Tantalus In Chains Ch 01

AUTHOR'S NOTE: If you've read the other things I wrote, I just wanted to warn you that this is going to be completely different. I'm experimenting with a different style and a different focus—the erotic experience of desire. If you're looking for a quickie, it's not going to happen in this story; this one is about the slow burn of wanting someone you can't have, someone who is off limits...at least for now.

*****

CHAPTER ONE: Eros Beckons Through a Pair of Ripped Jeans

The butterflies have already started fluttering in my stomach. The last five minutes of lunch are always the most excruciating. In just five minutes, the bell will ring and Zack will be walking down the hall. I'm not sure what it is that causes me to react this way to him. On days when I'm sane, I know that it's because he needs me, and no one else seems to. I know that it's because he personifies the free-spirited attitude I wish I had. I brush aside the fact that it's partly because of sheer physical chemistry, that his liquid brown eyes spark something inside me that no one has ever sparked before. But when I'm painfully honest with myself, I have to admit that I have a crush on him. I have a crush on him, and he's my student.

The bell jangled over the intercom, and I got shakily to my feet. I took a deep breath and hastily recited the list of reasons why I shouldn't be so nervous. I am a grown woman... at least, I am twenty-six, and that is eight years older than Zack. To a teenager, that is like a lifetime. He would never think of me that way. And let's face it, I'm crazy for thinking of him that way.

The damp fall air permeated the hallway and mixed with the scent of dust and mold that inevitably accumulated there. Someone laughed further down the hall, and I automatically looked to make sure it didn't involve the ritual teen obsession with humiliating or injuring other people. Then something warm uncurled inside me, and I knew without looking that Zack had rounded the corner. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to gather my thoughts for a minute. He's my student. I thought. He's my student, he's my student, HE'S MY STUDENT.

When I opened my eyes, the something warm inside me jumped and twisted. Zack was ambling down the hall. My eyes went to the rip in his jeans. Now, I've been fascinated with lots of holes in lots of guys' jeans, but the way I know that this is a real crush is that the rip wasn't anyplace particularly erotic. It was over his knee. I shook myself and remembered that I was actually supposed to be looking for something. His English book. Which he didn't have.

Well, thank God I had a legitimate reason to talk to him. By that time, he was just a few feet away from me. Holy crap, he was wearing his football jersey. I had forgotten it was game day. This is so embarrassing. I am definitely not the kind of girl who even likes football players. In my experience, they are arrogant, lazy, and largely uninteresting. But Zack is different. And also, the football jersey worked for him. Maroon suited his deep tan. It suited it a lot.

So did the smile on his face. "I'm starting tonight, Miss Martin!"

My stomach did a somersault, and I gave him a side hug. "That's great!" Zack is definitely not usually a first string player. He almost never gets to play.

"You're going to be there, right?"

"Umm, duh." I haven't missed a game all season. Three guesses why.

"Cool." He smiled again, the kind of hundred watt smile that is capable of knocking me unconscious. He started to head into the room when I put my hand on his arm, the kind of idiotic thing I do to torture myself. A spark shot through my fingers and spread through my whole body. It was like a drug. It doesn't matter when I put my hand on other students' arms, but with Zack, it's different. If I had any sense, I would stop.

But I had a reason for doing it, I rationalized as I struggled to rearrange my face into a semblance of teacherly friendliness. Playful, sarcastic friendliness. I guess some people might call it flirting. I was actually batting my eyes while I smiled, but hey, sometimes you've got to flirt to get results in teaching. "Hey Football Star—forgetting something?"

He looked confused for a minute, and I raised an eyebrow while tapping my foot in mock impatience.

Then he smiled again before adopting an offended expression. "I can't believe you would accuse me of.... I didn't forget my book, Miss Martin."

I rolled my eyes. "Where is it?"

"I've got it, don't worry." He winked and walked into the room. His flip flops made soft whispering noises against his bare feet, and I had to swallow and collect myself yet again. I wasn't so distracted that I failed to notice where his book came from, though. He made a beeline for the box of magazines I kept at the back of the room and dug his book out. It was such a Zack thing to do. I don't think he could follow a rule if it meant saving his life. Add that to the list of reasons why I shouldn't be interested in him. I sighed.

I made a big deal out of sneaking up behind him and tapping him on the shoulder. Theatrics are always a big part of discipline. I had my sweet flirtatious smile on again, but the eyes were different. They said, "Why the fuck are you breaking my rules?" He attempted to soothe me with a smile, but it was easy to resist right now because his eyes said, "You caught me, so make your move."

"Oh dearly beloved Starting Fullback, is that box of magazines actually a portal to your locker? Because you know you're not allowed to leave your books in my classroom. And if that is in fact a portal to your locker, then you owe me for ALL of your books."

He tried to look innocent and managed a pretty convincing imitation of it. "I forgot, Miss Martin."

"Uh huh. Too bad I didn't forget that you have detention. Monday. Last period. Be there or be in after school detention next week. And how about if you bring your book to class on Monday, too?"

