The Teaching Hours Read online

  “Which way?”

  “That way.” I point left.

  He goes left.

  Another left. A right at the stop sign near my house. Down two city blocks. Slows down, nearing my driveway.

  At the beginning of the new semester, Skylar and I ditched our on-campus apartment and rented a small house, conveniently located nearish campus—a short walk—for a bit more privacy and a yard.

  It’s a dinky house; two tiny bedrooms barely large enough for our beds. One bathroom, a cozy kitchen (see: microscopic), and barely a living room. It’s the first time either of us has rented our own home, so we were thrilled to learn we could afford it and moved out of our apartment as soon as we found two students to take over our leases.

  “This is me.” It’s dark inside, lights all off at nine in the evening. Skylar didn’t say she’d be gone, but it’s no surprise—she spends most of her free time with Abe, even on the weeknights when we have class.

  My guess is she’s either at the library or his place.

  “It’s cute.”

  Cute. That’s the second time tonight he’s used that word and I shiver again knowing that he thinks I’m cute too.

  “We just moved in—my roommate Skylar and I.” A few hairs have escaped from my ponytail and I take the opportunity to tuck them behind my ear. Lick my lips apprehensively. “Do you, ummmmm, want to come in?”

  There. I said it without my voice trembling.

  Rex watches me in the dark, the lights from the streetlamps and from his fancy dashboard casting a glow on his expectant expression. It’s hard to read. He’s confused, surprised, and amused, all at the same time. He’s fantastic at hiding it, but as the feelings flash across his eyes one at a time, I can read it loud and clear: he doesn’t know what the hell to think.

  “You’re asking me inside?”

  “You don’t have to,” I add quickly. “Obviously. I just…I mean. If you want to keep talking or whatever.”

  Or whatever, or whatever, or whatever.

  Curious about what it would be like to kiss him, I realize I could just lean over and find out the easy way—there’s no need to invite the guy inside.

  “It’s late. I get it if you want to get home.”

  Rex looks to the clock on his dashboard. “It’s nine.”

  I’m backpedaling, and fast, wishing I could take back the invitation he hasn’t jumped to accept. Why am I so terrible at this? Why am I so impatient? Why can’t I just let things happen at their natural speed?

  “You probably have somewhere to be in the morning, huh?” I go on, digging a deeper hole.

  “Yes, I’m babysitting, then I have to be at the gym for wrestling practice.”

  That’s right—he’s here to work. We barely talked about him; his personal life and what he’s doing back at Iowa. All we’ve done is talk about me and I’m embarrassed by that.

  “For your niece.”

  “Yeah, my friend and her boyfriend have a thing.”

  “Do you babysit a lot?”

  “Meh, sometimes. Mostly I just like spending time with her—gives me an excuse to see kids’ movies and go to the zoo.”

  He likes kids’ movies and the zoo.

  Sigh.

  “But I don’t have to watch her until eleven, so…” His long fingers tap at the steering column, and my eyes go there, studying his large hands. He follows my gaze, tracking it to his hands. Gives his fingers a wiggle. “You’re like Lilly. She knows what she wants to say, but doesn’t always know how.”

  “Are you comparing me to a three-year-old?”

  “No. Actually, she’s two.”

  Oh. “You shithead.”

  Rex laughs—it’s the first time he’s done it this loudly, throwing his head back, the sound deep and baritone. “I knew that would piss you off.” He laughs again. “You’re too easy to read, Hannah.”

  Hannah, Hannah, Hannah.

  My name on his lips sounds…better than the melody in the song we’re listening to.

  “Is Lilly the most adorable thing ever?”

  “Yup—she looks just like me.” His eyes are smiling.

  “I thought you weren’t related.”

  “We’re not—I was joking.” He’s being so patient with me as I miss every punchline, of every joke he’s told to tease me.

  “Well.” I inhale a breath. Exhale. “That’s true enough, I guess.”

  There. I implied that he was adorable.

  “Wait. Are you saying…did you just…” He pretends to be stupefied, halting his words. “Did you just-just-just call me adorable?”

