16. Bohdi

Chapter sixteen

Bohdi

H ow the fuck did he know I looked at his Instagram? Surely it doesn't show you people that view your profile. Rylee neglected to include that important detail.

I tilt my neck from side to side, attempting to calm the simmering rage within me. Who does this kid think he is, acting all high and mighty? What he doesn't realize is yes, he is right. I spent the entire class avoiding him due to my mind being overwhelmed by thoughts of his lips and the sensation of his skin. I've never experienced such a confusing mix of right and wrong in my life. Why am I feeling like this for a fucking student? I can't wrap my head around it. As I turned on my coffee machine this morning, all I could see were his lips. In the shower, all I see is his hand on that guy's ass, which sent a jolt to my dick.

I fucking hate it. But how does it stop? How do all this consuming, overwhelming and so fucking wrong feelings stop?

Right now, he's driving me crazy with his attitude, but I can't deny that I'm also captivated by the way he looks. Sitting there so nonchalantly in gray sweatpants, a tight white top, and a backward baseball cap. You hear girls talking about guys in gray sweats and I've never in my life found this attractive, so why do I now?

I ended up searching for signs of a mid-life crisis at 3 a.m. all because of this boy. Apparently, finding your student attractive isn't a sign. It provided me details of therapists in the area.

Maybe I should call one.

My eyes connect with his again. Brayden's eyes don't waver and with everything he has going on, I admire the confidence he holds. It's clear the guy has some balls on him.

Oh fuck, don't think about the size of his balls.

What do I say to him? Do I admit I was staring at him inappropriately? Do I tell him, yes, I was stalking you on Instagram?

"Look," I sigh, raking my fingers through my hair, still contemplating how to handle this. I have to be truthful—well, partially.

"I only wanted you safe." I keep it simple. I didn't acknowledge the way I stared at him because I don't think I can explain that to myself right now.

"That's why you searched me up on Instagram? To make sure I was safe?"

"Yes," I lie. What is the phrase for ‘I had the urge to see your face again, so I searched you up?'

"You're really not going to inform the dean about what happened yesterday?" Without breaking eye contact, he asks me cautiously. It dawns on me that his reaction resulted from his worry about me telling the dean. And my disregard for him after yesterday's events made him anxious, thinking I had reported it to the dean.

Fuck.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." I state simply. His eyes meet mine, and I see the confusion slowly appear on his face as he furrows his brows and pauses, shifting his attention from me to the floor. His mouth opens briefly before shutting once more. "Nothing happened yesterday. There's nothing to tell the dean." I arch my eyebrow, hoping he catches on to what I'm implying. He expresses his understanding with wide eyes and an O-shaped mouth, uttering, "Ohhh."

I'm too tired for this.

"Gotcha," he says, standing up and grabbing his bag. His back catches my attention as he leans down and effortlessly puts the rucksack on his shoulder. I gulp at the sight of his broad back flexing with a slight movement. Brayden stands awkwardly before me, peering at me intently. Our gazes lock, and for a moment, we share a silent connection, a mutual admiration that makes my heart race. I catch a glimpse of a blush spreading across Brayden's cheeks. It's a sight that I find irresistibly appealing. I had never noticed the delicate sprinkle of freckles that dust across his nose and cheeks, blending seamlessly with his soft, pale skin. This subtle feature stands in stark contrast to his dark brown hair, which, under certain lighting, appears almost black. His piercing blue eyes, partially shadowed by the baseball cap he never takes off, stare back at me with an intensity that makes the world seem to stand still. In that instant, everything else fades away, and it's only the two of us, lost in each other's presence.

Shit. No.

I audibly clear my throat and shift my attention to focus on the papers in front of me. I detest this newfound feeling that's causing my mind to race at 1000mph, and none of it makes sense.

"See you tomorrow, Brayden. Have a good day."

Despite my mind's warning, I can't resist glancing up after Brayden clears his throat and utters, "You too, sir." I'm watching him move toward the door, his back muscles flexing once more, making me feel nervous.

I'm not supposed to be attracted to those muscles. Despite Brayden making it to the door, I'm too preoccupied with admiring my student to realize he's turned back.

His chest rises and falls as he stares at me, mouth slightly open. I notice him visibly gulp as we become entranced in another stare, and I find my eyes drawn to his lips. Aching sensations arise from thoughts of his lips and tongue. I jerk my head back, staring at the jumble of words in front of me, expecting the sound of the classroom door closing. The moment the door shuts, A wave of relief washes through me.

Grading papers turned into a disaster because I couldn't stop thinking about someone, making it impossible to concentrate. I considered going to the gym to release my tension through boxing, but I still have to locate Daxton. I can't shake the feeling that his black eye and cut lips are my fault. If I hadn't intervened and done what I did, would he still have that black eye and cut lip? Probably not.

Despite searching the campus and asking multiple people, I still can't find him. As I make my way to my classroom, my phone rings, interrupting my racing thoughts. I remove it from my pocket and realize it's Rylee video calling me. How does she always know when I'm struggling? I hesitate to answer. She phoned me two times last week and every time I promised to return the call, but I didn't. I greet her with a smile on Facetime, but her initial happiness turns into a concerned frown.

"Boh, what's wrong?" I'll never understand how Rylee can detect something is amiss with a single look.

"I'm OK, Ry." I force a smile on my face, but she sees right through it. She hugs herself tightly, curls into a ball on the sofa, and maintains a frowning expression as she stares at me through the camera.

"Please talk to me, Boh." Her face sags as she softly whispers. Ever since Jace passed away, my relationship with Rylee has become strained, even though she used to be the person I could confide in. Learning that your brother, who is the father of your nephew, is now dating your nephew's girlfriend less than a year after his passing has been difficult for me. To be honest, I'm still trying to process it. I forgave them. Their love for each other is clear, and I find comfort in knowing they have each other to share their grief. I acknowledge that the trauma they both experienced brought them together, but it's still tough. Jace and she were together for six years, and each time I saw her, I saw my nephew. Every time I see her now, it's a painful reminder that he's no longer there. Whenever I catch a glimpse of her face, it seems as though a crushing weight settles on my chest, growing heavier with each breath. How do you express that to someone? You can't, so I do what I do best.

"I'm sorry, Ry, but I have a ton of papers to review and markup. Can I call you on the weekend?"

I struggle to maintain composure as her teary eyes and trembling lip cause me to clench my jaw. Witnessing Rylee's sadness is excruciating, but the thought that I am the cause of it is physically agonizing. If I reveal the reason behind my avoidance, it will shatter her completely. She's already swimming in her own guilt as it is. I can't be the one to drown her.

"I promise I'll call you at the weekend." I say before cutting the phone off. The minute she is no longer on my screen, I let the first tear fall down my cheek, followed by another.

I snatch the cupboard key from my desk and swiftly unlock the bottom drawer. As I slide open the drawer, my eyes fixate on the one thing that momentarily numbs this pain. It makes breathing a little easier before the darkness swallows me.

Whiskey.