"I think you should go Shannon."
I blushed, pulled my arms away from his neck, the tingle of my lips against his still there.
I was so stupid to think he was interested in me that way. He was my teacher. Or at least he was last year. Right now it was the summer break, and I had bumped into him two weeks ago while rollerblading at the park. I didn't even recognize him in his tight spandex, helmet and rollerblades. We nearly collided and then laughed as we recognized each other. We spent awhile skating together and then I asked if he could give me some summer help in algebra. And after two weeks, three times a week, I couldn't help myself when I was about to leave, and I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him.
"I think you should go beforeβ¦"
I was turning away, shamefully when I noticed the unfinished sentence. I stopped. Turned around. I put one hand along the side of his handsome face, the other on the front of his t-shirt. I whispered "I don't want to go."
We stared at each other, eyes flicking back and forth. My hand slid slowly down his chest, across his belly, over the belt buckle and lay against the front of his jeans. I pressed gently.
"Oh God Shannon, don't touch β¦"
Another unfinished sentence, I pressed harder, fingers curling. I met resistance.