Nothing To Lose [A Teacher/Student Love Story]

Nothing To Lose [A Teacher/Student Love Story] 10

We stepped onto the elevator. Mr. Stone reached forward to press the button for level 6. My lucky number. Huh. The elevator silently rose, and when it ding!ed, I quickly followed Mr. Stone to his apartment. He jammed the key into the keyhole and we walked inside.

Mr. Stone’s apartment greatly resembled a run-down library.

For starters, tall, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves with bulky books stacked crookedly against them lined the wall, and where they didn’t, Calculus equation posters did.

Wow, this guy was committed.

“Sorry,” Mr. Stone said, grinning apologetically as we stepped over a stack of the Hunger Games series.

“It’s fine.” I murmured. “But it would be nice if we could see the floor.”

“If I knew you were coming,” he amitted. “I would’ve tidied up a little.”

“Well, that’s good to know, atleast.”

As I lifted a leg over several Nicholas Sparks novels, Mr. Stone’s hand grazed my thigh.

Embarrassed by the sudden accidental contact, I tripped over The Waste Land by T.S. Elliot and landed face-flat on a thick, leather bound hardcover with a painful thud! that probably awakened the neighbors.

“Shoot,” I heard Mr. Stone mutter. “Sorry about that.”

I had yet to figure out if he was talking about his hand accidentally brushing against my thigh or me tripping over a book.

“Here,” he said, and his hand came into my vision. I gratefully took it. He put a hand on my waist, which brought tingles up my spine and I had to resist squirming away, since I didn’t like the idea of my teacher making me tingle. He struggled to pull me up with the magazines and book at my feet, but we managed. I grunted. If Mr. Stone was so rich, couldn’t he afford a bigger apartment with room to store books? This was a freaking health hazard.

I carefully stepped over the remainder of the books and followed Mr. Stone to his bedroom, where—thankfully—no books lay.

“Um,” I said uncomfortably, not getting what we were doing standing here. “Nice bedroom?”

“Oh,” he interjected, as if he were falling out of a trance. He cleared his throat and continued, “Uh, you’ll be sleeping on my bed.”

“…and where will you sleep?” I asked pointedly.

“Well, I could sleep in my brother’s—“

We heard the distant noise of the door slamming shut and then a rather masculine voice exclaiming, “Hey, man! What’s up?”

“Room.” Mr. Stone concluded with a sigh. “Nevermind, then. I guess I’ll be sleeping on the couch.”

A tall, handsome figure made his way easily around the books to us, then seemed to check me out.

“Ouch,” he finally said. “Hot girlfriend, Rick.”

I couldn’t tell if Mr. Stone was ignoring him.

“Ian,” Mr. Stone drawled. “Can I sleep in your bedroom tonight?”

The guy—Ian, I assumed, flashed me grin, then responded to Mr. Stone, “What? You can’t sleep in the same bed as her?” he nodded towards me. “I mean, if she’s your girlfriend, tonight is definitely the opportunity to—“

“Ian!” Mr. Stone hissed, punching him in the shoulder to silence him. “She’s not—“

My cheeks reddened.