I swallow, and I swear I see him wink at me. “Oh, right. Can I help you with anything?” I take a step and wonder if he’s heading up the staircase, too.
“I’m looking for my aunt. I think her office is up here.” He nods his head up the steps.
“Oh, who’s your aunt?” We start heading upstairs as I try my best to act unaffected by his good looks and charm.
“Melinda Jones.”
I nearly choke as I realize he’s Ms. Jones’—my boss—nephew.
“Oh, um…her office is upstairs to the left. I was just headed there, actually.”
“I had no idea you worked here,” he states as we climb the steps.
“Yeah, mostly on the weekends, but I fit in a couple shifts during the week when I can in between classes.”
“How do you like it?”
“Oh, I absolutely love it. I nearly work every day in the summer.”
“I bet you enjoy that.” His lips part, and I trip on the step in front of me. “You okay?”
“Fine,” I insist, quickly recovering by grabbing the railing. “Damn stairs came out of nowhere.”
He snorts. “They do that sometimes.”
I lower my head to hide the stupid grin on my face as we walk the short hallway to Ms. Jones office. I knock on the door, and seconds later, she whips it open and squeals as she sees Morgan next to me. “Finally!” She wraps her arms around him as best she can, but considering he’s well over six feet tall with a solid chest and arms, she actually struggles with getting her arms around him.
I stand awkwardly as I watch them, wondering if I should even be standing in the middle of it all. I glance at them as they break apart, her smile wide and excited. “I’m so glad we can see each other more often now that you’re living back home.”
“Me too.”
Back home? I think to myself, wondering where he’s been and for how long, but I keep my mouth shut until Ms. Jones looks in my direction and finally acknowledges me. “Aspen! Great, you’re here. This is my nephew, Morgan. Morgan, this is…”
“Aspen.” I turn slightly and glance at him as he cuts her off. The way he says my name is so smooth and hoarse at the same time, which actually makes no sense at all, but somehow, it does.
“Oh, great! You’ve had a chance to meet.” Her eyes light up again. “I have a phone conference in about two minutes, so Aspen, be a dear and give Morgan the grand tour. I’d do it myself, but I can’t get out this godforsaken waste-of-my-time meeting.”
“Oh, okay,” I say breathlessly.
“She doesn’t have to, Aunt Mel. I mean—” He turns and glances at me. “I don’t want to be a burden.”
“Are you kidding?” She nearly gasps. “Aspen loves giving tours! And she’s the best at it.” She winks at me, and I secretly wonder if she knows something I don’t know.
I hadn’t even told Kendall about him. She knows I have a night course this semester, but I haven’t brought up the fact that I want to take the professor home and do very, very bad things to him. Bad and inappropriate things.
However, inappropriate just went up about ten notches.
“Yeah, it’s no problem. My group canceled, and I’m free for the next two hours.” I smile at Ms. Jones, avoiding eye contact with Morgan because I don’t want her to get suspicious.
“Sounds good.” He turns toward me and grins. “Lead the way.”
“Where would you like to start?” I ask as we walk back down the staircase.
“Hmm…what’s your favorite exhibit at the gallery?”
“That’d be the Fashion Faire.” I smile with a shrug. “I’m a sucker for historic fashion trends.”
“Really?” His eyes narrow suspiciously. “I would’ve pegged you as more of a Paris Fashion Week guru,” he says, lowering his eyes down to my flats that I wear at work, but I know he noticed my heels in class.
“Well…a girl can love both,” I say matter-of-factly, biting my lip to keep from smiling. “And I’m pretty concerned that you even know about fashion week.”
He flashes that deep-dimpled smile, and it takes all my willpower to look away to avoid the flutters that are sure to surface if he continues looking at me like that.
I take him through the exhibit and point out my favorites. I can tell he’s bored of my fashion vocabulary, so I breeze through them without making him suffer for long.
“Okay, so maybe we shouldn’t have started there,” I say, laughing.
“I’m really starting to doubt your tour guide skills, Aspen.”
