Breaking Noah (3 page)

Then it’s Zara who sees me, and there’s finally the recognition of who I am. I try to slink into the seat and make myself invisible, but it’s a futile effort. The interior of my car illuminated for a few seconds gives her all the clues she needs to put two and two together. She hands the grocery bag to the guy and marches in my direction, hands on her hips and a scowl on her face. I desperately try to fit the key back into the ignition to start the car and drive away, but with the way my hands are shaking, it’s no use.

It’s mere moments before she’s knocking on the driver’s-side window. I try to look away, pretend I’m not there like a child who wants to fake that he’s invisible, but that doesn’t work. I don’t even know why I thought it would. My judgment just keeps getting better and better. She continues knocking until I’m worried she’ll break the glass.

After finally getting the key into the ignition, I turn it and press the button to roll down the window just a crack, fleeing the scene no being longer an option. Leaning toward the door, I angle my head up and my eyes follow suit.

“Oh, hello, Ms. Hamilton. How are you this evening?” I ask, trying to keep calm and play it cool. I’m sure my parents are filled with pride that I chose to become a teacher instead of an actor. To say my skills are subpar is the understatement of the century.

“Is there something I can help you with, Professor Bain?”

He’s flustered.

I suppose if I’d been caught stalking a student, I’d be flustered, too. I stand there with my hand on my hip, my eyebrows raised, waiting for him to say something. Containing my smirk is harder than I’d imagined. I really couldn’t have planned this any better if I’d tried.
Oh, Karly, justice is so close, I can taste it.

I don’t even think he’s aware he’s glanced at my chest three times already. Noah’s already putty in my hands.

“Mr. Bain? Would you like to tell me why you’re at my home, of all places? You couldn’t be stalking me, could you?” The cool, sarcastic tone of my voice surprises even me. I had no idea I had it in me—so Karly-like. It’s as if her attitude’s flowing through me.

He’s so uncomfortable that it’s a real effort for me not to laugh. What the hell is he doing here, outside my apartment? This guy really is the definition of
creep.
The way he looked at me today, and now this? I shiver and run my hands over my arms. He might be the worst kind of predator—attractive, intelligent, with a smile that could charm the pants off a nun. It would have been easy for Karly to fall for him and never be able to see the disastrous results coming.

“I was in the area….” His voice trails off as his face shows resignation of the fact that there is nothing he can say to get him out of this. I don’t think watching him squirm will ever get old.
How’s that hot seat feel? It’s only going to get worse.

“Dammit,” he curses, slamming his hands down on the steering wheel in frustration.

“Language, Professor Bain,” I chide softly. I lean forward so my arms are resting on the door frame of his car.

He runs a hand through his dark, unruly hair, his pale blue eyes darting around, and I can see the effort he’s putting forth to not look at me. Maybe he’s expecting me to be angrier than I am? That I’d be making more of a scene? But how can I be? This is perfect.

I
never
expected to have this kind of effect on him this early, and as creepy as he’s being right now, this is exactly what I want. I really thought I’d at least have to put in some sort of effort.

He finally speaks. “I wanted to check that you were okay.” His voice is quiet, and I’m confronted by how much I actually
believe
his words.

Don’t get dragged in, Zara.
This is probably how he lured Karly, too. Acting all concerned and gentlemanlike. I want to pull his heart straight out of his chest, but there’re much better ways to handle men like him.

“Why wouldn’t I be okay?” I laugh. I pretend his words don’t affect me, but they do. I’m not used to anyone outside of my family actually caring about me. I’m usually referred to as the lone wolf. With the exception of Karly and my brother, nobody knows me. I’ve never given anyone the chance. Not even Dillon. He’s seen glimpses of who I really am, but allowing anyone that close gives them the opportunity to hurt me.

“I had a feeling.” He shrugs, shaking his head as if he can’t put into words exactly what he’s doing. The sweat beading on his forehead and the slight tremor in his hands have me wondering if this really is out of character for him. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come here, and you obviously weren’t meant to see…”

“That you were spying on me?” I supply. “I can assure you, Professor Bain, I’m quite all right, and not in need of saving, or whatever it is that you’re doing here,” I protest. “I can only imagine what the dean would say if she found out about this. I’m not exactly sure, but I would think that showing up at a student’s home in the middle of the night with some sort of feeling could land even the most trusted professor in some serious hot water.”
Start begging, Noah.
The unintentional trap I’ve laid for him: It’s pure genius. I only wish I’d thought of it myself.

