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“Uh huh.” But I couldn’t move, and only put one foot in front of the other once he wrapped his hand around my upper arm and gently pulled me inside.

“I’m not gonna pounce on you, if that’s what you’re afraid of,” Mr. Connelly said, shutting the door behind me.

Bad joke. Bad timing. Would he be considered a sexual predator? I was still seventeen. I wouldn’t turn eighteen until December.

“This is a bad idea,” I blurted.

“I know.”

I looked up at his face. “You’re my teacher.”

“I know.”

“Isn’t there like a conflict of interest or something?”

“Completely.”

“Aren’t you afraid?”

“Completely.”

“Mr. Connelly!” I was beyond flustered. “If you know it’s wrong then why are we doing this?”

“I didn’t say it was wrong. I agreed with you that it’s a conflict of interest and that I’m afraid.” He took my clammy hand and led me to the couch. “Please call me Mark,” he said, inviting me to sit.

I sank into the couch. He sat on the edge of the coffee table directly in front of me.

“I can’t call you that. You’re my teacher,” I said. I felt ridiculous and young and silly.

I shifted on the couch cushion feeling trapped. I was frustrated because I liked the feeling, and I’m not sure I was supposed to.

“Cadence? It’s okay. If you wanna go, that’s okay. If you’re not feeling what I’m feeling, then it’s okay,” he said. “Will you look at me?”

I forced myself to meet his gaze, pulling my hand from his.

“It’s okay,” he repeated slowly.

“Would you treat me differently in class if I did go?” I asked.

“No.”

“Would you fail me?”

The side of Mr. Connelly’s mouth quirked up. “I think you’re doing a pretty good job of that on your own.”

“Shut up!” I laughed, and punched his arm.

“Ouch,” he said. “You’ve got a mean jab.” He rubbed his arm, pretending that I actually hurt him.

“I’m doing better,” I mumbled.

“Yes, you are, Cadence. I was only joking.”

I looked down at my lap. “I don’t wanna go,” I whispered, my face burning bright red.

Mr. Connelly nodded. “Good. May I make one rule?”

“Just one?”

He laughed. “Well, I’m sure we’ll have many, but I just have one for today.”

“What is it?”

“While you’re here, will you please call me Mark?”

“I’ll try,” I replied.

“Well, that’s good enough for me,” he said. “You hungry?”

For the first time in nearly a year, I felt ravenous. I shouldn’t have. My stomach was in knots. My entire body a ball of electric nerves. I should have gagged at the thought of food, but it was the exact opposite. I thought I could eat everything in his kitchen.

“A little,” I said, and my stomach growled long and loud. I wanted to die. “Okay, maybe a lot.”

“I notice you don’t eat much,” Mr. Connelly said.

“I haven’t been hungry until now,” I replied. I wasn’t trying to be funny, and he knew.

“I’ve got leftovers from last night. I made a shrimp couscous dish,” he offered. “I don’t know if it’s something you’d like, but you’re more than welcome to it.”

I nodded. I didn’t know what couscous was, and I didn’t care. I would eat it because I had to eat something, anything, right now.

Mr. Connelly heated the leftovers in the microwave while I sat frozen on his couch. I didn’t know what to do and thought it would be rude to go poking around his things. So I just sat, head swiveling from side to side, taking in the look and feel of his living room. It was masculine and clean. Linear. His couch was a deep burgundy. I was so glad it wasn’t black leather. I might have walked out if it was black leather. And there was no mini bar. I was glad for that, too, though I’m not sure why I had this impression that sleazy bachelors had mini bars in their homes.

He had tons of books. He had even more records, and I wondered if he owned the same record he bought for me. I jumped from the couch when I heard the microwave beep and headed for the dining room table.

“You don’t have to sit there,” Mr. Connelly said. “You can eat on the couch.”

“Okay,” I replied, and headed back into the living room. He followed behind with a big bowl, fork, and glass of Orange Crush.

“The Orange Crush is for me,” he said, winking. “What would you like?” He handed me the bowl, and I inhaled something scrumptious—sweet and garlicy.

“I’ll have some, too,” I said.

“Then we can share,” Mr. Connelly replied, and sat down beside me.

I looked at the contents in my bowl. I took one small bite and was hooked. It was also the last small bite I’d take, every subsequent one bigger than what I could actually shove in my mouth. It’s as though I had no manners, and when Mr. Connelly asked me a question, I answered with my mouth stuffed.

“What’s your favorite subject in school?” he asked.

“Boring.” I shoveled more couscous in my mouth.

He chuckled. “Okay. Well, I wanna learn everything I can about you. Care to give me something?”

“I like to read.”

“Me too.”

I looked up from my bowl for a second to scan his collection.

“Mine’s bigger,” I said.

“It’s not a competition.” He chuckled.

I scraped the bottom of the bowl. I wish he would have given me a spoon instead of a fork.

“Yes, it is, Mr. Connelly. I have to be better at something. A few things, actually. Because this can’t work otherwise. You’re older than me. You have way more experiences. I have to be better at something. Even if it is only having a few more books than you.”

I stared into the empty bowl. I realized I didn’t offer him any.

“I’m sorry I didn’t share,” I said softly.

Mr. Connelly plucked the bowl from my hands and placed it on the coffee table. I gasped when he pulled me onto his lap. My mouth was too close to his, and it smelled like garlic.

“First off, I didn’t want you to share. I wanted you to eat the whole thing,” he said. “Second, there is no competition. You are far better at many things than I am, so don’t worry about the age difference.” He let his gray eyes rove over my face. “Third, call me Mark.”

