Teaching Roman

by Geneva Lee

  “What would you prefer? Screw? Bang? Make love?” She fluttered her eyelashes. “Because to get technical, you want him to insert his C into your V.”

  Despite myself, I laughed. The tears started to dry, tightening the skin on my cheeks. The combination made me feel tired. “None of the above.”

  “But you broke-up with Brett, and I want a size report. What’s Professor Markson packing under those khakis? Inquiring minds want to know.”

  “Things are complicated with Brett.” It was clear from his texts that he regretted calling things off, but the further I got geographically from him, the more certain I was that I could never marry him.

  I wanted to remind her that neither of us should be jumping into a new relationship yet, even if it was just a fling. But Cassie was distracted by the thought of Roman and me. It was giving her something else to concentrate on besides how bad Trevor had screwed up. Her reaction to Trevor's infidelity had been fairly mild so far—by Cassie standards—and I wasn't sure that I wanted to see what would happen if I riled her up. She was scary when she was angry. Besides, we were in Mexico and I wanted her to enjoy herself. We could have eaten ice cream and stayed in our pajamas in Olympic Falls.

  “I think you're missing out on a golden opportunity,” Cassie said.

  “I will keep that in mind,” I said. Even if she was delusional, Cassie had managed to cheer me up without my realizing she was doing it. All because she had brought up Roman. I wasn't about to tell her that though. She'd never let go of the idea of us getting together if she knew that the mention of his name was enough to put a smile on my face. Of course if I was being honest, it did a lot more than that.

  Cassie stood and grabbed my hands, pulling me up to my feet. “I don't know why you're so against it.”

  “Because it's against the rules,” I said.

  “What rules? You aren't his student,” she said.

  “I'm pretty sure there are rules about this.”

  “I'm pretty sure you're making up excuses to prevent me from finding out what Roman is like in bed.”

  “You're single. Why don't you nail him?” I asked, but as soon as the glib remark slipped past my lips I wished I could take it back. It was exactly the kind of thing I was hoping to avoid.

  Good job, Jess.

  Cassie turned away like I had slapped her in the face. Her fingers clutched the tattoo on her opposite wrist. I'd managed to remind her that she was single, which had make her think of Trevor, just so I could avoid the topic of Roman. Suckiest best friend ever.

  “I'm sorry,” I said, but as I reached out to hug her, she took off for her room.

  “I need to unpack,” she said without another glance at me, but her voice cracked with tears. “I’ll leave some clothes on your bed.”

  I considered going after her, but I knew she didn't want to talk. She wasn't usually the type to run off and avoid people. That was more Jillian’s or my style. Cassie liked to call you out when you were being an asshole—and I was being a first-class asshole by her standards. If she needed space, the least I could do was give it to her.

  Instead of knocking on her door and trying to reason with her, I focused on acquainting myself with the villa. I couldn't imagine how much it cost to stay here. Cassie had five star taste, so it was no surprise this place dripped with modern luxury. It had two bedrooms linked by a small sitting room and kitchenette. Everything was minimal and modern. Stainless steel appliances set into white European-style cabinetry. Low, tapered couches faced each other in the living room with a carved driftwood coffee table nestled between them. The walls and furniture were white as well. Blue pillows and rugs accented the pale decor.

  There was a bank of floor to ceiling windows merged seamlessly with a glass door that opened onto a patio overlooking a sandy beach. We had an ocean in Olympic Falls, but not like this. It might have been cooler if I wasn't terrified of the water, but I was willing to bet the sand outside my door was soft and hot. I'd grown used to the rocky shorelines of Washington, but I had no desire to have a thousand pebbles under my ass, so I mostly studied indoors at Olympic State. Tomorrow I might dare to venture out into the sun to read.