“Please, Zara. Can we keep this between us? I’m sorry….” He curses again, gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles turn a ghostly white. I know the color well. I’m sure if I uncoiled my tightly wrapped hands, they’d match his perfectly.

I bite back a smile. I can’t help it; I’m amused, yet angered at the same time. How is it possible to feel both of these emotions simultaneously? Wanting to giggle and punch him in the face? I wish there were some manual to tell me which feeling I should have.

I’ve never seen a grown man so worked up before. His embarrassment is obvious, yet there’s something else I can’t put my finger on. Maybe genuine concern? But that can’t be the case. He hasn’t known me long enough to feel that way. He starts the engine and I step back, cross my arms over my chest, and attempt to keep my fists hidden from sight. I bite my lip and watch him put the gearshift into drive.

“Sure, Professor Bain,” I whisper, biting my lip. Releasing balled hands, my finger toys with the necklace that hangs around my neck, drawing his gaze once again to my breasts—a trick Karly taught me when we were teenagers trying to buy beer. Give a man an excuse to ogle your goodies and you’ve won without even having to try. I tilt my head and smile at him. “This will be our little secret, okay?”
A secret that I’m going to use against you anytime I wish,
I think to myself, inwardly rubbing my hands and cackling like a mad scientist.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Ms. Hamilton,” he says nervously. He checks his blind spot, or to see if anyone else is watching our interaction, and sheepishly smiles.

I watch as he drives off, the car disappearing into the night. I stand on the road for a moment, trying to gather my thoughts before I head inside. The last thing I need is Dillon poking his nose around where it doesn’t belong. This is my fight.

Dillon has the bags on the counter and is unpacking the groceries when I walk into the kitchen.

“Who was that?” he asks, his brow furrowing as he tosses me a box of Cheerios. I put them in the cupboard above the refrigerator.

“Just someone who was lost,” I murmur, not wanting to meet his eyes.

He raises his eyebrows. “You were out there for a while.” His words sound more like an accusation than a mere statement.

“Yeah, well, he was crap at taking directions,” I respond defensively. Dillon is the last person I want involved. He’s decent enough, but his fuse is shorter than most. Dillon’s unpredictable and protective—especially when it comes to anything surrounding Karly’s death. Those two were close friends, Karly having been the one to introduce us. If he knew what I was planning, he’d have more than some advice for me; he’d put a stop to the whole thing or land himself in trouble. He loved Karly as much as I did. He’d want nothing more than for the prick responsible for her death to be brought to justice. Only he would be pissed if he knew that I was the one planning on holding that gavel.

He shrugs and puts the last of the shopping away. I feel bad about snapping at him, but my head is still with Noah. I take a small glass of juice and kiss Dillon good night, using a headache as an excuse to go to bed.

He’s disappointed, but he nods, pressing his mouth against mine. I follow the rhythm of the kiss, but my heart’s not really in it. It hasn’t been for a while now.

I’ve been with Dillon for almost two years, since I met him at a party Karly had thrown at her sorority house when they were just sophomores. We clicked right away. An instant connection, and it didn’t take long to discover we had more than just physical attraction in common.

Dillon’s a year ahead of me and takes his fraternity life very seriously, except for the whole living-in-the-frat-house thing. He likes his own space, much like I do. I can’t complain; without Dillon having his own apartment, Professor Bain might have had a reason to worry about my home life. I’m just happy about my arrangement. Even with our relationship being a little rocky right now…well, since Karly died, we seem to be getting along okay. We like the same sports; we both hate Chinese food and love watching action movies.

Being with Dillon has become harder over the last year, since Karly. The last Christmas we all spent together, we completed my application for Northwestern, as I was planning on attending this year anyway. I’d be able to transfer and have only two years left to complete. We had plans. We even looked at a bigger place that all of us could live in while we were getting started in life. Karly was going to teach and Dillon was going into advertising. That Christmas was the best. It seemed like everything was falling into place exactly how we’d imagined.

And then my perfect little world fell apart.

Karly died. She didn’t just die. She killed herself. And there was only one reason for her to do that—only one person who has her blood on his hands. The note she mailed to me drove that point home. I never imagined that Karly would find herself in that kind of situation. I guess she didn’t either—that’s why she didn’t know how to handle it.

She was more than my cousin. She was my best friend. My family. She was my person, my rock. Hell, she was my world, and her death consumed me. I lost the ability to focus on anything other than her.

All of my other relationships fell apart with the exception of Dillon, and these are some rocky waters we’re navigating. And my brother, but he’s so far away, I’m not sure if that really counts. My parents, family, and friends…to them, I might as well have died when Karly did. It’s hard to love when your heart is so full of hate.

