Sweetest Taboo Read Online Free PDF Page B

to begin the age-old process of dropping off one book and picking up another, and ducked down to fish a new pen out of the case at the bottom of the locker. As I straightened, I realized that someone was watching me. I stilled, throwing my senses out, and realized that someone was standing right behind me. I smiled to myself; I recognized the smell of his cologne, a clean and masculine scent, and didn’t even need to turn around to know who was there.
    I turned, my eyes cast down so that I could feign surprise when I saw him. Mr. Stevens was standing closer to me than he had ever stood before, leaning toward me as though he was about to speak. I breathed out, trying to keep my cool, and looked up at him.
    “Are you looking for me, Mr. Stevens?” I asked coyly.
    He looked at me for a moment, then leaned forward and reached into my open locker to thumb through my books. I turned to stare at his hand as he poked through my neatly organized set of schoolbooks, utterly confused.
    “I’m looking for my letter,” he replied quietly, so that only I could hear. His breath was warm against my neck, his chest nearly touching my back, and my heart began to race. What was he talking about? A letter? What letter? I didn’t keep any letters in my locker. Did he think that I had stolen something from him?
    “What letter?” I finally asked, feeling somewhat unnerved. “I was under the impression that my locker contained my belongings--”
    As soon as those words escaped my mouth, I realized exactly what Mr. Stevens was trying to say. He wanted a letter from me! He expected that I had written a letter to him, and he was looking for it in my locker.
    There was no letter, of course, but he was telling me what he wanted. He was asking me to write him a letter.
    I felt a warm flush on my cheeks and raised my hands to them, seeking to rub away the blush that would give me away. Looking across the hall, I noticed one of the boys from my English class looking at us, and looked down again. When I looked up at Mr. Stevens, he was smiling down at me. He must have seen my confusion, because he chuckled slightly and drew back, gazing down at me with those beautiful hazel eyes. He had thick, dark eyelashes that framed his eyes, and drew them down now to look at my feet. Fireworks were going off in my stomach, and I didn’t know how much longer I could stand there.
    “Sure,” I heard myself saying, “I can do that.”
    Mr. Stevens smiled and reached out to touch my bare shoulder in thanks, then stepped back. As he turned and walked toward his classroom, he looked back at me and said, meaningfully, “I’ll be expecting it soon.” before disappearing into his classroom.
    I gasped and watched him walk away, trying to regain my senses. I had no memory of any conversation taking place. What had I just agreed to? And how much trouble was it going to cause?
    ***
    Halfway through fourth period, I remembered exactly what I had agreed to. I was sitting in class, staring out the window, still trying to recover from the intensity of my physical reaction to him, when the whispered phrase echoed through my mind. It came in Mr. Stevens’ low voice, whispered against my ear. “Write me a letter,” he had murmured quietly. And I had told him that I would.
    My mind flew through the possibilities. Maybe I was reading too much into it, maybe he was teasing me because he knew that I had a crush on him, maybe he was trying to get me in trouble. But maybe, my heart said, maybe … he was interested in me the way I was interested in him. Maybe he just wanted to hear me say that I was interested.
    I couldn’t believe that my fantasy was merging with reality. The very idea was completely overwhelming, and I didn’t know if I could deal with the repercussions. He was onto me. He knew exactly what I was feeling, and probably what I was thinking, and he was commenting on it. But hadn’t that been my intent all along? That thought made me pause and I frowned. Had I