We drive in silence for a few more minutes and arrive at my townhouse.  On our way to the front door, I tell her, “I made Italian for dinner. I hope that’s okay.”

“Sure,” she says quietly.  I can’t see her face, but I wish I could.  I want to know what she’s thinking.

I step back to let her inside, and she drops her backpack in the entry way.

“Mmm, it smells amazing in here.”

The warm aroma of garlic and seasonings fill the house, wafting in from the kitchen.  My stomach rumbles, reminding me I haven’t eaten all day.

“Just give me a few minutes to toast the garlic bread and boil the pasta, and we can eat.  Feel free to use my shower to get cleaned up if you want,” I call over my shoulder as I enter the kitchen.

I’m leaning over in the fridge to pull out the butter when I spot the beef I cooked earlier.  “Do you eat meat?” I call behind me, and when I turn around I run face to face with Tatum, practically jumping out of my skin and dropping the container I was holding.

“Shit.”

“I’m sorry,” she says shyly.  “Um…yes, I do.  I was just coming to get some water.”

“It’s okay,” I breathe, trying to calm my racing heart.  Reaching back into the fridge, I grab a bottle of water and hand it to her.  “Here.”

“Thanks,” she says, and I notice she’s chewing her lower lip.  Her long eyelashes fan against her cheeks as she focuses on the label to the plastic bottle in her fidgeting hands.  I can’t help but stare, and this rolling sensation starts low in my stomach.

Jesus, what the hell is that?

“I’ll, um, go shower now,” she says as she scampers from the room.

Did I really just check out my student in my own kitchen?

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Tatum

Well, that was fucking weird.  The hot water cascades down my back, and my head drops forward, letting the steady stream massage the muscles in my neck.  I can’t be certain, but I have the feeling Jacoby was checking me out.  He’s my teacher for God’s sake!  Okay, so maybe he’s good looking, and he’s been nothing but nice and generous since yesterday and sort of sweet.  He isn’t much older than me.  And then there was that kiss…  But he’s my freakin’ teacher!  I slap my hand against the tiled shower wall in frustration, enjoying the ringing pain echoing through my palm.

If yesterday hadn’t happened, I’m sure we’d be back at each other’s throats come Monday.  But now?  Everything is different now.

I finish showering, not wanting to seem like I’m avoiding him, even though I wish I could, and I walk back downstairs where I’m assaulted with the sweet aroma of tomato sauce and garlic bread.  It smells amazing, and I realize how hungry I am.  I ran out of here so fast this morning I missed breakfast, and thanks to work’s no eating rule, I didn’t have lunch either.

When I round the corner into the kitchen, I notice Jacoby has set the dining table, complete with salad plates and fancy glasses.  Hmm.  There’s no way a bachelor eats this way every night, and I feel awkward that he’s doing this for me.  I tell myself to get over it, and sit down at one of the two place settings.

“Hey, there you are.  Dinner is all set,” Jacoby says as he appears from the kitchen.

“It looks amazing.”

“Hopefully it tastes like it looks then.  It’s been a while since I’ve cooked for someone other than myself.”

“Really?” I question as we take our seats.  “Well, thank you.  But you know you don’t have to do this for me.”

“I know,” is all he says in response.

I can’t take my eyes off of him as he lifts his glass and takes a small sip of what I’m guessing is white wine.  I pick up my own glass, eyeing it suspiciously before taking a whiff.  It doesn’t smell like anything.  Jacoby chuckles beside me.

“What’s so funny?” I ask, curious what I did wrong.

“It’s water.  You really think I’d give you wine?  Haven’t I done enough to put my job in jeopardy?”  There’s humor in his tone and a twinkling in his eyes.  I don’t find it funny, and suddenly, I’m not hungry anymore.

“I didn’t ask you to,” I snap, embarrassed I’m still here.  If I were smart, I’d go home.  This isn’t right.

He raises his arms in surrender.  “Hey, hey it’s okay.  I’m teasing you.  My job is safe, don’t worry.”

I’m not convinced, and I worry I’ve crossed a line somewhere.

He continues, “Seriously, I want to help you, Tatum.  You’re welcome to stay as long as you need, but I do have some questions for you.”

I can only guess what questions he wants to ask, and I’m not sure I want to answer them.  But he’s doing me a tremendous favor and I’m sure he’s confused, so I nod my head in compliance.  Picking up my fork, I dig in, hoping the food can help buffer against some of the answers he’s expecting.

“Do you like it?”

“It’s amazing, seriously.  I’ve never tasted food so good.”  And I haven’t.  I don’t have time to cook for myself, and there’s not a single cooked meal in memory from living with my mom.

“Good.  Let’s start with the beginning.  Why do you live on your own, and why can’t you go home yet?  Please don’t think I want you gone, I just want straight answers and honesty so I can help you, okay?”  His dark chocolate eyes are soft and warm and filled with concern.

Trust.  He wants to know I trust him, and he wants honesty so he can trust me.  We have to lay the foundation to our newfound…alliance.

I swallow the food in my mouth and reach for the glass of water before answering.  At least it’s an easy question.  “Halfway through my junior year, my mom was found in our bathroom unconscious from a heroin overdose.  Since I was underage, I would have been placed into foster care, but I petitioned to be emancipated from my mom.  A judge granted my request, and I have since been living in my apartment and working fulltime to make rent and buy food.”  I realize the glass in my hand is shaking, so I take a small sip before setting it back down.  “Wyatt knows where I live, and I’m afraid he’ll come looking for me.”

“Wow.” That one word holds so many emotions.  Jacoby isn’t saying it with disgust or sarcasm or judgment.  He’s saying it with pride and admiration.  I think I see shock as well.

“So you’re basically housing me from a psycho.  Sorry about that,” I say flippantly, raising an eyebrow.

The corners of Jacoby’s lips twitch.  “I meant it when I said stay as long as you need.  I’d prefer you to be safe, and I know you will be here.  Although, I hope he won’t try to contact you after I spoke with him today.”

My fork slips out of my hand and clatters loudly against my plate.

“You-you spoke with Wyatt today?”  A wave of disgust rises within me from saying his name aloud.  I hold it down with another sip of water.

Jacoby shovels a bite of food in his mouth.  “I went down to the mechanic’s shop today and got your car.  We spoke.”

“And what exactly did you speak about?”  My heartbeat is picking up in my chest.  I don’t want him involved.  I want to move on, forget it ever happened, and never see or hear from Wyatt again.

“I told him to leave you alone, got your car, and left.  That’s about it,” he responds with a shrug of his shoulders.  I don’t entirely believe him.

“I didn’t see my car when we pulled up.”

“I parked it in the garage until you’re ready to go back home.”

We eat companionably for several minutes, neither one of us speaking.  Though, I’m sure both of us are thinking about this predicament we’ve found ourselves in.

“How old are you?” he suddenly asks, while taking a drink from his wine.  I find myself watching the smooth glide of his Adam’s apple before I answer.

“Eighteen,” I respond, pausing because Jacoby chokes on his swallow of wine.

“Well that’s good,” he says simply.  Hmm.  I wonder if he’s thinking about our kiss.  He must be a little relieved I’m of legal age and all that jazz.  Not that it matters because this will never go further than it already has.  The thought makes me frown for some reason.