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C7 Seven

I walk into room 219 with my expertly written response to sonnet 18 already in my hand. I saunter up to the front desk where Thomas is busy marking up some noticeably long winded papers with a stereotypical red pen.

I hate those essays. You know, the kind that are like "I think sonnet 18 is really good because it shows how much the guy loves her. It is good because you don't see that much anymore. I love the way it is written, and I think old English is really cool..."

It's enough to make me throw up my breakfast just thinking about such disrespect to the written word.

"Hot off the press, Professor," I say with a smirk as I lay my work down on a bare spot amidst the clutter. It's the third day of class and Thomas is already a disheveled mess.

That must be a huge down side of being an English teacher. There's no grading rubric or cheat sheet. You have to sit and grade every single paper word for word as it's handed to you, no matter how garbage it may be.

My poor, sweet, Professor.

"Good morning Sophia." Thomas says as he leans back in his seat to take a break. "I look forward to reading this, honestly I could use a break from all of my less... able students," Thomas compliments me with a cheeky grin and I try to subdue the pink forming on my cheeks.

He looks up with me with those smoldering blue eyes and I feel my knees grow wobbly. I brace myself as nonchalantly as possible against his sturdy wooden desk to keep from toppling over.

He eyed me for a moment and I wonder if he's remembering our kiss. I'm remembering something much more erotic on my end.

I scan his entire beautiful form with hungry eyes, not having forgotten what happened two days ago.

If he only knew.

I devour the suit clad form in front of me. His hair is styled with a flexible but rigid sense of maturity and he smells strongly of aftershave. If I were a braver woman I'd demand he cancel class and take me right here in his desk.

Unfortunately, I am not brave. I lean off of the desk and pull the sleeves of my hoodie over my hands almost as a subtle form of self defense.

"I took my time with it, I expect nothing less than an A+," I joke with a simple smile that's returned immediately by Thomas.

"And I'm certain you Will receive your A+, Sophia."

Is it just me or is he in a really good mood?

I go and take the same seat as Monday and wrap my arms around myself in lonely contemplation.

I have these urges that I keep locked away deep inside. They manifest when I'm writing but usually never anytime else. I pour my lustful ambitions onto blank white pages because I know that if I didn't I would do something incredibly immoral.

Like masturbating to your professors voice?

I silently berate myself and can feel my face contort in delayed embarrassment.

My body has always ached for something beyond that of a simple young mans touch. I ache for knowledge and experience. I yearn for wisdom and maturity that I haven't found in anyone but Professor Thomas Crane in all of my years of searching.

I look over at him again as he's steady grading papers, oblivious to my internal turmoil. I remember the first time I saw him a year ago. He had fresh eyes and shorter hair than he does now. I walked into his classroom and felt my heart skid to a stop behind my tender rib cage.

He was a vision of perfection and I knew from that moment on I'd never recover. I was early of course and he greeted me, shaking my small hand. I could hardly speak and I remember I just started rambling off facts about Edgar Allen Poe that no one would ever care to know because I saw a poster on the wall.

As if my heart hadn't already been torn asunder, Thomas did care. In fact we ended up having a long talk about "The Raven" and it's deeper meanings. I could tell in those short moments that he could understand me where others seldom could.

The tapping of shoes on hard wood pulls me out of my flash back as students start meandering their way to their seats.

I absentmindedly twirl a piece of hair between my fingers until my attentions are pulled to a very tall and masculine figure walking towards me.

"Good morning, Sophia." Michael greets me with a dashing white smile, almost making my body swoon.

Almost.

"Good morning, Mikey, "I say, mocking Fiona from the day before.

Michael scrunches his face up as he takes the seat to my left.

"Fiona is a bit weird, isn't she?" He asks.

You have no idea! I want to respond but that would be rude so I just shrug. "Let's just say she's an acquired taste." Like pickles and chocolate, I joke to myself.

"Look, I know she was obviously trying to force you to go out with me but if you don't want to I understand," Michael looks at me with sincere green eyes and I can feel something inside of me soften.

"You said you have a lot going on right now and I want to respect -"

"No," I interrupt suddenly. "It's fine, I'd love for you to come.“

Something aches in the back of my head but I ignore it.

This isn't wrong, I'm aloud to see movies with friends. That's all this is.

A huge smile appears on Michaels lips and he nods softly, trying to hide his adorable boyish excitement. "Then I can't wait," he manages to reply before the sickeningly handsome voice of Thomas Crane cuts our conversation short.

"Good morning class, you may now pass your completed responses Forward."

I write my number on a piece of notebook paper and hand it to Michael who shoves it gingerly into his tight denim jean pocket.

"I'll text you when I get out of practice tonight if that's Alright?" He asks me and I tind myself picturing him in those super form fitting football uniform pants.

Oh wow what's happening?"