I roll my eyes. “I haven’t had any complaints.”
“I bet not,” he murmurs so I almost don’t hear him.
“Well, since it’s been awhile since you’ve been here, you should see the local student exhibit. It’s a collaboration of the high schools and colleges around here.”
“Would love to.”
We walk side by side down the hall as I lead him toward the exhibit that’s on the other side of the gallery.
“So much has changed since I was here last.” His eyes gaze around, taking in all the new features that have been added and remodeled in the last few years.
“Oh, yeah? How long has it been?”
His features tense as he faces me. “Five years.”
“Wow…That’s a long time to be away from home.”
“Sometimes it feels like it’s been a long time. Other times it feels like it hasn’t been long at all.”
“I know exactly how that feels,” I say matter-of-factly. “I’ve been avoiding going back home ever since I left.”
His lips curl up slightly, showing off those impressive dimples again. “Sounds like we’ve both been running from home.”
I smile at the truth in his words, his voice so somber and hoarse. “I guess so.”
We step into the student section of the gallery, his eyes bouncing from wall to wall.
"Are those…Ariel Rose Collection paintings?” he asks, narrowing his eyes as he studies the three paintings on the wall.
"Yes." My heart skips a beat at the mention of her name. I called her Ari, but naming them the Ariel Rose Collection felt more like a tribute to her. "How'd you know?"
He's still staring at them, mesmerized, as he takes a couple steps toward them. "She has a very distinctive style. Raw, dark, edgy. Gothic. The abstracts are so emotional, it’s impossible to not be affected by them.” He pauses a moment, collecting himself. “I would recognize her work anywhere." I'm stunned silent, feeling a little awkward at the fact that he knows her work. Rather, my work. “She's a student?” He turns and asks.
"Uh, she was,” I stammer, nodding. “Couple years ago,” I lie. “You like that style?” I shouldn't ask questions, but I can’t help myself. Even though it’s the exact reason I use a pseudonym, I can’t fight the feeling of excitement beating in my chest at him being a fan of my work—especially since he has no idea it’s me.
He turns and looks at me. “Yeah, I actually have a couple of her paintings that I found at an online shop. I had no idea she was from around here though." He reaches back and rubs his hand on his neck, clearly surprised. I want to ask what he's thinking, why he's so intrigued by her, how he heard about her, but I stop myself before the words escape my throat.
“Yeah, I really like the different way she connects you to the pieces,” I add, trying to sound as casual as possible.
“It’s deep. But there’s a sense of vulnerability to it, too. It’s really breathtaking.”
My breath hitches, my eyes tearing up as I hear the passion and sincerity in his tone. The way he talks about the AR Collection is almost too much, but I swallow back the tears and hold it together.
“Yeah, they’re inspiring,” I say, edging away and hoping he follows me to another part of the exhibit.
“From what I’ve seen so far, Aspen, you have an extremely distinctive style to your pieces, as well.”
I look back at him, puzzled. My cheeks heat, and I hope to God he doesn’t recognize the similarities. �
�You’ve hardly seen any of my work.”
“Well, actually I have.” I raise a brow, intrigued. “I saw a partial of your portfolio before classes started. I wanted to know what kind of students I was getting, being that I was teaching at a new school and all. Not just anyone gets into the art program at CSLA. So once I saw a few of your pieces, I requested for the entire portfolio.” My legs halt in front of him, his intense eyes making it impossible to think straight.
“Why?”
“It’s not every day, or even every year I get a student like you.” His words take me by surprise. I blush, lowering my eyes to avoid his intense ones. I don’t talk about my work to many people. It’s deep and personal, and I prefer to keep it to myself.
“Like what?” I ask softly, unable to drop the subject. We slowly begin walking again, the gallery getting quieter and quieter as we walk to a more vacant area.
“You have similarities in all of your pieces. Almost like a trademark. You use bold and bright colors to accent a dark, painful image.”
