Chapter 3 3

POV Elliot

I thought my day would be boring.

One of those that stretch like tasteless gum: wasted hours, books I don’t care about, and some old lady who’d barely pay attention while rambling about formulas and dates. I even tried one last time to convince my mother over breakfast.

“This isn’t necessary,” I told her. “I can pass that exam on my own. Or with any other teacher. Why does it have to be a woman who doesn’t even want to teach me? Why insist, if you said she already turned you down?”

She gave me that look she always gives when she’s done arguing.

“It’s already arranged. Besides, you don’t remember her, but you two already met,” she said.

And that was it.

I didn’t even understand why it had to be her. What kind of favor did my mother owe that Andrew guy? Why not hire a regular teacher?

I slung my backpack over my shoulder, ready to waste my afternoon yawning.

Until she opened the door.

Her.

And just like that, the day stopped being gray, boring, and pointless—it became something worth remembering.

Droplets still clung to her damp skin. The dress hugged her figure, giving her away. She was flushed, her wet hair stuck to her neck, and her nipples showed through the thin fabric. But it wasn’t that which struck me the most—it was her eyes. Broken. Hollow. Like she was somewhere else, stuck in some painful memory. Like breathing itself hurt.

I couldn’t speak—she was too beautiful. I almost stayed speechless, caught in the quiet thrill of just looking at her.

Those first few minutes with her made my heart race, like I was in front of someone who mattered. And suddenly, she did. Why? What the hell was happening to me?

I glanced at her bare feet, her toes curled slightly against the rug. I swallowed, not even sure why. She let me in, and I barely reacted. I sat on the edge of the sofa, tense. Tried to act casual, but I couldn’t get her image out of my head.

That woman wasn’t a teacher. She was a damn provocation. Something I was never supposed to find in this house.

She looked a little lost too.

“I think I’ll go get changed. Make yourself comfortable,” she said.

She turned, and I watched her go—like a complete idiot. Drops slid down her calf, the curve of her back, the sway of her hips. When she disappeared up the stairs, I felt like I could breathe again.

I stood up.

Wandered around the house, pretending it was curiosity—but it wasn’t. It was nerves. And I never got nervous. I never lost my cool. But around her, I wasn’t myself.

I ran my fingers along the edge of an old picture frame, a diploma, a porcelain figurine. There was dust. The house felt sad. Silent. Like it didn’t want to be touched.

Then I heard her voice.

Upstairs.

Tense.

I moved toward the stairs, hesitating. I didn’t want to get caught, but it wasn’t about that. I just wanted to know if she was okay.

I went up two steps.

The door at the end of the hallway was ajar. I could hear her voice clearly now—shaky and angry.

“You can’t do this to me, Andrew… Why are you doing this?!”

I stepped closer. The floor creaked beneath me, but she didn’t hear.

I saw her through the gap. I wasn’t ready for what I saw.

She was naked.

Fully.

There was a small tattoo just above her belly. I stared, wondering who she was before all this pain.

She was pacing back and forth, phone in hand. The black dress lay on the floor. Her wet hair fell over her shoulders, down across her chest. I wasn’t even listening to what she was saying anymore. I was just watching.

Her curves.

Her legs.

Her hips.

Her belly.

My eyes kept wandering down, marveling at the soft line of hair between her thighs. I wondered if she was wet there too—she probably was.

I licked my lips, thirsty—wanting to drink from her like she was a spring.

I burned the image into my mind. The way the water outlined every inch of her, the way her breasts swayed as she moved.

I tried to look away.

I couldn’t.

My teacher.

My goddamn teacher.

My fingers ached just from hanging useless at my sides. I didn’t know if I should stay or go. But I froze.

She was so beautiful. Watching her felt like a sin. Everything about her seemed sacred.

Then I saw her hang up and place the phone on the bed. She hugged herself, her chest rising and falling with quiet sobs. She was crying. Really crying. With no shame, no attempt to hide. She crumbled, curled in on herself.

And something in me shifted. I stopped seeing her as the woman I wanted to stare at.

And started seeing someone I wanted to understand.

That image branded itself into me.

I stepped back. Quietly. Careful not to leave a trace.

Went downstairs. Sat down. Took out the books I brought, though I couldn’t even remember what they were. I needed something—anything—to distract me.

She came down minutes later.

I didn’t look up. I forced myself to act normal. As if nothing had happened.

“Elliot, I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” she said. “The truth is… I’m not sure I’m the right person to teach you. I haven’t done this in a while, and right now, I’m kind of a mess.”

“Am I bothering you?”

“No, no—”

I couldn’t let her push me away. I knew if I begged, she’d resist. I’d walk out that door and maybe never see her again.

I didn’t know how to handle a broken woman…

But I needed her. For me. Only me.

“It’s not that. I just wasn’t expecting you. I haven’t prepared anything, and my head’s not exactly in the right place.”

“Can I come back this afternoon? If you feel like it… we could meet tonight.”

My intentions weren’t pure. God knows they weren’t.

“That’s the thing… I still haven’t decided if I’ll take you on.”

“Do you not feel capable?”

Her crooked smile made my chest tighten.

“It’s not that. I just don’t think I’m in the right state for it. I’m sorry.”

“So… if I’m getting this right, you have the skills, but you won’t use them with me. Because of… what?”

Our eyes met.

Her light brown gaze—red from crying—held mine. I was starving for her.

“I’m…” she hesitated. “Going through a hard time. A rough patch that won’t let up, no matter what I do. And I just don’t feel up to it.”

“Then let’s make a deal,” I said. “I’ll help you get through it. You teach me, and I help you survive this rough patch. We have three months. What do you say?”

She bit her bottom lip for just a second—and it was enough to wreck me. I quickly pulled my backpack onto my lap, covering the bulge that had started to grow.

“You can’t help me.”

“You don’t know me. When I want something, I get it.”

And I wanted her.

No matter what it cost.

“Just give me a chance.”

“How about this… If you can get me to leave the house—something my husband would apparently love—then we have a deal. You have two days.”

“Deal. If I make it happen, you become my teacher for the next three months. While I help you fix your life.”

I stood and offered her my hand.

“It’s a deal,” she said, shaking it.