He looked pissed for a second, which didn't hurt his appearance at all. His eyes burned through his long brown hair. I knew what he was thinking. He was going to have to miss seventh period practice, and he didn't like that one bit. He realized abruptly that everyone was looking at him, and he smoothed his expression into an impish smile. I steeled myself for the face-saving portion of our interaction. "I'll probably enjoy spending a little extra time with you. I could show you a real good time. It could be... exciting," he said.

I rolled my eyes and pretended that my insides weren't throbbing with frustrated desire. "Yeah, real exciting. You, me, and the other seven or eight students who have detention with you."

His smirk didn't fade. "If that's how you want to do it. Hey, wait, are they all girls?"

Chuck, his best friend, snorted. "You wouldn't care if they weren't, man."

Thankfully, this drew Zack's attention from me, because there was no way I could really win this kind of battle of wits. Zack wandered over to his seat by Chuck, muttering things like, "You wish I wouldn't care." Boys.

At least I had survived another day without making a complete idiot out of myself.

*****

The one good thing about Friday nights is that I'm never overwhelmed by Zack like I am at school. I think the helmet helps. I can't see his hair or his eyes. Also, he's farther away. But the main reason is that he isn't an individual anymore when he's in full uniform. If he has to wear his football jersey, I prefer him pairing it with jeans. Ripped jeans.

Usually at games I flickered my attention between the gossipy conversation of my friends, the riveting action on the field (I was, much to my own frustration, getting caught up in the passion and drama of high school football), and Zack on the sidelines.

Tonight was an unusual night, though, since he was playing. Unable to tear my eyes from the field, I watched him block player after player, and I knew my face must be slightly flushed. I have never seen him move his body that way. I have never seen him be so aggressive. It did things to me that I wasn't prepared to accept.

Postgame, he was dripping with sweat, but the lights reflected off of his tanned skin, giving him the kind of glow usually reserved for 1930s movie stars. My body crawled with desire to touch him. I craved him like I used to crave chocolate. The huddle broke, and the players wandered around to talk to everyone before running back to the field house. As always, I desperately hoped that Zack would stay, but as always, he didn't. Before I could take two steps toward him, he was gone and I was enveloped in the arms of another sweaty football player. I pushed Zack from my mind and I concentrated on telling Rusty, our second string tight end, what a great game he played.

*****

At 7:30 on Monday morning, I trudged down the darkened hall to my room. I wasn't looking forward to another week, not at all. I thought of that commercial where everyone wakes up early and tries to hold the sun back in an effort to keep the next week from coming. Funny. I feel like that every Monday.

When I rounded the last corner, I almost dropped my bag. Zack's tall, broad frame was between me and the door to my room. No one else was in the hall yet. He was still sleepy, his long lashes softly framing his glazed eyes, and his hair hung in damp strands that begged to be touched. His arms were folded across his stomach. He looked completely at ease.

I recovered from the shock relatively quickly, considering the earliness of the hour and the completeness of my surprise. He hadn't seen or heard me yet, and was staring abstractedly away from me, lost in thought. It made me smile.

"Planning to bar the door so that I can't have class today?" I said.

He jumped. It was adorable. Then he blushed. "No ma'am. I came to ask you a favor."

I rolled my eyes in mock annoyance. "On a Monday morning? Did someone kick you in the head on Friday night?"

He smiled. "No ma'am." His eyes fell on the books I was shifting to my other arm as I fumbled in my bag for my keys. It was endlessly amazing how many books and papers I had to carry home, especially on the weekend, and how my keys always seemed to migrate to the bottom of the shallow pocket on the outside of my bag. "Here," he said. He reached for the books. His fingers brushed the bare skin of my arm, and I was glad that the hall was dim enough that he didn't see the goosebumps rising in response to his touch.

"Thanks," I said. "Wow, he's creative, he's smart, he can knock people down, and he's still a gentleman. Who knew?"

He blushed again and looked down, but he was smiling. Compliments didn't come his way too often, and they always made him both uncomfortable and proud. It was times like this when I remembered how much younger he really was, and I loved him with the simple purity of a sister. I retrieved my keys and opened the door, flicking the lights on.

"Well, come in," I said, taking the books back from him. It must be impossible to transfer books without touching the other person's skin. His arm was warm, deliciously warm, and the uncomplicated moment was over. I turned from him and went to deposit the books on my desk before he could notice my reaction. "You said something about a favor?" I prompted him.

He shuffled in after me, but avoided my eyes. I knew that meant what he was asking was desperately important to him, so to take the pressure off I pretended to be absorbed in unpacking the papers from my bag. He visibly relaxed. "Yeah. It's just, you know I have football last period, Miss Martin. I told Coach Grantham that I have detention, and... well, he said that if I miss practice, I'm off first string."

I sighed and looked up. "If you're going to ask me to cancel your detention..."

His eyes widened. "No ma'am. No, I know I broke your rule. I just wondered if I could maybe do it another time."

"I don't have any other free periods," I said.

He was quiet, the kind of quietness that meant he was gathering courage to ask what he really wanted to ask. The he took a deep breath and looked straight at me. "I know this would be a huge favor and I'll understand if you say no, but what about lunch?"