"Yeah, that sounds good. I hope you do really well," I say, only half paying attention because I'm too busy wondering why the hell I had that thought about him.

"Well, I should do well. I'm the QB after all."

Wait, what did he just say?

"You're the quarterback?" I ask in disbelief.

"Yeah, I'm surprised you didn't already know," he adds with a cocky grin as though he already knows he's a big deal.

"Apparently I'm too lame to even recognize school royalty, I apologize," I say in an attempt to recover my image.

"Don't worry Sophia, It's not your football knowledge that I'm interested in."

Michael winks and walks out of the class room with a confident swagger that I can't help but notice.

I scold myself for momentarily falling for the stereotypical masculine male persona.

You're better than this!

I try to convince myself that my thought is true but before I know it I've been standing awkwardly in front of my desk for about five minutes. The whole room is now empty except for a certain beautiful professor whose hard eyes are looking over at me with distaste.

"I'm sorry, Professor, can I help you?" I ask as I ready myself to walk out.

I see Thomas lock his jaw and squeeze his grip on the edge of his desk even tighter.

"No I'm afraid you can't Sophia." He spits bitterly and I can feel the blood drain from my face. What happened to the chipper man I spoke to an hour ago?

I look on at Thomas with pain etched on my face as he starts walking over to me. He keeps walking right through the distance typical for conversation until his breath is hot in my ear, and his hand is holding me possessively close by my backpack strap.

"I may be helpless Sophia, but I know a bad decision when I see one. And you're making a typical mistake. I thought you were different than them. "

He hisses his words and his breath causes goose bumps to erupt all over my skin.

Them being who? Other girls?

My eyebrows scrunch together and I feel red hot anger building in my lungs.

"Don't talk to me about bad decisions, Thomas." I throw back, saying his name much louder than the rest of my sentence.

As soon as I've spoken I feel Thomas grab my hips and slam my ass into the front of a desk, his hands trapping me on either side.

My heart is beating so loud it's audible and I can't read this look in his eyes.

Why is he acting this way?

He's seems to be barely even human as he presses his strong body against mine. .

Thomas takes his right hand and grabs my face so that I can't look away. I feel helpless as the most intimate eye contact I've ever experienced is forced upon me. He stares at me for several seconds as though he's about to kiss me.

I can see a savage desire about to erupt behind his irises but this time he's sober. His actions are all his own.

He gets so close that I can almost taste him and our lips brush ever so slightly but then he leans back and rubs his chin in aggravated thought.

"You should go." He says with regret and anger lacing his words.

Without looking back I push My way past Thomas and exit his class room.

Maybe I am ready for a date.

***

"Yeah, and then he told me to leave, can you believe that?" I speak into the receiving end of my cell phone while I stand in line for coffee.

Fiona is on the other end just as livid as I am. "You know what he is? A big jealous man child. You don't need that, Soph. We're gonna go on this date and Mikey is going to sweep you off of your feet, I just know it."

I roll my eyes even though she can't see me. Thomas may be acting a bit obscure but it's not enough to throw in the towel just yet.

I ignore her suggestion and change the subject.

"Speaking of our date. Who are you going to bring?" I ask.

She groans on her end.

"I don't even know. I haven't really been talking to anyone lately because I've been too busy. I suppose I could just pick some random person off the street like a prostitute or something." I laugh at Fiona as I step up to the register, Clara grinning bright at me.

Then I get an idea.

"Hey Fiona, I'm about to order coffee so I'll call you back, okay?" We say goodbye and hang up and I turn my attention to Clara whose sporting a big friendly smile.

"One soy milk with two sugars coming right up, I already know." Her flirting is rather cheeky today and almost refreshing compared to being shoved into a hard old wooden writing desk.

"Sounds wonderful Clara," I say as a normal response then I try to get out the hard part. "Hey, so I was wondering what you were doing this Friday?" I say a little too quickly, my rushed voice and nervousness working against me because I see Clara's eyes light up with pure excitement.

Oh no she thinks I just asked her on a date because that's exactly What that sounded like.

"I'm sorry," I say trying to correct myself "it's not a date, or well at least not with me."

I pull my phone out and bring up a picture of Fiona to show to Clara.

"I'm technically going with this football player guy but my best friend is also going and I think you'd really enjoy her company." I show Clara the picture of Fiona and although she seems dejected I can tell she not completely against the idea.

"Yeah I'd love to go, you're friend is really pretty. Thank you for thinking of me."

I give Clara my phone number then go wait for my coffee. Moments later she's dropping off my warm, delicious, life giving bean water.

"I can't wait to spend time with you.. and your friend." She adds as an after thought. It almost seems like there is more to her words than meets the eye but I don't read into too much.

I pull my phone back out and send Fiona a text.

"I hope you still like girls because I got you a date."

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