sec. Hold on,” I’d say, cutting through the eye rolls and scoffs. “Kids at this age are social chameleons. They’re still figuring out who they are amidst the chaotic whirlpool of teenage drama and cliques. So yeah, they might act out, but they’ll also grow, and evolve. When they find themselves, that’s when we’ll see who they really are. Because that’s when they’ll know for themselves.”

The sad thing is, some educators, people tasked with molding young minds, don’t even believe in that malleability. They’re stuck thinking that today’s class clown is tomorrow’s failure, etching reputations into stone tablets. But gazing at Chad—a relic from my own past—I’m struggling to eat my words.

I’ve built a fortress out of my history, a sturdy wall that shields me from acknowledging his transformation. To admit he’s changed is to risk toppling that wall. And if that wall comes down? Then it’s just him and me, and this magnetic pull between us that, God knows, hasn’t waned an iota.

It’s a precarious balancing act—between what I preach and what I believe. And right now, as the game roars back to life behind me, echoing the pounding in my chest, that balance is more fragile than ever. The cheer of the crowd blurs into the background as I stand here, trapped in this pivotal moment, with nothing but a counter separating me from Chad.

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