Page 44 of Kismet

I watch him walk away, a permanent smile plastered on my face.

The feelings swimming around inside me are different, and to some, considered wrong. He’s my student, I’m married, and he’s a decade younger than me. But they feel good, and they make sense to me.When I’m with him, it feels right. I can’t explain it, nor do I want to dissect it. The chemistry we share is unmatched, our bodies made for each other.

As I make my way home tonight, thoughts of what could be swirl around my mind.

Chapter Fourteen

Stone Philips

If there’s anything I’ve learned in the last three weeks, it’s one, that we arenotin a seller’s market right now when it comes to real estate, and two, getting a divorce fucking sucks. Aida is making everything as difficult as humanly possible. When we originally talked about this weeks ago, I thought she was at least semi on the same page as me. Could understand where I was coming from.

Now it’s like she’s suffered amnesia and completely forgot that we’re miserable together. The sobbing she did in the lawyer’s office last week when the papers were drawn up was embarrassing. Literal snot running down her nose, sobbing. And then she refuses—absolutelyrefuses—to help get the house ready to list and show. I’ve done it all myself, and we’ve lived here for plenty of years, so we have a lot of shit accumulated.

I’ve seen Cashmaybefour or five times outside of class in the last few weeks because I’ve been so busy with this shit, and when I’m not busy with this shit, I’m fucking exhausted and want to sleep. True to his word, though, he’s been nothing but understanding and there for me. He’s brought me coffee almost every single morning at work because he knows I’m sleeping like shit, despite being exhausted.

It’s such a small gesture, but it means more than he’ll probably ever know. Yesterday, after the class we had together, he rubbed my shoulders for me before he had to go to his next class. He may have also gotten onto his knees under my desk and made me come too, but still… It’s the small gestures that mean so much.

I’ve spent the last five hours straight going through shit in our attic. Labeling it and getting ready to get rid of most of it. Alone, of course. It’s a quarter past seven, and Aida went to bed an hour ago. A “migraine” was the reason she couldn’t help me today. It’s fucking frustrating. My phone rings as I’m making my way to the garage to do the same thing I did with the attic—which should be a shitshow. My mood lightens a bit when Cash’s name flashes on the screen.

“Hey, you,” I answer, propping the phone to my ear with my shoulder.

“Hey, sexy. Haven’t heard from you much today, so I just wanted to check and make sure you’re doing okay.”

My chest swells at listening to him. He never fails to amaze me with his level of caring. “I’m alright. Sorry that I’ve been quiet today. I spent almost the entire day clearing out the attic, and now I’m about to spend most of the night doing the same with the garage.”

“Damn, that sounds like a lot. Is… uh, is she helping?” It’s so cute how he gets so nervous asking me questions that involve her. Like I’m a ticking time bomb who may explode or I’ll suddenly get pissed at him for asking.

“No. She has a migraine, I guess. Went to bed like an hour ago.”

“Oh…” He’s quiet for a moment, but I can tell he wants to say more, so I give him time to get there. It doesn’t take long. “I can, you know, come help if you want. Since she’s asleep and wouldn’t know I was there. If not, that’s okay. It’s probably uncomfortable for you. But I don’t mind helping… if you, you know, need it.”

He’s rambling, and the smile on my face is so big, my cheeks hurt. I kind of love it when he gets flustered. It doesn’t happen often, but when it does, it’s adorable as hell.

“I’d love that. It would help me a lot. If you don’t mind.”

“Nah, I don’t mind at all. When should I head over?” I can hear the grin on his face through the phone.

“Now works, if you’re free.” My nerves are going haywire, knowing I get to see him soon.I know Ishouldfeel bad inviting him here while she’s sleeping, but it’s not like she’s down here wanting to help me.

“I’ll be right over.”

“Drive safe. See you soon.”

We hang up and it’s safe to say the smile on my face remains there until he arrives about fifteen minutes later. He parks down the street again, and I open the garage door for him so he can slip inside. His hands are in his pants pockets, and he looks nervous, like he doesn’t know how he should act around me while we’re at my house.

I put him out of his misery, tugging him into me until our bodies are flush and our lips are connected. He tastes like spearmint and nicotine when my tongue dips inside, and I can’t help the groan that comes out. We pull away after a few moments, but not before we both pop a boner.

“Thanks for coming,” I tell him, pushing a piece of hair out of his eyes.

“Of course, Stone. I’m happy to help if it’ll make you feel a little better. I can tell how stressed you are about everything. So anything I can do, I’m more than willing.” He looks around the garage. “Where should we start?”

I grab us each a beer out of the mini fridge, turn on some music, and we get started. We each take a corner, going through shit, item by item. We make a donate pile, a dump run pile, and a keep pile. He finds some pictures of me from when I was a kid, so we spend time looking through those, and I tell him stories about some of them.

It’s after one in the morning by the time we call it quits. We’ve gone through I’d say about three quarters of everything in here, but I can easily finish it another day. We’ve spent the last hour shamelessly teasing and flirting with each other, getting riled up to the point of combustion. We haven’t touched one another at all since he first arrived, but the flirting and the eye contact has been tumultuous.

When he came over, I had zero intention of inviting him inside, because in theory, it’s a terrible fucking idea. Who brings their boyfriend into their house when their wife is asleep? That’s asking for trouble. Also, that’s the first time I’ve ever referred to him as my boyfriend, in my own head or not, and I like the sound of it way more than I should. I’m smiling like a fucking idiot before I can catch myself and he sees me.

“What’s got you smiling like that, teach?” He saunters over to me, stopping when he’s at arm’s length.

---