Page 99 of Breakaway Hearts

I walk slowly around the classroom as my students finish up their timed quiz. They only have a few more minutes before lunch, and I can tell some of them are getting antsy.

“Alright,” I say once I finish my last lap around the room. “That’s time. Pass your quizzes forward, please.”

Pencils stop scratching and chatter resumes in the room, along with the shuffling of paper and the harried unzipping of backpacks. The bell rings a minute later, and I follow the kids out of the classroom, locking the door behind me.

I head in the direction of the teachers’ lounge as the kids join the wave of raucous elementary children headed toward the cafeteria. A few of the teachers escort the mob, and I definitely do not envy them for having lunch duty on a Monday. It’ll be my turn soon enough.

Sitting down in the teachers’ lounge after teaching common core fractions feels like I’ve landed in a hot bath after a long day. The kids will definitely get a second wind after lunch, so I need to take this opportunity to recharge.

My phone lights up with a notification as soon as I set it down on the table, and I see Reese’s name flash across the screen.

The smile that flits across my face is involuntary. I feel like I’ve been grinning whenever I think of Reese lately, and that’s partially because of how happy he’s been since he got back on the ice. After his suspension finished at the end of last week and he got to play with his team at an away game, he’s been far more chipper.

More himself.

I’m glad he’s able to get back to doing what he loves.

The mess of feelings sitting in my chest, though, makes me less happy. I wish I’d had a chance to finish that conversation with Margo the other night before the kitchen timer interrupted us. But I think the conclusion I’m coming to, the only feasible ending where no one gets hurt, is to swallow my feelings and do my best to go back to how things were before, once Reese and Sienna get back together.

It’s complicated.

It’s stupid.

And it’s not something that should cross my mind every single time I get a text from him.

REESE: Hey Firefly. I want to take you out to dinner tonight. There’s a new Italian place downtown that I think you’d like. You game?

Oh yeah, I’m game. Reese knows I’m a sucker for Italian food, and he’s not one to turn it down either.

ME: Depends. You paying?

REESE: Would you accept my body as payment?

I swear, since he and I started sleeping together, it’s as if my libido is constantly supercharged. I know he texted that as a joke, but it doesn’t stop me from clenching my thighs together or from glancing around the room to make sure no one notices just how red I’m getting.

ME: Tempting. Maybe for dessert.

REESE: Any course you’d like. ;)

ME: I’ll see you after work?

REESE: Can’t wait.

I send a smiley face in response and then click over to my email. I scroll through a couple of unimportant ones, and then my gaze lands on one that makes me pause. I hesitate, my finger hovering over my phone’s screen, as I read the name of the sender and then the body of the email.

It’s from my landlord, letting me know that the building will be ready for habitation again in a few weeks.

A few weeks.

This should be good news.

Excellent news.

I’ll have my own space again and be out of Reese’s hair. And if I was worried about feelings getting too complicated, this will help assuage that.

As I forward the message to Reese along with a little smiley face emoji, I don’t feel comforted, though. Instead, the tangle of emotions in my chest winds a little tighter, making my ribs ache.

It reallyhasall been a fantasy, hasn’t it? Living together, pretending to be in love, even sleeping together. But now I can see the end rushing up toward me. It can’t go on forever, and the reminder that my own apartment will be livable again soon just drives that point home.

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