And I harbor so much hate for
him.

His friendliness caught me off guard. I wish he was the asshole I portrayed him to be in my head. The kind of man that the world could do without; that the world would be better with him not in it. But he wasn’t. He was the exact opposite of what I needed him to be.

If I didn’t know any better, I could totally imagine myself liking him. He was definitely attractive, with his crystal-blue eyes and short, curly dark hair. And it had been clear I wasn’t the only one who thought so. All the girls in that class hung on his every word—not that they’d had any idea what he’d been talking about. They would have been too focused on listening to the way words rolled off his tongue.

If I didn’t watch myself, it was going to be an uphill battle keeping my head in the game and not falling for his lines of bullshit. I have to stay clear-minded. It’s the only way this works.

Refocusing my brain, I try to think about how many of his other students he’s had sex with. How many other lives has he ruined? Surely Karly couldn’t have been the only girl who’d fallen for his charm. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was merely one in a long line of female coeds that got fucked, then fucked over.

My heart sinks as I begin to doubt myself. Maybe I’m going about this all wrong….Maybe I should ask Dillon for his advice? Talk to the dean about what he’s been doing with his female students?

No. I have to do this. I have to do it for her. The only way people will believe me over him is if I have evidence. Time to start gathering all the pieces to this puzzle.

When I got home last night, I went right to sleep after giving Shannon her beloved cheesecake that she had no problem eating in the living room while watching a rerun of some fashion television show. Those who can, do…those who can’t, watch?

During my shower this morning, all my thoughts revolved around Zara. Would it be awkward in class today? Would she bring it up again? Maybe she’d pretend it never happened? I don’t have any idea, but freaking out about it ahead of time seemed like an excellent plan.

On my way out the door, I briefly kiss Shannon on her cheek while she sleeps the morning away. It’s summer vacation every day for her; up late watching TV and resting well into the afternoon. After scratching the fur behind Gio’s ears, I pull the door closed behind me and relish the slight breeze in the air this morning.

Usually, the greater Chicago area doesn’t get blustery in the mornings until the end of October, but the feel of fall is upon us and it happens to be my favorite season. A reason to break out the sweaters, but not yet the winter coats, bonfires on the weekends with friends, and the boys of fall taking to the gridiron as the football season gets under way. It’s perfect weather. The only thing terrible about it…pumpkin spice. Everything is laced with this terrible spice, if you can even call it that—candles, coffee drinks, lip balm, snacks…I’m pretty sure you could find pumpkin-spiced condoms if you looked hard enough.

I park at the edge of the lot, enjoying the longer walk. Northwestern really is a beautiful campus: old brick buildings holding years of history, lush quads with large trees, the smell of the lake in the distance. I am truly lucky to be teaching at such a wonderful university. Sure, the winters are harsh and the summers stifling, but where else in the world could I be that’s more perfect? Pulling my jacket tight around my middle as I walk through the main quad until I reach my building, I pass by a few students on a morning run. The hallways are empty except for the few overachievers and other professors that are gearing up for their first class of the day. Once inside the safe confines of my classroom, I place my messenger bag on the desk and pull out the day’s lesson plans. I write a little on the dry-erase board and pull a few pages to make copies of over in the administration building.

It takes less time than I expected, and I’m back in my classroom, one hand holding the assignment for the day and the other carrying a steaming cup of coffee I snagged. Across the hallway, the lecture hall begins to fill, alerting me that I have just a few more minutes before my students arrive. Carefully managing to pull open the heavy wooden door, I nearly drop my coffee when I enter. Cursing to myself, I almost drop my cup again. The giggling from inside my classroom tells me I’m not alone. Sitting on the edge of my desk, wearing a short black skirt and combat boots, is Zara, rifling through my bag.

Fumbling to set the papers down on the table closest to the door for the students to take as they mill inside, I nervously glance at Zara. “Is there something I can help you with, Ms. Hamilton?” I should have known she wouldn’t let my actions from last night go. This is turning bad fast. Time to put a little distance between us so I don’t give her the wrong idea.

She glances up from the file she’s currently studying and stares into my eyes—no hint of embarrassment, no deer-in-the-headlights look—she just refocuses her attention. “No. Not really.”

I step farther into the room, closer to Zara, and immediately notice the slight shift in the air. It’s charged with something. Not sure what, but it’s strange and something I’ve never felt before. “So, may I ask why you’re going through my belongings?”

