Page 16 of The Prom

It’s been an eventful week and my head is buzzing with everything that happened and yet one incident occupies my thoughts more than any other.

When Drake Bellingham carried me in his arms.

My blood still heats when I think of it and I already know it’s different to how I felt with Jesse. I’m still processing what nearly happened between us and part of me wonders if I would feel differently if it was Drake’s arms holding me rather than Jesse’s.

I am so conflicted, and it doesn’t help when I walk into history and the first person who meets my gaze is the hot teacher himself.

My mouth dries as soon as I see him because how can one man be so god-damned hot? His piercing eyes hold mespellbound as he appears to stare deep into my soul as he holds my gaze. His rippling muscles are contained in a black shirt tucked into black pants that merely accentuates his muscled legs and his brown leather belt matches the shoes he is wearing. A silver chain peers out from his unbuttoned shirt and, knowing how dark ink trails against his skin, causes delirious heat to spread through my entire body.

I almost trip over my feet as I attempt to break the spell he has cast over me and the distraction of the other students piling in is significant to refocus my mind. I stagger to my seat, busying myself with my books while I attempt to drag my mind out of the gutter.

Luckily, our lesson today requires watching a movie about World War Two and as the lights dim, I can breathe again now he isn’t in my line of vision.

As I watch the events on the screen, there is silence in the room and yet my mind is screaming out loudly because Mr. Bellingham is perched on the window ledge beside me as he watches from there.

It’s impossible to concentrate because he is so close I could reach out and touch him. Any slight movement distracts my attention and my breathing is a touch faster than normal. It doesn’t help that my mind is wandering and imagining an alternative outcome to our last encounter and I squirm in my seat as a different kind of movie plays out in my mind.

I couldn’t even tell you what it is I just watched when the movie ends and he shifts from beside me and opens the blinds, light flooding into the room.

The bell sounds and as the class scrambles to leave, he stops by my side and whispers, “May I have a word please, Imogen?”

I swallow hard. “Of course.”

My hands shake as I gather my things and as the room empties, he perches on the edge of my desk and his gaze sears through my body as he smiles.

“How are you?”

I’m guessing he is referring to my ankle, and I smile. “I’m good, thanks. It was a sprain and has healed nicely after some rest.”

“That’s good. You were lucky.”

I am trying so hard to focus because being this close to him is messing with my mind and he appears a little lost for words, which is surprising.

The silence is intriguing and I wonder what he is trying to say and then he sighs heavily. “I’m sorry to ask this of you Imogen, but I could use your help.”

“Help?”

I wasn’t expecting this, and he groans. “Principal Constable has asked every teacher to work with a student regarding the prom and, well, I kind of hoped you could help me out here.”

The fact he is obviously so awkward about asking is seriously endearing and I smile. “You. On prom committee.”

I giggle as he groans. “Mad, right?”

He huffs, “So, you see my dilemma and you were the first person who came to mind, so please, Imogen, can you help me out here? I would be forever in your debt.”

“What do we have to do?”

I push away the way my heart curls with pleasure when I refer to us as ‘we’. I’m also celebrating the fact we will undoubtedly have to spend time together and I’m way too happy about that. I push away the warning flags that are almost blinding me right now because this is a gift I’m happy to receive.

“Come up with a historical theme for the prom and locate some props to help with the visuals.” Is his reply, and I shrug.

“I thought the theme was masquerade?”

I bite my lip in concentration as I lean on my elbows, staring at him in confusion.

For a second, his eyes flash and the expression in them causes my breath to hitch and as he stares into my eyes, a spark of electricity sizzles between us.

It’s as if time stops and oceans are still as we stare at one another with a million wishes flickering around us. It’s almost as if he is mirroring my soul as I see my longing reflected back at me. It’s intense, revealing and dangerous and words are irrelevant as we communicate in a different way.

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