  It makes me laugh. He makes me laugh. “Maybe.”

  “Whoa. Whoa, whoa, whoa. I feel like I need to call someone. Phone a friend. Alert the presses.”

  I give his shoulder a tap, cheeks burning a hot, flaming red from the heat running up my neck and warming my body. “Knock it off.”

  “Nope. No can do, Hannah thinks I’m adorable. Someone has to hear about this.” He picks up his phone and feigns tapping on the keys. Drops it in his lap. Picks it up and drops it again. “Phew, this is…this. It’s too much.”

  I’m laughing now, hands covering my mouth, the giggle fits overtaking my upper torso, racking my shoulders until they shake.

  “Stop it. Okay, just stop it—you know you’re cute.”

  “CUTE?!” he yells. “I’m cute, too!” Just then, he throws open his door and hops out, kicking up his heels on my front lawn. Cups his hands around his mouth and shouts into the night, “Hannah—” he pauses, dipping at the waist and looking into the front seat. “What’s your last name?”

  I roll my eyes, shouting back. “Peterson.”

  He straightens. “Hannah Peterson thinks I’m cute, everybody! And adorable! Hannah Peterson thinks I’m—”

  “—Dude, shut the fuck up!” someone shouts from up the street. “No one gives a shit!”

  Rex’s arms drop back down to his sides. “I’ve been told to shut the fuck up, but for the record: I give a shit that you think I’m cute.”

  Walking around to my side, Rex cracks my door, pulls it open, then offers me his hand. Helps me out. Slides an arm around my waist as he walks me to the side door of the house.

  The flood light goes on from the motion and I dig around for the house key in my purse, inserting the key into the lock, Rex’s hands appearing around my waist.

  Holy…

  Focus, Hannah. Key in lock, lock in key. Turn it to the left. Or the right? Which way—how does this door open?

  Fuck.

  It takes a few tries, but I get it. I have us inside the minuscule kitchen within a few moments, hands shaking as I toss my key onto the table in the center of the small room.

  “Um, so this is the kitchen,” I point out dumbly, clicking on the light over the sink beneath the window.

  “I like it. It’s homey,” he finally comments from behind me, taking in the outdated ceramic tile above the outdated, avocado green stove.

  “Do you want something to drink? Or eat?” I’m determined to remain cool, calm, and collected.

  “I’m still full from dinner, but—I mean, if you have water?”

  Of course I have water, and duh, of course he’s not hungry. We literally just came from eating giant hamburgers, two plates of french fries, and beer.

  A hand rests on my shoulder and squeezes. “Hannah, relax. I can go if it’s weirding you out having me here. We can talk later.”

  “No!” I shout, way too loudly for the small room. “No. I mean. It’s okay, I’m just…” Shit, am I wringing my hands now, too? What has gotten into me? Honestly!

  He’s just a guy, he’s just a guy—and a nice one, at that. Maybe that’s what’s throwing me off. I’m not used to nice, normal men. My usual type is egotistical, arrogant, and unavailable who treat me like an accessory, often times not bothering to get to know me on a personal level. I don’t know how available Rex is, but even if he’s just in town for a couple semesters, he has “long-term-commitment
” written all over him.

  “I want you to stay.” Finally, I’m able to speak calmly and rationally. Remove the jacket I’d thrown on when the bar became too cold, hanging it on the silver hook next to the door. Smooth my clammy palms down my thighs, over the fabric of my gray yoga pants.

  Why did I wear these stupid things? They’re so casual. Because, idiot, you weren’t trying to send the wrong signal when you weren’t at the bar to get relationshipped.

  I have a slight buzz though not enough that it’s impairing my judgment.

  “You want me to stay.” Rex repeats. “Why?”

  Not for a tour of my tiny abode, I almost tell him out loud. “I like your company.”

  “You do?” He’s grinning, not bothering to hide it, that goofy smile of his lighting up the entire damn kitchen. Bites down on his lower lip like I do when I’m trying to fight a smile—except he fails miserably.

  He’s so adorkable.