  I hadn't even bothered to check out my own room since I had no bags to drop off. Wandering into it, I noted that I had a rather plush king-sized bed which was a huge upgrade from my double back home. Not that I needed much space since I was sleeping alone. The walls were painted in the same creamy white, and sheer curtains hung along my windows. Walking over to them, I pushed one open. The salt of the ocean greeted me and I breathed it in as the rhythm of waves echoed in the room. I loved the idea of the ocean even if I was too scared to go in it. But the sound of the crashing waves was calming, and considering my recent meltdown followed by my screw up with Cassie, I decided to leave the window open in an effort to relax. I picked up one of the pillows, thinking a nap was in order just as I caught sight of the bathroom.

  It was irresponsibly fancy. Most of my hotel stays had been at the Holiday Inn, so I usually considered a curved shower rod an upgrade. This was in a whole other league. The floor was covered in tiny, glassy-blue tiles that shimmered in the light. But what was most impressive was the deep, two-person tub in the center of the room. It looked like a modern claw-foot tub without the claws. And I had it all to myself. I ignored the tiny pang at the thought. Maybe having a two-person tub to myself was kinda sad. Maybe I could get Cassie to join me in a bubble bath once she had forgiven me. On the other side of the bathroom there was a large walk-in rain-shower. Also obviously built for two. It was official. I was in the most romantic place on Earth, and I was single. There was only one thing to do. I'd traveled across the country, made it through customs, been robbed, ran into the teacher I was crushing on, and pissed off my best friend. A shower seemed like a pretty damn good idea.

  Tugging off the only clothes I had to my name for the next week, I turned on the shower head and waited for the water to turn warm. Catching sight of myself in the mirror, I groaned. I was too skinny. Jillian was always complaining about her C-cups, but staring at my Bs-on-a-good-day, I wished for her curves. My blonde hair was a tangled mess from traveling and I didn't even have a comb to brush it out. Cassie told me I had sexy beach hair once, but I would have traded mine for her slick, black hair in a second. I was pale and blonde and thin which was enough for most people to consider me pretty, but I wasn't going to be winning any beauty pageants. It was a cruel joke that the best place in the world to relax—the bathroom with its showers and bathtubs—always included a goddamn mirror to make you self-conscious about getting naked.

  A quick check revealed that the water was somewhere between comfortable and third-degree-burns hot which was exactly how I liked it. I stepped in and let it stream through my hair. It beaded on my skin and as I unwrapped the complimentary bar of soap, Roman darted into my mind.

  It wasn't exactly the first time I’d thought about him outside the classroom, but I'd never been naked before when I did. And in those other moments, he looked like Roman the graduate instructor with his button-downs and loafers. The Roman currently infiltrating my thoughts wore low-slung jeans and a fitted T-shirt. He didn't have the carefully controlled hair or the briefcase. I bit my lip as I imagined slinging my fingers into the waistband of his jeans and pulling him toward me. Usually Cassie had a better imagination than me, but I had no problem picturing what was inside his pants or under his shirt. I'd seen the outline of his six-pack on the plane today and I didn't doubt the rest of him was similarly ripped and…prominent.

  I lathered my body and rinsed it off. What would it be like to be here with him? How would it feel to have him pressed hard against me? The more I thought about it the more intense the pulse grew between my legs until my fingers slipped down and found the spot that was calling for my attention. My fingers rubbed appeasing circles as I imagined Roman's lips on mine and the feel of his chest against my breasts. After what he was wearing today, I knew he worked out. If he wanted to, he could lift me
against the glass door of the shower and press his hot...

  “You finding everything you need in there,” Cassie said from the doorway.

  I jumped, clutching my chest.

  “It's called knocking!” I yelled, water trickling down my forehead and stinging my eyes.

  “You left the door open,” she said.

  “The shower was running.”

  “So? I've seen you naked before,” she reminded me.

  I couldn’t see her between the water in my eyes and the steam lingering in the room, but I could hear the smug grin in her voice. “When you're done flicking the bean, can we go to dinner? I'm starving.”

  “I'll be out in a minute,” I said through gritted teeth. At least she’s talking to me again. I only had to embarrass myself to break the tension.

