Rules Are Just A Suggestion {Teacher Love Story}

Rules Are Just A Suggestion Chp. 20

     I spun around and nearly fainted. Mr. Jameson was standing with the door only opened enough for him to lean against the door frame and stick his head out, but I still saw that he was shirtless and wearing a black pair of basketball shorts.

     "What are you doing here?" His voice was drowsy, making it completely obvious that I had just woke him up. "What happened?"

     "Umm," I tried to focus on his face instead of his gorgeous abs that seemed to be calling me for my attention. "I, uh, wanted to talk to you."

     "Now?” He looked at what I could only assume was the alarm clock in his room, “It's three forty in the morning."

     The stupidity feeling washed over me yet again. "Yeah, you're right. Sorry, I'll see you later. It wasn't that important anyway." I turned to leave again.

      I only took three steps when he spoke, "No, wait." His voice made me come to an abrupt halt. "Come on in."

     I walked slowly into his room. It was almost like mine, but instead of three, there was one bed. Another soft click sounded as he shut the door. "What are you doing up so late?" He asked.

     "I couldn't sleep." I muttered.

     He gave me a concerned look then placed his hand on my lower back, almost paralyzing me from the sensation, and led me to the bed. "Sit." So I did. "What did you want to talk about?"

     I chewed my lower lip. "You should sit too, it’s quite a bit."

     He gave me a long look. His eyes traveling from my face, slowly down my tank top, then over my bare legs and feet, then it seemed like he glanced at the full size bed I was currently sitting on. He shook his head and leaned on the dresser across from me. "I'll be fine right here."

     His gaze left my entire body heated and it took me a moment before I could find my use of words. "Are you okay?" It seemed crazy for me to be the one asking him that, considering I was the one knocking on his door at three thirty in the morning. The tables were turned as well, instead of me being asked that annoying question I just found myself asking it.

     He frowned slightly. "What?"

     I shifted nervously. "I mean is something bothering you, giving you any problems?"

     "No, why?" I could tell he was confused by the way his eyebrows were scrunched down and his eyes were shifting from side to side, trying to come up with an answer to my strange questions.

     I felt my cheeks redden as blood was quickly rushing to my face. "Well, um, because at dinner, you kind of ignored me and seemed to have a pained look on your face."

     He looked at me, his eyes seeming more awake. "I had a head ache and you were with your friends. I didn't want to bother you."

     "And yesterday after practice," I continued, "when we had our... moment… on the stage." He looked away as I reminded him, his mouth in a tight line, but I pressed forward. "What happened there?"

     "What do you mean?" His voice was low and he still averted his eyes from mine.

     "You know exactly what I mean." When he remained quiet, I continued. "It seemed like everything was going fine, great actually, but then the next thing I know, I'm on the floor with a bruised butt."

     Although his eyes remained on the wall behind me, the corner of his mouth curled into a smile.

     "So, what happened?" I asked again. "I know you were mad, but why? Is this dance competition too much? Am I that bad of a kisser? Were you not enjoying-?"