Thief of Hearts (4 page)

The week went by and I was relieved when Stu didn’t make any more untoward advances. He did, however, make a few random comments during class that seriously confused me. Unfortunately, they were too subtle for me to properly reprimand him on.

You work a projector screen like nobody’s business, Miss Anderson.

Pardon?

Just complimenting you on your very fine
projection
.

And . . .

What does adumbrate mean, Miss Anderson?

It means to summarise or roughly describe.

Oh, right.

Why?

Thought it meant something else.

Cue my
WTF
face. I was beginning to think that despite his very mainstream manly appearance, Stu Cross was a bit of an oddball.

When the following Monday arrived, I checked my schedule and remembered I’d organised for the class to visit the nearby library to borrow some books. I liked to encourage my students to read both fiction and non-fiction, and since they were currently reading
Jude the Obscure,
their assignment today was to select a non-fiction book to borrow.

Everybody seemed enthusiastic when I announced our mini excursion, all except for Stu, who had no discernible reaction to the news. The library was only ten minutes away, and I walked next to Mary and Susan, as the rest of the class followed behind. Stu was directly behind me, talking with Kian, who today had taken quite a shine to the phrase ‘cocksucking dickface’. At least it kept life interesting.

I could tell Stu took a subversive pleasure in befriending someone who had free rein to shout expletives at random. Kian seemed happy to have made a friend, which made me glad, too. I just hoped Stu’s interest was genuine. So yeah, I was still trying to figure him out.

Despite their differences in age, both Mary and Susan were avid Tinder users and had decided to regale me with dating stories on our walk.

“He seems real nice,” said Susan, talking about a guy she’d been seeing. “But he can be a bit of a wet lettuce at times.”

“Oh, one of those,” said Mary, pursing her lips. “I went out with a bloke like that once. He used to make me take my shoes off before I came inside his flat. I can’t be dealing with that.”

“Well, the trouble with Keith is that he doesn’t want to do anything that involves alcohol,” said Susan with a grimace.

“Is that a bad thing?” I asked.

“Yes, very bad. He only ever wants to go to the cinema or out for coffee. I can’t get him to come to a pub with me to save my life, and don’t even get me started on nightclubs. The problem is, I can’t do the deed without alcohol, so sex has been a no-go area. I’m just not confident enough to do it sober.”

I tensed up a little at her mention of sex. Not because I was at all embarrassed talking about this stuff with them. My teaching style had always been very casual and easy-going in that sense. The trouble was, Stu was right behind me, and I had the feeling he was listening in on our conversation. I could also feel his eyes on me, wandering over the back of my neck, over my shoulders, down my hips. It was eerie, but I just
knew
he was watching me. Studying. Looking for cracks.

“Well, do you both have to be drunk? Why don’t you just drink and let him stay sober?”

Susan shook her head. “No, it has to be both of us, otherwise I’ll still be self-conscious because I’ll know he’s going to remember everything.”

“You don’t want him to remember you had sex?” I asked, frowning.

Susan threw her hands up in the air. “Hey look! I never said I was normal. This is just how I operate.”

I had to admit, insecurity was the last thing I expected of Susan. She just always seemed so confident, never afraid to speak her mind. Though I guessed we were all a muddle of contradictions when it came down to it.

“You’ve obviously got body issues,” said Mary. “Which is ridiculous because look at you. You’re only a slip of a thing. But I get it. When I was your age I had a fantastic figure, but I never believed it. I always felt lacking in some way. Then after I hit forty I just didn’t give a crap anymore. To hell with all that insecurity bull, I was going to have sex with who I liked, when I liked, and I wouldn’t let anyone tell me otherwise.” She paused to point at Susan. “You should be exactly the same. Enjoy your life, because it’ll be over like that,” she finished with a click of her fingers.

“I suppose you’re right,” said Susan, her confidence bolstered though she still seemed a little sceptical.

Mary winked at her, pleased that her pep talk had proved relatively successful.

I smiled to myself. Seeing friendships blossom between my students was always something I took great pleasure in. And since there was such a mix of age groups in adult classes, I felt like everybody could learn from each other.

