26. Bohdi

Chapter twenty-six

Bohdi

I knew I couldn't go on the date on Saturday night. I was telling myself it's what I needed instead of accepting what my body and mind already knew.

It's him I want. Brayden Anders.

No matter how much I tried to deny it to myself.

He was my calm among my storm.

He was the person who had unknowingly picked me back up. Being around Brayden makes the grief a little easier to carry.

I don't dread my days when I wake up anymore. I look forward to them because I know I will see him. I finally found the person who, in those moments of them being around, the pain eases. It's barely noticeable when they are near or when you think of them. I finally found that person to make the pain go away.

After dropping Brayden off on Saturday, I went home, took the picture of Jace out of my nightstand, and placed it on top. I didn't stare at it and then put it away. Instead, I asked him what he would do and I know what he would have done.

He would have told me to accept the feelings.

He wouldn't have been disappointed like my dreams.

He would have told me you can't help who you fall for, Boh. You can't help who you catch feelings for. You can't help what your heart wants.

He would have told me not to fight it.

I know he would have because that was Jace. He was the purest soul out there. He accepted anyone and everyone, no matter who they were or who they liked.

They say grief reshapes us, often for the worse, but in losing Jace, I discovered my true self. This is who I am now, shaped by love and loss. I listened to my body and my heart when I left Brayden. I allowed myself to feel the ache in my chest from his presence not being there. The sickness deep in my stomach from wanting to see his smile and not his sadness. I imagined myself standing in front of him and telling him how I felt and his lips touching mine in a silent confession. I finally listened to my true self.

It wasn't Ms. Banksy I wanted. It wasn't any other women; it wasn't any other man; it was Brayden.

Only Brayden.

Is it complicated? Undoubtedly.

Difficult? Absolutely.

Could Brayden tire of the thrill of dating his teacher? Perhaps.

Yet, I couldn't continue day after day without confessing. The unknown, what it felt like to kiss him, haunted me. Nothing prepared me for that moment. It was unlike anything I've ever experienced. Standing before Brayden, my heart ached for his lips on mine. In that clash of need, barriers crumbled. He became the missing piece, filling the empty spaces in my life. One kiss, and I was whole.

"Good morning, sir." Matilda's voice jolts me from my Monday morning day dream. She glides into the classroom, settling at a front row desk, her fingers twirling strands of hair. "Did you have a pleasant weekend, sir?" Her grin is wide. Week after week, she emails me, seeking extra guidance on her project, struggling with tasks that should be straightforward. With one of the highest GPAs in the university, she puzzles me. And yet, my inbox overflows with messages from her and other female students. I chuckle inwardly—I'm their forty-year-old teacher. What delusion leads them to believe I'd risk everything for a fling with a student?

The irony of my thoughts is laughable.

If that person is worth it, then it's worth risking it all, and that's what I have learned. Brayden is worth losing it all. My feelings for him hit me out of nowhere. One minute I was intrigued, the next I struggled to get through a day without seeing him. I don't know what happened and when, but all I know is I don't think I could let him walk away from me, even if he wanted to.

Once more, my mind drifts to Brayden, pulling me from the classroom's reality as students trickle in. "It was good," I reply to Matilda, my smile strained. "Thanks. I hope you had a good weekend, too." I aim to end the conversation, relieved when her friends arrive and engage her in chatter. But not before I catch a few glances from them as well.

Jesus Christ.

My heart races as a deep laugh echoes from behind the door. I recognize that laugh—it's the same one I heard only two nights ago. As I held him close, our faces pressed together. It's a laugh etched into my memory, evoking the joy that grew within me. My focus remains fixed on the door as Kal enters, followed by Trayton and Bray. And there he is—my Bray. Our eyes lock, and the world fades away. The invisible thread that binds us pulls relentlessly, urging me to cross the room, to claim those soft lips that leave me tingling. Brayden's eyes hold life, happiness. Could it be because of me? I swallow, desperate to hold him, to touch him.

