Shy (18+)

le temps de l'amour

When I opened my eyes, I realized one of two things. The first was that my head was splitting, and the second was that the bed I was in was not my own. I groaned and sat up with confusion, trying to make sense of where I was as I rubbed my throbbing temple.

I found myself twisted in satin black sheets in a room that looked like a spread from a magazine.

It was huge with high ceilings and delicate crown molding. There was a desk in the corner with an expensive looking typewriter and antique chair, stacks of books as tall as me and a disorganized array of papers cluttering up the space. I looked at the bedside table and found a silver tray with a pitcher of water, a tall glass and a bottle of aspirin.

I lunged for the pitcher like I'd been lost for days in the sahara desert. The terrible taste in my mouth ebbed a bit and I sighed.

Alright. What the hell happened last night?

I bit my lip, going through all the possible scenarios and scanning the blank gaps in my memory.

So, you got completely black out wasted and now you're in someone's bedroom. I groaned and lifted the covers off me to look at my body. I was dressed in the same clothes as last night, though my knees were scraped and bruised

I suddenly remembered stumbling around and falling into bushes, so there's that. I gasped as murky memories of Mr. Auclair and the interior of his car came into focus. That was the extent of what I could remember however and I looked down to see my shoes sitting carefully beside the door, my knee high socks folded carefully inside the soles.

I certainly hadn't been aware enough to do that and the thought made me flush with mortification.

Mr. Auclair took off my socks.

I'm in his bed.

I had no idea what happened in it.

I briefly considered the fact that we might have had sex but I highly doubted it. Firstly because I was very sure that Mr. Auclair would never have crossed that line with one of his students - and if he did, it wouldn't be me.

Secondly because if we had, I was certain I'd be able to feel it the next day.

I put on my socks and shoes and made my way downstairs, smelling bacon and fresh brewed coffee. I peeked around the wall to glance into the kitchen.

There he was. All six foot four of him, his hair mused and sexy, sticking up a little in the back. He was wearing his glasses, sweats and a thin t-shirt. His back muscles were so taut I wanting to dig my nails into them.

Holy shit.

"Oh good, you're awake." He smiled and I pretended for a half second that I was his girlfriend and we had just spent the night together having hot, sweaty sex. Now he was making me eggs. All was right with the world and in just a second he was going to kiss me good morning.

I almost laughed at myself. Get it together Shy!

"Uh... yeah. Mr. Auclair . . . what am I doing here exactly?"

He took a sip of coffee and then answered. "You don't remember?"

"I don't remember anything - I mean, aside from trying to walk home and then getting strapped into your car."

"I found you collapsed outside of the english department. You were intoxicated and I stopped to ask if you'd like me to drive you home. You passed out before I could ask for your address. I was about to take you to the hospital but opted not to, considering the fact that drinking underage could get you into a fair bit of trouble. So i took you home. I understand that it's a little inappropriate and assure you I've been nothing but a perfect gentleman. I slept on the couch."