My heart thudded into my throat. My mind wasn't working fast enough, but my intuition and my body had immediately grasped the temptation of having him to myself for thirty minutes. My mind kicked in, screaming that it was playing with fire. I started to protest, but before I could say no, he continued. "Look, I know what you're going to say. Lunch is not as long as last period. But what if I came today and tomorrow?"

Holy God. His deep brown eyes begged me, and I am only human. "Okay," I said. It wasn't hard to pretend to be annoyed since I was so frustrated with my body's response to him. "But I hope you realize I'm doing you a favor. You owe me."

Relief washed over him. "Yes ma'am."

"Bring your ACT packet."

His face fell. He was perpetually afraid of standardized tests. "Seriously? Can't I just write sentences or something?"

I grinned. "Nope. See you at lunch."

*****

He's just my student, I reminded myself. Yep, a student. My student, my student, my student. For some reason, I believed the mantra would work, and I kept saying it day after day even though it didn't do much to help.

My heart skipped a beat when his body filled the frame of my door before lunch. He didn't look happy, though, and he smacked his ACT booklet down with a pretty fair imitation of a toddler's tantrum. He stared at it like it was a venomous snake.

I rolled my eyes. "Don't be such a drama queen. It's a piece of paper."

He glared at me and didn't say anything. I went to sit in the desk in front of him so that I wouldn't be towering over him. We were eye to eye, but I ignored the fluttering sensation he ignited inside me. This was more important than my own impossible feelings. "Zack, this is your future. This is how you're going to go to college. I know that's a lot of pressure, but you can do this." He continued staring at the paper. He wasn't going to talk.

I sighed and stood up, folding my arms. "If it helps, they aren't going to grade the registration form," I said, turning the full force of my teacher glare on him.

He successfully ignored my glare for a few more seconds, but then he grudgingly picked up his pencil.

"I'll be at my desk if you need me," I said. Just fill in those bubbles nice and dark."

He grunted and started writing.

I had been sitting at my desk occasionally glancing at the way his hair brushed the back of his neck for about ten minutes when I realized he still hadn't darkened a single bubble. He was doodling. I cleared my throat. "Hey Zack?"

"Yes ma'am?"

"If you don't have that thing filled out by the end of lunch, you have to come back during last period."

The look on his face was a priceless mixture of anger and panic. I stifled a laugh as he began furiously filling out circles. I busied myself grading some of the papers that inevitably pile up so that I wouldn't spend the rest of my lunch torturing myself with my unrequitable crush. Twenty minutes later, I glanced up at the clock and realized lunch was almost over. I was congratulating myself on a job well done when Zack lunged out of his chair and stalked back to my desk. Energy radiated from him in waves, negative energy that had everything to do with being forced to do work. It was like an assault. He thrust his registration form into my hands and went to stand behind me.

"Is that what you wanted, Miss Martin?" he said. He sounded sullen.

I glanced down at the paper, intending to check it for completeness, but then he moved closer to me and leaned over my shoulder. The heat of his body washed through my back even though he wasn't touching me. I could smell the soft leather of his jacket, and I was painfully aware that the flawless, tempting skin of his face was inches from my own. My throat went dry as I imagined how close his angel's-bow mouth was to my ear. I have no idea what was on the paper.

"Shit," he said. I carefully turned to look at him, moving slightly away so that I wouldn't touch him. He was staring intently at the form. I blushed when I realized that my hands were actually shaking.

I pulled myself together. "Language."

"Sorry Miss Martin. I just realized that I used pen instead of a number two pencil." He grabbed the paper, straightened up, and wadded it into a ball. "I am such a screw-up."

When he said things like that, I never knew what to say. My voice was soft. "You're not a screw-up. You're so much more than anyone even begins to realize."

He looked at me curiously, and I smiled playfully. "Which is how I know that you're going to finish filling out that form for me before last period. They have more in the guidance counselor's office."

He groaned, but it was the kind of theatrical groan that meant he really didn't mind.

Chuck came bursting into the room like a firecracker, and he looked pointedly between the two of us. I braced myself for whatever inappropriate thing he was going to say.

"Detention?" he asked, wiggling his eyebrows at Zack. "Miss Martin, why don't I ever get special one-on-one lunch detention?"

Zack grinned. "You've gotta live on the wild side, dude."

I rolled my eyes. I did that a lot around Zack. "Yeah. Do something like leave your book in my classroom. Wild. I don't know if I should tell you this, but I try to keep my lunch detentions pretty boring."

Zack looked affronted. "Boring?" He looked at Chuck with a devious expression. "I don't know what she's talking about. I was two seconds away from bending her over that desk, and then you walked in."

Chuck said, "No wonder she was bored."

Neither of them noticed my eyes fan into flames. There was no way I would make it through tomorrow without losing my mind.

I cleared my throat. "Hey Zack? Finish that form before last period and you're off the hook tomorrow."

His face lit up. "Yes ma'am!" Then he took off with Chuck as soon as the bell rang.

He returned three minutes later with his English book under his arm, grinning ruefully.