Bitter Sweet Blaire: Teacher/Student Romance

Chapter Twenty-Eight

28.

A/N: Sorry guys, nearly two weeks late this time! If it weren't for Elizabeth_Burk, I wouldn't have been so compelled to write this. As it is, I had so much fun with it. So I think you will too!

I was wearing nothing but Christian's jumper and a pathetic excuse for underwear when the doorbell rung that Friday morning.

Emphasis on morning. 8:06. It would be Miranda--she was coming over before double history so I could copy her homework. Slumping out of my bed, I checked myself in the floor-length mirror, figuring the jumper ran long enough to cover my ass. It was only Miranda, she craved any chance she got to check me out. Let her rave.

Luther chased me down the hallway, nibbling on my ankles and nudging my butt with his nose. The house was empty.

She rang the doorbell again.

"Mir, I'm coming!" I bellowed, figgling with the lock on the door until it popped. Swinging the door wide open, and going for a crazy-meets-Blaire (which I should have been able to pull off with my unruly hair). Upon discovering somebody entirely different, I yelped, jumping behind the door. "You're not Miranda."

"I'm going to go ahead and ignore the undertone of disappointment in your voice," Christian said matter-of-factly. He had on his usual charcoal slacks, this time donned with a grey tie. He waved a mug in the air. "I ran out of coffee, and I'm a bit late as it is. Can I trouble you for some?"

I screamed inwardly, tucking myself further behind the door. "Yeah, you know where it is," I told him, holding the door open for him, but remaining hidden behind it. Christian frowned, stepping inside, and only when he disappeared behind the corner of the kitchen did I close the door.

"Are you not going to school today?" he called out from the kitchen. I could hear him removing the lid from the coffee jar and placing it on the bench.

Setting my sights on a pair of Ryan's pyjama pants hanging on the back of the couch, I tiptoed closer. "It's currently under deliberation," I replied, taking my chance and breaking into a sprint towards the artery of clothing.

"Blaire--" he chastised, but was cut off when he stepped out from around the corner, crossing my path. I had just enough time to back pedal, reducing the collision significantly. The cup dropped out of Christian's hands, as he used them to grab onto my wrist, keeping me upright. I had enough sense in me to recoil, narrowly escaping the broken mug and all its contents.

I was too distracted by my clothing predicament to worry about the mess on the floor. Backing away slowly, so as not to draw attention to myself, I refrained from uttering the remark that came to mind--if I spoke he'd look up. Christian was polite, and eye contact was the epitome of politeness.

"Blaire, why were you running in--" He'd knelt down and begun investigating the damage, gathering the broken limbs of the mug; when he shifted his gaze to me, realising I'd been trying to make a break for it and the reason why. Subconscious, my hands immediately grasped onto the hem of the jumper, tugging downwards, while I reprochfully bit my lip to keep myself from enjoying the content of his gaze.

"Shut up," I shot at him, making him raise an eyebrow.

"I didn't say anything."

I rolled my eyes. "Whatever it is you were going to say, don't."

"Blaire--"

"No, you're wearing that expression that says you want to make fun of me."

He laughed outright. "You expect me to form a comprehensible sentence when you're standing there in nothing but my jumper," he pointed out, appearing incredulous.