  Cassie left, laughing, and I fell back against the tile. Embarrassing didn't quite cover that. Mortifying. Humiliating. I'd need a thesaurus before I found the word that best described what had just happened. A few minutes later, I trudged reluctantly into the living room, wrapped in a fluffy, white towel. Try as I might, I couldn't bring myself to meet Cassie's eyes.

  “All clean, dirty girl?” she asked me.

  “Shut up.”

  “Are you ready to eat? We need food and booze,” she said, “and batteries.”

  I frowned. “What on earth do we need batteries for?”

  “I thought I would loan you my vibrator. It seems like you need it more than I do.”

  “Oh my god,” I said, shaking my head. “You're the one who walked in on me. You should be at least as embarrassed as I am.”

  “And yet, I'm not.” Cassie flashed me a wide smile. “Or maybe I should just call Roman to help you out.”

  My cheeks reddened immediately. Probably since he'd been on my mind when she'd caught me living out my personal fantasy in the shower.

  “It's really nothing to be embarrassed about,” she said. “Everyone does it.”

  “Can I borrow something to wear?” I asked, eager to change the subject.

  “Shit, I forgot.” Cassie skipped back to her room and came out with a stack of clothes. The tiny red bikini on top.

  “All of this?”

  “Yours,” she said. “I over packed. Look, I'm sorry if I flipped out earlier. You're right. I should drop the joking about Roman.”

  “But you aren't going to?” I guessed.

  “Oh, hell no, but I’ll keep in mind that I might piss you off if I do.”

  “I’m sorry, too,” I said. “I overreacted.”

  “No, you didn’t. I just…don’t like Brett.”

  Part of me wanted to pour my heart out to her. I wanted to tell her that Brett asked me to marry him and I wished he’d never asked and I could go back to my safe, boring life where I wasn’t masturbating in the shower at the thought of my off-limits professor. But I’d already stuck my foot in it once. I wasn’t sure how Cassie would react to finding out Brett had proposed to me on the night that Trevor had cheated on her.

  Instead I said, “Noted.”

  “Get dressed.” Cassie swatted my ass. “I’m starving and I want a drink.”

  That made two of us.

  Chapter Seven

  Apparently, Cassie was going to drink away her memories of Trevor. Cassie's dinner consisted of a bit of rice and three margaritas. Now it was up to me to find somewhere to purchase necessities while keeping her upright, which was proving to be no easy feat. Deciding to venture down the block to find a convenience store to stock up on what Cassie called the “essentials,” we traipsed down the street, following the directions of the concierge. Basically we were making a booze run, but Cassie was too classy to call it that. The nearby bodega was packed with tourist essentials, and there was wine and a toothbrush. Score.

  “How many nights are we here?” Cassie asked. “Six? So we need what, twenty bottles?”

  “I think your math is a little drunk,” I said, taking a bottle out of her hands before she fell on it.

  “One more moscato?”

  “Fine.” I grabbed a bottle off the shelf and placed it in our basket, which already felt like it was going to rip my arm off.

  “Let me pay,” I told her. Trevor's credit card had seen enough damage. I shooed her outside before she tried to whip it out anyway.

  A minute later, our necessities were purchased and I ducked out the door as my phone buzzed in my pocket. There were texts from Jillian and Brett. I ignored Brett's, because it stank of desperation and included a short bullet point list of all the reasons why “our break” was totally unfair to him. Scrolling down, I read Jillian's text and smiled.

  JILLIAN: You aren't going to believe what Tara told me she got Liam for Christmas. Deets later.

  I could imagine what Tara thought was an appropriate gift for her daughter's boyfriend based on years of Jillian's own Christmas presents. One year she'd given her a self-help book on coping with life-altering illness. Nothing says happy holidays like a reminder that you’ve got early onset Parkinson’s. A twinge of guilt rocketed through me. Maybe we should have gone with her to California. There was safety in numbers, but if Liam couldn’t protect her, what could I do? I texted her back to say we'd call her tomorrow and when I looked up, Cassie was nowhere to be seen.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  I'd lost track of Cassie. Strike that. I'd lost track of a drunk and angry Cassie. This could spell the end of times.