"Yes, yes, Mr. Stiles!" Trayton shouts, walking up the stairs, snapping Brayden's stare away from me as I glance up to Trayton, who takes his seat.

"Yo, you lot should see Mr. Stiles in the boxing gym!" Trayton shouts to the entire class. "Teach takes no prisoners."

Kal's shaking his head, drawing my attention to him as a few boys mutter, "I bet I could take him."

To save their ego, I don't say anything, but I know for a fact with one blink I would have them on the floor. My gaze moves to Brayden as he bites his lip to stifle a laugh as he walks past Trayton to sit between Kal and Trayton. It always intrigues me. They sit at those particular desks and in a specific order, each time. Brayden is always in the middle.

"Let's proceed without bruising anyone's ego," I quip, rolling my eyes. I adjust my laptop, projecting the presentation on the screen as the class settles down, amused.

"As you work on your projects," I continue, "remember my email is in the syllabus. Don't hesitate to reach out with questions—I'm here to assist." Guiding them through the slides, I emphasize the significance of marketing in business.

During the lecture, Brayden's gaze finds mine repeatedly. He doesn't glance at the presentation; instead, his eyes remain fixed on me. As I gesture toward the screen, stretching slightly, I notice Brayden's hungry examination. His emotions play across his face, visible to anyone observing. Tingles stir within me, a mix of anticipation and desire. When our eyes lock, a smug smirk curves his lips, teeth breaking through the tension.

This fucker.

I ask the class to get on with the project, needing to sit down behind my desk. As my dick hardens wondering what Brayden was thinking of in those moments, his eyes were wondering over me.

I have thought about the fact I haven't as much touched another guy's dick other than my own and he's had plenty of experience. But it can't be much different from being with a girl, surely?

In this room filled with students, my thoughts veer to vivid images—Brayden addressing me as sir as I sink my dick into his tight hole. The heat of desire floods through me, prompting me to loosen a few buttons on my tie. Why did he have to look at me the way he did? I wouldn't be sitting here in a full classroom with a dick hard as a rock and balls aching, begging for release. I hear movement, and I tell myself not to look up because I know that damn fucking force will have my eyes meeting his. No matter how many times I tell my brain not to try and find him, it's the first thing it does when he's in my proximity.

My eyes glance up and immediately I'm met with Brayden, jogging down the stairs and making his way toward my desk.

Jesus Christ.

"Brayden," I mutter under my breath. My dick weeps just by his near presence and my heart flutters like a teenager sneaking a peek at something forbidden. How is it that I'm forty years old and my dick is leaking over my nineteen-year-old student standing in front of me?

"Can I borrow a pen?" His voice chirpy and upbeat makes me grind my teeth because he has no idea what he is doing to me by being near me.

I extend my hand, holding my pen, while keeping my eyes firmly on my laptop screen and avoiding looking up at him again. I gasp as Brayden's fingers graze the back of my hand while he takes the pen. It feels like a lightning strike.

He didn't need to do that.

He didn't need to touch me when he took the pen from my hand.

But he did. He knows what he's doing.

Our eyes lock, smoldering and heavy. A thousand words pass between us, unspoken yet screaming louder than anything else in this room.

Those fucking eyes.

"Stop watching me like that while I'm trying to teach, Brayden," I hiss, infusing my voice with a hint of danger. He leans down, ostensibly studying a paper on my desk, but those intoxicating eyes remain locked on mine, a smug smirk playing on his lips.

Close enough that I can feel the puffs of air that leave his mouth, he murmurs, "Stop acting as if you don't like it, sir." The fucker winks and turns his back to me, striding back to his desk. My eyes follow him and unfortunately drop to watch his ass in the slightly fitted sweatpants he wears.

My dick pulses with those leaving words. Because he is right as much as I voice, he needs to stop, my body and mind crave his eyes on me.