M&M

“Why do you look at me that way, Andy?” Megan said as soon as the door shut behind the last student.
“Mr. Larson,” I corrected her.
She smirked obligingly, as if lying to satisfy a needy child. “Mr. Larson.”
“I don’t understand what you mean, Megan,” I lied. I was good at it, however, and I think I’ve gotten better with every year that I’ve taught. I could hold my voice, unwavering, against any ranting student, pleading for a different grade. However, I knew perfectly well that a better grade wasn’t what the woman in front of me wanted. Student, I corrected myself. She’s your student, not a woman.
Her grin broadened, her lips thinning dangerously. I had thought that having her pull a desk next to mine would have seemed innocent enough, but now I was far too aware of how close her legs were to mine. I should have had her stand.
“Why do I make you so nervous in class…” she asked, though she spoke it in a voice that said this was not a question at all.
I felt a flush creeping up my neck, and I could do nothing to cease it’s flow. I swallowed and found myself unable to meet her eyes. “Megan, I believe you’re mistaken about something here. Why would you make me nervous?” At least I could rely on my voice to not give away my thoughts.
“Hmmm…” the vibration was light and playful. “That is a good question, Andy.”
Not knowing what trap she might have placed for me, I said nothing. But I did look back up at her. One eyebrow was arched high, and she was still smiling, but I could see she was somewhere else in her mind. Her smile was simply hanging on. Her eyes were searching my face, and I thought I saw the casual, cocky façade slipping from her face. Just when I felt my defenses start to slip from the heat of her, looking at me, she abruptly stood and headed for the door. I got up after her, and skipped a few steps ahead to get to the door before her. I placed my hand on the doorknob, but didn’t open it. I tried to think of something to say.
“I’m sorry.” Was all I could manage.
Her head was down, her eyes on the doorknob. She was silent, but did not move, so I waited. My hand was gripping the doorknob so fiercely that my knuckles were white. I could not stop being aware of how near her body was to mine. How close my hand was to her waist; just a few inches, really. A few inches difference between me holding the doorknob, and my hand on her, pulling her closer to me. A few inches between having what I knew I wanted. A few inches between innocence and guilt; between my career and my labido. And my hand was sweaty, starting to slip.
She looked back up at me, and the electricity in my body went up ten fold. She was no longer smiling, and her lips were strong and full, and I wanted nothing more than to press them into mine. Even as I looked into her eyes- her eyes, that I swear were thinking the same as I was- I felt shame deep in my gut. I’m her teacher.
“See ya’ tomorrow, Andy,” she said, shattering the tension. I felt myself start breathing again, and I turned the knob, opened the door, and replied,
“Have a good evening.” My teacher’s voice again.
I shut the door after she left, and went back to my desk. Listening as her shoes echoed down the hallway, fainter and fainter, I felt my heart slowing. I buried my face in my hands, trying to wake myself up from whatever insane ideas I had been dreaming. There was no way this could be happening. I didn’t do this type of thing. I’m a teacher. She’s my student. I’m a teacher. She’s my student, I chanted to myself. When I felt myself feeling capable of shrugging away the feeling that Megan had polluted my room with, I stood and put on my jacket. I closed up the classroom, grabbed my car keys and was about to leave, when I went back to shut off my computer. The computer sighed as it shut off, and the room was quiet. I stood…and glimpsed out my window. There Megan was, looking up at me. I don’t remember thinking anything. But I remember seeing her, drinking in the picture of her face. Her high cheekbones titled up at me, her lips calm…her hair. The moon was already in the sky, and it had lit up the world, but it still made her hair look black. Her breath rose up to me in clouds.
I was outside in less than a minute, huffing from having run down the stairs. When I pushed open the door, the icy cold seared my face. I wanted to pull her into my arms right then and there, to bury my hands in her choppy hair. There must have been some small portion still thinking sensibly, and I knew we would be seen, however, so I refrained.
“Now what?” I asked her.
She dug around in her purse, and pulled out a keychain.