He’s right, so I can’t even argue with him. When I paint for the AR Collection, I paint completely raw and free. No expectations. No boundaries. No pressure. But when I paint as me, I only paint the surface of my emotions. I don’t show the extent of the pain or guilt I suffer with inside. I don’t let anyone see that part of me, so I pour it into my AR paintings.
“In fact, when I first saw you, I almost didn’t believe the artist behind those paintings and the girl in my classroom were the same person.” I notice we’ve gotten closer somehow, almost touching.
My lips curl up slightly, intrigued. “What do you mean?”
“Well, you walked into my classroom with your curve-hugging shirts, tight, dark skinny jeans, and leopard print fuck-me heels. It’s not hard to miss considering none of my other students have ever shown up to class dressed like that.”
His eyes stay fixed on mine, so deep that it feels as if he’s looking into my soul. I can feel how hot my body is, heating more and more with every noticeable breath he takes.
I shrug, trying to act unaffected. “Perhaps I just have good fashion sense.”
“Perhaps.” He smirks. “Or perhaps it’s a cover up. You’re guarding what’s really inside with an outside distraction.”
My mouth tenses at how blunt and forward he’s being. I distract him? I don’t care how my body and heart reacts to him. I don’t give that part of me to anyone. “You don’t know anything about me.”
His stare remains intense. “I just might know more than you think.”
Before I can ask what he means by that, we’re interrupted by Kendall. “Oh, I didn’t know we were giving one-on-one tours now,” she teases with a flirty tone. We quickly part from each other, putting much-needed space between us to relieve the evident tension that’s there. “Not that I really blame you.” She gives him an obvious once-over and winks at me.
“Kendall,” I say with a sharp edge in my tone and grit my teeth. “This is Morgan, Ms. Jones’ nephew.” I widen my eyes at her so she stops undressing him with her eyes. “He’s also my Advanced Art professor twice a week.”
“Oh!” She stands up straighter as if that changes everything. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She extends her hand to shake his, and I have to fight back a laugh at how formal she’s acting.
He takes her hand in his and shakes it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, as well.”
“Kendall lives down the hall from me and goes to CSLA, too,” I explain. “And she works here.” I nod awkwardly before adding, “Apparently, she can’t get enough of me.”
He laughs and then the three of us continue standing there in uncomfortable silence.
“Well, I better get going. I only have a few minutes of my break left.” Kendall gives me a wide-eyed look that I know translates into an ‘oh my god’ and ‘you better tell me everything later,’ and then waves to Morgan. “Nice meeting you!” Once she’s out of view, I close my eyes and sigh.
“She seems nice,” Morgan draws out.
I burst out laughing at his attempt to break the tension. “Yeah, she is. Obnoxious and loud at times, but she’s a good friend.”
He turns back toward the pieces we were just looking at. “So why aren’t any of your pieces in here? I’m sure Aunt Mel would give you a prime spot.” I can hear the sincerity in his tone, which I can’t blame him, considering I work here and most people would jump at the opportunity, but I could never explain my real reason for keeping them to myself.
“I’m a little more reserved when it comes to showing off my work.”
“It’d be great exposure and look great on grad school applications. Not to mention, your pieces are one-of-a-kind. I’m sure people would love them. You wouldn’t have to tell people they’re yours during your tours, but at least you’d get to see their expressions when they look.”
I purse my lips together, swallowing down the guilt and pain from keeping the secret of my sister’s death. “Maybe. I’ll think about it.”
He smiles in return, content with my answer for now. It’s a complete lie, but at least it’ll keep him from asking more questions.
We continue the tour, looking through the rest of the exhibits. By the time we round back to the where we first started, I’m starving.
“Thank you,” he says genuinely, facing me and almost blocking me in near the staircase.
“Sure.”
“No, I mean it. You’re a really great guide. Entertaining even.” His lips crack into a smile, a small rumble of laughter escapes his throat as we face each other chest to chest.
“Well, I’m glad to have thoroughly entertained you then.”
“So have you thought about it yet?” He lifts his brows and my heart beats faster.
“Thought about what?”