“Well, if you’re able to invade my personal space, I should be afforded the same privilege,” she replies, deadpan. “You’re more boring than I thought. I was hoping to run across something interesting, but it appears your most recent reading material is my student file.” She places the file on the desk, her fingers still grazing the thick card-stock folder, and zips my bag shut.

“Maybe we should discuss the events of last night, Ms. Hamilton. I don’t want there to be any reason that there’s an uncomfortable feeling for either of us.” I’ll bring it up and put it to bed if she doesn’t want to. This isn’t the way our student-teacher relationship should have begun, but the damage is done and all I can do is redefine the boundaries.

“Oh, I’m not uncomfortable, Noah. It is okay that I call you that, right? Of course it is. What was I thinking? Now, Noah, I’m not uncomfortable at all. I just figured you wouldn’t care if I went through your bag. After all, it’s my file that’s in here.” She grips the file with her name printed on the tab, waving it sarcastically. My discomfort is quickly changing to annoyance.

Zara hops off the corner of my desk and sits in the one across from it. Well, she doesn’t actually sit in it, per se, but on top of it, in the same position she was in just a moment ago. I desperately attempt to remind myself that I’m her teacher, but the man in me ignores that thought and I can’t help but zero in on her long, ivory legs and where the tops of her thighs disappear under the skirt.
She’s a student, I’m her teacher,
I chastise myself, and I’ve already crossed a line that should have never been crossed to begin with. The dean could take my job right now if she knew about the improper conduct.

“Zara, I’m not going to lie to you. I read your file yesterday afternoon, and I wanted to be sure you were living in an okay area and were taken care of. Your file said you live here alone and all of your family is back in Ohio. It struck me as strange that you would just transfer mid-semester, and you arrived too late to be assigned any student housing. It was inappropriate, and I apologize for intruding. I’ve concluded that you must be doing all right and it’s none of my concern. Also, it’s not okay to call me Noah. My name is Mr. Bain or Professor Bain.”

“If you wanted to know more about me, you could have asked. I’m not upset with you, though. I might have done the same if I were in your shoes. Thank you for caring.” When she finishes her statement, she shifts slightly and the fabric of the skirt rises up her thigh high enough for me to get a glimpse of her underwear. If I didn’t know any better, I would think she was doing this on purpose.
Of course she isn’t.
She’s a beautiful girl and has a boyfriend. Granted, I’m only twenty-six, but in her eyes, I might as well be fifty. I try diverting my gaze, but the red panties she’s wearing call to me like a beacon in the night.

Snap out of it, Noah. Eyes. Off. Thighs.

“I’ll keep that in mind, Ms. Hamilton.” I try to remain stoic, but with Zara it’s difficult. I know I’ve said it before, but she doesn’t come off as your typical college student.

Startling me in my seat, the door flings open and my classroom begins to fill with students. “Well, thanks for the chat, Mr. B., but I need to get to my first class. Lots of stuff to learn today.” Zara struts out of the classroom, her backpack slung across one arm and purse dangling from the other. Before she’s completely out of sight, she turns her head slightly and winks.

I really need to get a grip. I shouldn’t be staring at my student’s behind, but more important, I can’t get caught staring. This is going to end badly. So much for redefining boundaries. If anything, I’ve crossed even more. God help me.

Actually getting to hang out with my friends during the school year is nearly impossible, but after a brief dinner with Shannon, a few of my old high school buddies and I meet up at a bar just outside town. Thankful for the reprieve of the day, I sit between Lance and Clay, listening to them as they drown their sorrows over a few cold beers.

“You’re fucking dumb. I’ll put my money on the Ravens before the damn Forty-niners,” Lance hollers, sloshing his beer around in his glass.

“Morons. All of you,” Clay mumbles, taking a bite of his burger.

“Okay, tiebreaker. Noah. Who’s going to the playoffs?” I nearly miss Lance’s question, as my mind is somewhere totally different. As hard as I try, I’m still stuck on Zara.

“I’ll take the Lions,” I jeer.

Both men huff loudly, slamming their glasses down on the bar top and throwing their hands in the air.

“Have you lost your damn mind? The Lions? I’ll shit my pants if they win enough games to be considered for a wild-card pick. If they do, I’m buying rounds all night.” Laughing along with Clay, I take a swig of my drink, letting the bitterness of the beer hit hard in my stomach.

The rest of the conversation is casual until Lance brings up our other friends. “Do we know what day Derrick and Rick are coming in so we can get started on Rick’s bachelor party?” Getting all of us together at one time proves to be more and more difficult the older we get. Rick moved to Michigan a few years ago and Derrick travels for business at least twice a month.

“Next week or the week after, I think.”