  “What do you like about my company?”

  I raise my eyes and look at him, standing in my teeny, tiny kitchen, his blue button down shirt emphasizing the lingering tan he must have gotten this summer, top two white buttons undone.

  “What do I like about your company?”

  “Yeah.” He crosses his arms, leaning his hip against the countertop. “What do you like about me.”

  “I didn’t realize there would be homework,” I joke, trying to make light of the fact that I doubt I could manufacture a list for him. I don’t do well under pressure.

  Rex pretends to study his cuticles. “Just one thing then.”

  I shift on the balls of my feet, having removed my shoes, and rub my lips together, as if I’ve just applied lip balm.

  “I like how you…” Nervously, I pull the hair tie securing my ponytail, and eliminate it from my hair altogether, letting it fall loose around my shoulders. “You’re…”

  Rex laughs at my hedging. “Wow. I’m that amazing, huh? Before you said I was cute and adorable.”

  “You are! I’m thinking, give me a second—I can’t focus when you put me on the spot like this.”

  I’ve always been a terrible student. I would freak out when the teacher called me to the blackboard to work out a math equation in front of the entire class.

  Rex waits patiently as I rack my brain. In my head, I come up with the following:

  I like how he says my name.

  I love how he listens to everything I say.

  I like how he cared enough to meet me out, even when I tried to bail on him. Me. A complete stranger—he was going to help me.

  I like how his eyes sparkle, and his big smile, and the goofy little cleft in his chin.

  He loves his niece that he’s not blood related to and treats her like family. Which means he’s probably going to be an amazing father, and …..

  Father? Kids? What the hell am I doing? Letting my mind go there?! I’m not going to marry the guy—I’m not even dating him!

  I am, however, thinking about what his body looks like naked.

  Shame on me…

  “What’s that look?” His voice interrupts my musing.

  “What look?” I feign ignorance—I know exactly what he’s talking about because I’m fairly certain I was just eyeing him up like a piece of meat.

  Oops.

  Only, he doesn’t explain what he means, and neither do I. Instead, he stands straight, righting himself and moving to a spot next to the table.

  “Well. For real, I should get going.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we’re just standing here—it’s weird.”

  Oh god, it is weird.

  “But so are you,” he laughs.

  Shit, he’s right about that, too. I am weird. If I had a dollar for every person that’s told me so, I’d be rich.

  “Gee thanks.”

  “Don’t take it personally. It’s charming.”

  Charming. No one has ever called me that a day in my life. It sounds like a compliment and I take a second to bask in it, searching my brain for the definition. Charming: Adjective. Pleasant or delightful, giving satisfaction.

  It doesn’t describe me, but I’ll take it.

  “You think I’m charming?”

  Rex shrugs. “Sure.”

  “Sure? You just said—”

  “—That your weirdness was charming. Calm down, don’t get all pissy. I still think you’re cute, even if you’re a temperamental little thing.”

  “Just keep doling out the compliments,” I droll, dryly.

  “I’m trying,” he laughs that laugh; the one that makes my spine tingle. He’s teasing me and I like it, even if it’s at my expense, it’s not mean spirited. I might be giving him a look, but he’s watching me in some kind of way…

  He moves toward the door.

  “Wait.” I set my hand on his arm; his forearm. He flexes, and for a thinner guy, I’m surprised to find that it’s quite muscular, the tendons straining under my fingers.

  It’s so ridiculous that I can’t express how I feel. I’m old enough that I should be able to say, “I want you to stay, and maybe spend the night, and sleep in my bed, and let me explore with you…”

  Let me explore how I feel about you.

  “Excuse me?” He sputters.

  “Did I say that last part out loud?” I cringe; dear lord, I actually cringe, teeth clenched, good and properly embarrassed.

  “You just said, let me explore how I feel about you.” Rex whispers, “Does that mean what I think it means?”

  “Um… Does it?”

  “Hannah. Say what you mean and mean what you say.” He’s frustrated, but patient, running one of his large hands over his head and down the back of his neck.

