Before she can respond, the door opens.
And just like that, the room tilts and my stomach drops like I’ve just stepped off a cliff. Because walking in, looking deliciously tall, dark, and handsome, ishim. A man I thought I’d never see again.
I rub my eyes, thinking I must not be seeing clearly. It can’t be.
But yeah, it’s him.
The guy from the bar. The one with the messy, dark curls and those perfect dimples on his ridiculously handsome face. The one with whom I’d danced the night away, before it abruptly ended and I never even got his name.
And now he’s here, in my high school classroom, striding toward the desk at the front of the room. My entire body is frozen still, my pulse pounding in my ears.
No fucking way.
I take him in fully, here, under the bright fluorescent lights. I carefully take in every detail I missed that night. He’s just as handsome now, maybe even more so. He has to be over six feet tall, with dark hair and even darker eyes that look like pools of midnight. His body is muscular yet lean, just the right amount without being bulky.
I feel my jaw dropping just in time to snap it shut again.
He takes his spot in the front of the room, placing his brown leather satchel and clearly loved coffee mug on the bare desk. I narrow my eyes, trying to make out the words on the thermos. From where I’m sitting, I swear it says “Worst Teacher Ever,” and I stifle a laugh before it can breach my lips.
He stands to face us and spends a moment taking us all in. I’m almost positive this is the quietest this class, or any class, has ever been. He has captured our full attention without speaking even one word. Quite the accomplishment.
He scans the room, taking in each of us, and then his eyes land on mine.
And I see it. The recognition. His gaze zeros in on me, his brow furrowing in concentration. I watch as the wheels turn in his mind as he tries to place me. And I can tell the moment he does, the moment he realizes.
He knows it’s me.
Then, with a shake of his head, he schools his expression and clears his throat, tearing his eyes from mine.
“Good morning,” he says, his voice deep and familiar in a way that makes my stomach flip. “My name is Mr. Hayes. I’ll be taking over for Mrs. Whitsell this semester.”
I can’t breathe. Mr. Hayes.
Of course that’s his name. Of course the guy I’d spent the last four months fantasizing about, hoping I’d run into again one day, would turn out to be a teacher.Myteacher.
“I recently moved here,” he continues, his voice casual like he didn’t just drop a bomb into my reality. “This job opened up at the perfect time, so here I am. I’m still settling in, but I’m looking forward to getting to know you all.”
I can’t tear my eyes from him. My eyes track every movement he makes, even the most minuscule. The tension in his jaw and shoulders makes it obvious he’s just as rattled as I am.Either that, or he’s got first-day nerves.
He grabs a sheet of paper from his desk and begins to call roll. I brace myself to hear my name.
“Sophie Wilson?”
The sound of my name on his lips is almost my undoing. I forget how to speak.
“Here,” I choke out, the word barely audible. I clear my throat and try again. “Here.”
His eyes lift from the paper and meet mine. The air between us is charged with tension so thick I could cut it with a knife.
He blinks, holding eye contact for just a moment longer, then looks away, moving on. Or trying to, at least.
Sal turns back to me, eyebrows raised in question. “Okay, what the hell was that about?”
“What was what?” I say, flipping my sketchbook closed. I keep my voice low.
“You practically short-circuited when he said your name,” she whispers.
“I did not.”