I smiled, then looked down at my lap.

“First, it was rude that I didn’t, at least, offer, even if I had no intentions of actually sharing.”

He laughed.

“Second, I have to worry about the age difference because it’s ten years, and that’s a big difference. Third—” I looked up once more straight into his eyes, trying hard to form the word in my mouth. “Mark.”

His face lit up. “First, I wanted you to be greedy because you need to eat. You need to take care of yourself. Second, I don’t think ten years will make a difference between us two. You don’t act like a typical eighteen-year-old, and—”

“Seventeen,” I corrected. “I’m still seventeen. I won’t be eighteen until December.”

Mark shifted. “All right. You’re almost eighteen, but you act older. I assume that means you think older.”

“I can be really immature sometimes,” I replied.

Mark grinned. “So can I.”

“But you’re a guy. Guys are always immature.”

“True.”

“Are you using me?” I blurted. It came out of nowhere, but I knew I wanted to ask it eventually. I just wasn’t planning on it while I sat in his lap.

“No.”

“How do I know?”

“Think about it, Cadence. Why the hell would I risk losing everything only to use you?”

“Oh.”

“Do you understand what I mean when I say I could lose everything? I’m talking my friends, my family, my career. I could be prosecuted, for Christ’s sake!”

“Could you go to jail?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. I mean, it’s a little tougher to put away teachers here in Georgia because of the way the laws are written.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s complicated and not worth talking about. But I need you to understand that this isn’t me using you. I’d never take a risk like that knowing all I could lose if I didn’t genuinely care about you.”

I nodded. “Why not someone your own age?”

“Doesn’t have anything to do with it. I’m attracted to you.”

“Why?”

He considered me. “If I tell you, you’ll think I’m weird. Or you won’t understand.”

“Well, give me a chance, at least.”

He paused before replying, “There’s light around you.”

He was right. I didn’t understand, so I tried for a joke. “That’s because my hair’s blond.”

He laughed. “Yeah, that’s why.”

“Okay okay. I’ll take you seriously. Go on.”

Mark thought for a moment. “It’s just light. I don’t know how else to describe it. But I look at you, and I see something shiny and new. Like a treasure that I have to have. I mean, who doesn’t want a treasure, right?”

I sat in silence. He took it as an invitation to continue.

“I love your goodness. I love that you have a good heart.”

“You can’t possibly know that,” I said. “And I’m not even sure that’s true.”

“It is true. And I do know.”

“How?”

“Because you picked up coffee for your father a long time ago when you could have gone to Starbucks without him ever knowing. But you called him and told him where you were because you’re a good girl.”

I squirmed. “Well, you’re very perceptive. But I don’t think I have such a good heart anymore. I’m lying to my parents. I sneak out and do things with Avery just so I can have a little freedom. You know what I did on my first night away from the house?”

“Tell me.”

“I went to Cold Stone Creamery.”

Mark nodded.

“Did you just hear what I said? I went to get ice cream. That was my big deceptive move.”

Mark tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

“And that’s exactly why I know you have a good heart, Cadence.”

My stomach growled again.

“And apparently an insatiable appetite,” he said, and chuckled.

“That’s embarrassing,” I mumbled, and pulled my hand from Mark’s, placing it over my stomach.

“What else can I feed you?” he asked.

“Anything,” I replied. I climbed off his lap and walked to the kitchen.

I felt better and less anxious to be in his apartment. I think that’s why he made me sit on his lap while we talked. He wanted us to get familiar quickly to make it easier for me, less frightening. And it was. I’d already stuffed my face in front of him. Plus he heard my stomach growl twice.

“You can have whatever you want,” Mark said, opening the pantry door.

My eyes immediately went for the Trix.

“I’m having a hard time with this,” I said.

“With what?”

“You make a sophisticated shrimp dinner and eat kids’ cereal for breakfast,” I replied. “Weird.”

“Cadence, I value your opinions. I really do. But don’t make fun of my cereal choices.”

I turned to face him. He grinned at me.

“I like Trix. I’m gonna have a bowl of them, actually. But before I do, will you do something for me?”

“Yes.”

“Will you hold me like you did in your classroom yesterday?”

Mark didn’t hesitate. He wrapped me in his arms and picked me up. I liked being suspended, held like a baby doll. It was effortless for him, like I weighed no more than a bird. I buried my face in his neck, and he spun me slowly, round and round.

“When will you kiss me?” I asked into his neck.

“Soon, Cadence,” Mark replied. “But not today.”

“Is it because my breath smells like garlic?”

He chuckled. “Nah.”

“I’ll be scared,” I said. “When you kiss me.”

“So will I,” he replied.

“But you want to kiss me, right?”

“More than anything, Cadence.”

He rocked me playfully side to side, and I relaxed my legs, letting them swing like cooked noodles.

“I like you very much,” I said, resting the side of my head on his shoulder.

“That’s good,” Mark replied. “Because I like you very much, too.”

I hugged him tighter, and he backed me against the counter, setting me down, standing between my spread legs. He stood there for a moment, hands resting on my hips, studying me.

“You have gorgeous skin,” he said after a time. “The prettiest I’ve ever seen.”

“I do?”

He smirked. “You know you do. And yes, it’s like porcelain.”

I touched my cheek.

“Don’t ever tan or anything like that. Don’t ruin your skin.”

I furrowed my brows. “That’s a weird thing to say.”

“No, it’s not. I’m just giving you some advice.”