“Putting some of your pieces in the student section here?”
I bite the inside of my cheek, covering up the anxiety that’s brewing inside. “You mean since you asked me thirty minutes ago?” A sly smile forms on my face at his eagerness.
“Yes. Figured it couldn’t hurt to ask again.” His flirty tone makes it hard to stay sincere, but I won’t let that part of my life slip out.
“No, I don’t think so. Not really my thing.” I try and brush it off, but I see the questions spinning around in his mind.
It’s not a complete lie. I really don’t have any intention of putting my pieces out there as me.
“That’s a shame, Aspen. Like I said before, it would look impressive on your grad school applications.” He drawls out my name, seducing me with his eyes and voice, making it hard to remember that he’s off limits.
Remember that I’m supposed to be off limits.
“Oh, Aspen! Morgan!” We both turn at the sound of Ms. Jones’ voice. She grabs his arm and pulls him down, connecting her lips to his cheeks. “How was the tour?”
“It was great, Aunt Mel. Aspen really knows her stuff.” He looks back at me and winks. “It’s stunning.”
“Oh, I knew you’d love it! I’m so happy you moved back!” she squeals. “Look, I was just about to grab some lunch. Wanna join me?”
“Oh, um…sure.” He glances in my direction.
“I have another tour actually, so I better get going.” I take an awkward step back, distancing myself.
“Well, thank you so much for taking him around.”
“Anytime.” I smile and walk away, feeling like I should change my panties before my next tour.
CHAPTER FIVE
ASPEN
I try to block thoughts of Professor Hampton out of my head, but after seeing him at the gallery, it’s all I’ve been able to focus on. I end up walking into the wrong classroom for my Monday morning course and even lock myself out of my apartment. I called the landlord, but of course, he didn’t answer or return my calls. I decided to wait outside of Kendall and Zoe’s apartment until one of them gets home since we exchanged spare keys months ago. But even sitting and waiting in the hallway for one of them
to show, he consumes my thoughts completely.
I know nothing good can come from this fascination I feel for him. This is the exact reason I keep my distance in the first place and get involved with guys that mean nothing to me, but he’s making it really hard to stay away.
If my past has taught me anything, it’s to not get attached. I don’t talk about my past or why I prefer to live alone. Kendall’s asked me a million times why I don’t have a roommate or why I don’t date exclusively. I just give her or anyone else that asks a vague explanation—I prefer to paint and work alone, and I don’t need the distraction of a relationship right now. It seems to work most of the time, but Kendall has tried to dig for more to which I just brush it off and change the subject. Although I have told her bits and pieces of my past, including parts of Ariel, it’s all she knows. No one besides me knows the whole story.
And if I’ve learned anything from this past week—guys are definitely a distraction.
Then today I got stuck staying later than usual for my shift at the gallery, and now I’m running so damn late for Professor Hampton’s class. Once I finally got off work, I ran home to grab my school bag and change clothes. However, I spent much more time than necessary trying to pick out an outfit.
After circling the parking lot searching for a spot and being unsuccessful, I give up and park on the street. I sigh and grab my bag just as it starts sprinkling out. It’s a longer walk, so I dig through my trunk for my umbrella, but it’s not in there.
Great.
I look up and see the dark clouds moving in. I beg them not to rain just yet. Just wait, I plead. I slam my trunk down and begin walking. I pull my sweater tighter against my chest and keep my head low.
I’m about half way there when the skies unleash, drenching me in a matter of seconds. Son-of-a-bitch. I try to walk faster, but it’s no use. I’m completely soaked.
I grab the railing to the staircase that leads to the LAB building. As soon as I take the first step, my heel slips against the wet cement, and I’m mere milliseconds from face planting.
An arm catches me from the side, wrapping around my waist and pulling me up before I can even comprehend someone is at my side. I notice the rain has stopped pouring over me, giving me the opportunity to stable myself. Once both feet are firmly on the ground, I inhale deeply, feeling relief.
Pushing the Limits: A Student/Teacher Romance Page 6