“I can’t believe the poor bastard is actually going through with it. First Jake and now Rick? Who’s next? Probably Noah over here,” Lance jokes, nudging me in the ribs with his elbow.

“I wouldn’t put money on it,” I say snidely. Not that I wouldn’t marry Shannon, I just know she isn’t the one, but it’s easier to stay with her than to leave her, I guess.

“Things not going good with Shannon?” Clay asks, a little too interested in my response. He’s always had a thing for her. Throughout college, he was pissed that it was me she chose and not him. How I wish it would have been the other way around.

“No, things are fine….I don’t know, something’s just off. It’s like she hasn’t changed at all since we graduated. I don’t know if she has any drive left.”

“Fuck her drive, how about the sex? Still good?” Leave it to Lance to bring up the only topic he’s well versed in…sex. I’ve known him since we were ten, and it appears that his train of thought hasn’t reached maturity like the rest of us.

“Not cool, bro.” Clay looks down, shaking his head.

“Seriously. You can’t still be with her if she’s a lousy lay. She’s gotta bring something to the table. We’re friends, have been for a long time, but let me just disrespect you for a moment and say Shannon’s fine as hell. When you guys stayed with me last Fourth of July and she was prancing around in those tight-ass little shorts, it took everything in me to not bend her over my knee and spank her.”

“Lance, really? That’s his girlfriend. Grow up,” Clay says, disgusted with Lance’s behavior, even though he’s probably thinking the same thing. Shit, I’m remembering that weekend, and in fact I did take her over my knee and mark that little ass of hers. That was the first and only time she let me try anything out of the ordinary. Probably because she’d been drinking Lance’s concoction of margaritas all day; with that and the sun, she was more than a little wasted. It was a good time. I only wish it would have lasted until we got home. Maybe Shannon’s a bit too boring for me. Shoving the thought aside, needing to ponder it when I don’t have two of my best buddies staring me down, I jump back into the conversation.

“Thanks, man,” I say to Clay, slapping him on the back. “I’d also appreciate if you’d refrain from commenting on Shannon’s spankable ass. But if you’d like to continue, we can talk about how much your sister liked her hair pulled when I was fucking her from behind.”

It’s still a sore subject, even nearly a decade later. After we graduated, the summer between high school and college, Lance’s sister and I had a brief fling. It was some of the best sex of my life, and the girl liked it rough. Of course, Lance didn’t know this until he walked in on us one night. In his bed, no less. A few weeks after closing the door on our affair, she met her current husband and the rest is history. But giving Lance a hard time about it still cracks me up. Especially when he’s being a dick, like he is today.

Lance’s facial expression changes drastically and his cheeks instantly turn red—not with embarrassment, more so with the look that tells me that I’m about to get my ass kicked.

“Dude,” Lance says, placing his hands over his ears and shaking his head like he’s trying to get the thought out of his mind.

“Exactly my point.” I laugh.

“Okay, change of subject. How’s work, Noah? I still don’t know how you do it…getting up at the ass crack of dawn to go and try to teach a bunch of little shits about the language they’re supposed to know backward and forward.” There’s a reason this kid went to law school and became one of the best mediators in the state. Clay knows how to diffuse a situation like no other.

“First, I don’t teach grammar and shit. It’s literature. You know, books? I’m sure you’ve heard of them before. But it’s all right. Got a transfer student in a few days ago…army brat. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she was much older than she actually is. I haven’t met any students yet that have read
Pride and Prejudice
for fun.”

“Does anyone read that shit for fun? There aren’t even any pictures,” Lance jokes, and I roll my eyes.

“You might actually have a good year, then. At least one of your students will be paying attention.” Little does Clay know that my year is going to be anything but good. If I’m thinking about Zara this much now, what’s going to happen when the term progresses and I learn more about her? I really should talk to the dean or her counselor about having her class switched. Having her with me for a few hours a day three times a week is going to be hell.

“Hello? Noah? You done checking out on us?” Lance asks, raising a hand for the bartender to bring us another round.

“Sorry. What’d I miss?”

“Nothing important,” Clay says. “Just Lance asking if any of those students of yours would mind sleeping with an older man. Then there was something about pert asses, perky tits, and pussies that haven’t gone through the wringer.”

The thought of Lance touching Zara enters my head and I can’t get it out. The protectiveness I feel over her and the jealousy overwhelming me is nearly too much to handle. I need to stop thinking of her as anything but another student. She isn’t mine. What she does in her free time is her business. But why do I feel this way about her, but not about Shannon? Something’s wrong with this situation. I need her out of my head. Now.