  “I’m sorry, Rex—you knew I wasn’t any good at this. I’m sorry, I wish I wasn’t like this but it’s just how I am. I’m a basket case half the time. An unorganized mess. Thank god for Skylar, my roommate, because otherwise I would be a total—”

  “—Hannah, are you drunk?” He cocks his head and studies me, moving closer.

  “No, are you?”

  I’m not, but I suddenly wish I was so I’d have an excuse for my behavior. My erratic speeches and dumb comments that make no sense. The nerves. The indecision. The hot and cold. I’m not desperate—I had sex a few months ago with some random guy after being out at the bars.

  So why do I want it from Rex so bad?

  Because it will feel good. It will feel right.

  I know it with everything I have, standing here in the dim light of my cozy little house, watching him watch me.

  Slowly, Rex raises his hands between our bodies and places them on my cheeks; cups my jaw, bracing my face. Strokes his thumbs over the corners of my lips, studying me.

  He might not be intoxicated, but his pupils are dilated—a sure sign that he’s turned on. Aroused.

  Whatever you want to call it, he’s watching me like I’m the most beautiful, fascinating thing his hands have ever been blessed to touch.

  This isn’t any drops of alcohol; it’s him and me.

  “I learned a long time ago that just because someone lets you touch them doesn’t mean they’re interested.” He murmurs.

  I practically purr into the hands caressing my skin. “What do you mean?”

  “I’m asking if you’re okay with me touching you like this?”

  My head gives a small nod. “Of course I’m okay with it.”

  More than okay with it, actually—I want him touching me. Want his hands all over and I don’t want him asking for permission every two seconds.

  I just want…

  I want him to take charge and put his mouth on mine before I lose my mind.

  “You’re the sweetest guy I’ve ever met,” I whisper when he’s a breath away.

  “Me? Sweet?” His laugh is low. “I’ve been called a million things, but never sweet.”

  “Kind of like you telling me I’m charming?”

  “I didn’t say you were charming—I said yo
u were weird and that is charming.”

  “Would you be quiet? You’re ruining the moment.”

  “What moment?”

  “Our first kiss.”

  “Oh.” His brows shoot up. “We’re kissing now?”

  “If you would stop talking and get to it.”

  “Bossy. Add that to the list.”

  Yeah, that’s right. I’m bossy and impatient and have unrealistically high expectations on occasion.

  Okay. Most occasions.

  5

  Rex

  What the hell does Hannah want from me?

  Two hours ago she was adamant about not liking me—yesterday she vehemently professed that all she wanted from me was a lesson in how to date.

  I’m too self-assured to get a complex, but it sure would be fucking neat if I knew what was going on inside that pretty head of hers instead of playing these guessing games.

  I know she’s not doing it on purpose, that’s just how she is. Still. Sucks for me right now, walking a tightrope of uncertainty.

  I like Hannah; I like how goofy and insecure she is. Is that weird? Not caring that someone is insecure? She’s a bit of a mess, flip flopping and changing her mind every thirty seconds. Blurting out inappropriate shit before thinking it through.

  She’s beautiful and funny and watching me—waiting. Waiting for me to kiss her, apparently.

  I want to.

  Of course, I fucking do.

  What idiot wouldn’t? I’ve been called an idiot more times than I can count, so the last thing I want to do is fuck this whole thing up.

  My thumbs stroke Hannah’s smooth cheeks, brushing against her bottom lip. “These are as smooth as a baby’s bottom.”

  “Oh my god, shut up.”

  “I’m just saying. I would know, I’ve changed plenty of diapers.”

  Lilly’s diapers full of baby shit, as a matter of fact. Hundreds of diapers while Annabelle attended class.

  Grinning, I lean forward, resting my mouth on Hannah’s full one. Press gently until her lips part and she slides her tongue into my mouth.

  We stand in her kitchen, not quite making-out. In an odd way, it’s more gentle than that? Every so often, Hannah pulls back to get a look at my face, eyes raking over my features, fingers grazing my eyebrows. Trail down the bridge of my nose. Run through my hair before kissing me again, a little moan escaping her throat.