  Darting around the corner, bags clutched desperately against my hips, I searched the next street for her with no luck. I'd only been distracted for a minute. How far could she have gotten?

  I walked another block, but she was nowhere to be seen. Most of the shops were closed and the only other people out were American tourists.

  “Loca!” The exclamation was followed by a stream of angry Spanish. Cassie couldn’t be too far.

  I sprinted in the direction of the cry and discovered Cassie ripping apart a copy of what looked to be a Spanish bridal magazine.

  “No,” she said, tearing off the cover and stomping on it. “I don't want to plan the wedding of my dreams!”

  “Cassie,” I said. “Come on, honey. You don't want to do this.”

  “Yes, I do.” She spit on the now destroyed magazine for good measure.

  “I think it learned its lesson.” I tugged her arm, trying to drag her away but she lunged for another one.

  “I don’t care about the Royal baby either!” She ripped the cover photo of the smiling mother-to-be in half. This was arguable considering she’d made me watch the royal wedding and all the follow-up reports. Hell hath no fury and all that jazz.

  Behind me the operator of the newsstand unleashed another torrent of Spanish I couldn’t begin to keep up with—but I did understand the word policía. I held up my hands and shook my head, struggling to remember any of my high school Spanish. He gestured around the street, and I realized Cassie had gone on a spree. Dozens of magazine pages littered the sidewalk in front of the stand. She might not actually speak Spanish but she’d managed to destroy every magazine that hinted at love or couples or happiness.

  “Cassie, give me your purse,” I said, but she ignored me, so I snatched it off her shoulder.

  “Hey!” She grabbed for it, but I held her back.

  I held up a finger. “Do not test me right now.”

  Cassie was going to get her ass thrown in Mexican jail. Hell, she was probably going to get both of our asses thrown in jail. Pulling out the credit card I waved it at the shop owner.

  “Para,” I said, pointing to the damage.

  His grimace sank further and he slapped a small sign that hung near him.

  Únicamente efectivo.

  I couldn’t read that, but I could read the translation scrawled below it. Cash only.

  Crap. Digging through Cassie’s wallet turned up a few pesos, a condom, and some business cards. Of course, that’s all she would be carrying on her right now.

  I offered the man the pesos, and he laug
hed.

  “Mil pesos,” he said. “One thousand.”

  I shook my head that I didn’t have it and he produced a cell phone. “Policía.”

  “No! No! No! Un…minute,” I said, resolving on the spot to buy Spanish language software as soon as I got back to Olympic Falls. If I ever managed to get back there. I couldn’t help but think I might wind up wasting away here. Scrambling into my own bag, I searched until I found Roman’s business card and dialed his number before I could think better of it. He was the only person I knew here besides the concierge, and he seemed more likely to help us out.

  It rang twice before he picked up. “Hello?”

  “Oh thank god,” I said.

  “Jess?” He sounded confused, like he’d been in the middle of something. Maybe he’d been on a date or out with friends.

  I reminded myself that I didn’t have any other options and launched into my problem. “I’m so sorry to call you like this, but I don’t know what else to do and Cassie’s going to wind up in Mexican prison and possibly me too—”

  “Slow down,” Roman said. “Where are you?”

  I looked up and repeated the cross streets to him as best as I could read them.

  “I’ll be there in ten minutes,” he promised.

  “Roman,” I said before he could hang up, “can you bring a thousand pesos?”

  Roman arrived in a pair of white linen pants and a gray T-shirt, confirming my fear that I’d interrupted his evening. He’d clearly been relaxing, and now he had to deal with two former students. But his casual attire coupled with his perfect body made him look more like a movie star than anyone had a right to, especially a teacher. There was a confidence to his walk, and he flashed me a quick smile as he began speaking in swift Spanish to the shop owner.

  “He says he’s going to call the police if the damaged magazines aren’t paid for,” Roman explained.