“What about you, Miss Anderson?” Susan enquired. “Have you ever tried online dating?”

I grimaced a little and shook my head. “No, I’ve, uh, never tried it.”

“Why not? You should be getting out there like me and Susan, trying all the different flavours,” said Mary with a saucy grin, and I actually felt myself starting to blush.

“She’s right,” Susan agreed then eyed me up and down. “Though I’m not being funny, you’ll probably need to get yourself some new clobber.”

I glanced at my worn jeans and white shirt. “What’s wrong with my clothes?”

“You want the honest truth?” she asked, and I nodded, bracing myself. Susan never pulled any punches.

Taking another look at my outfit, she continued, “Well, no offence, but you dress like a lesbian. And not one of those stylish lesbos with the biker jackets and choppy bobs, but the plain-Jane ones who wear baggy chinos and checked shirts.”

I let out a surprised laugh while Mary elbowed her in the side. “Go easy, would ya? She asked for honesty, not to be insulted.”

“Sometimes honesty is insulting.” Susan shrugged. “You’re not offended, are ya, Miss Anderson?”

I smiled. “Not at all. You’re right about my clothes. I’ve always been pretty inept when it comes to fashion.”

“You see?” she said, eyeing Mary. “She doesn’t mind. Oh em gee! I just had a great idea. Why don’t you let us give you a makeover? Then we can help you set up a Tinder account.”

“Don’t get carried away,” I said, chuckling. “I think fashion advice is where I draw the line.”

“Oh, you’re no fun,” Susan pouted in disappointment.

“You should seriously give Tinder a try some time, though,” said Mary. “A pretty thing like you needs to be getting out there.”

“Please don’t,” another voice joined our conversation. It was Kian. “Tinder’s full of perverts, and you’re too classy for unsolicited dick pics, Miss Anderson.”

I shot him a smile. “Why, thank you, Kian.”

He blushed a little and Susan turned to slap him on the shoulder. “Teacher’s pet.”

“I’m just trying to give her a more rounded picture. You two are painting it like a single lady’s paradise. Wankers!”

“Too right,” said Stu, finally speaking up. His deep, masculine voice had a weird effect on me. “People who use Tinder are all a bunch of wankers.” Kian chuckled, and they both high-fived. Both Mary and Susan looked unimpressed. I was relieved when we reached the library, because I could tell Mary was just about to confront Stu for basically calling her a wanker.

I swear, sometimes it felt like I was teaching teenagers. Well, at least they made me laugh.

“Here we are,” I announced before turning to address everyone. “You have half an hour to find a book, then we’ll meet back at the check-in desk at eleven thirty.” They all nodded and moved by me while I levelled my gaze on Stu.

“Have you got a library card?”

He shook his head.

“Okay then, come with me and I’ll grab you an application form. They’ll give you a temporary card so you can check a book out today, then they’ll post the permanent one to you in a week or so.”

“You shouldn’t listen to them,” he said as we stepped through the entryway.

I shot him a glance. “To who?”

“Mary and Susan. You don’t need to change anything about yourself. You’re already sexy as fuck.”

I sucked in a breath at his words, so blunt and to the point. I didn’t think I’d ever been described quite like that before. It made me feel nervous . . . but a little excited, too. I turned to face him, plastering on a strict look. “You need to learn to stop talking to me like that. I’m your teacher.”

He cocked a brow. “So you can talk to Mary and Susan about their sex lives, but I can’t tell you how sexy you are?”

I placed my hands on my hips. “Yes, that’s exactly right. I’m friends with my students. I’ll talk to them about their lives and give advice when needed. The way you speak to me isn’t friendly, Stu, and I think you know it.”

He shrugged. “I say what I think.”

“Yes, well, try to keep some of the things you think to yourself every once in a while.”

“Oh, I have been,” he said, pausing to slice his teeth across his lower lip. I was beginning to notice it was a signature move of his. “I’ve been keeping things to myself for over a week. Seems only natural that some of it finally slipped out.”

My eyes flickered between his as I shook my head. His persistence was both bizarre and flabbergasting, and yes, a tiny bit flattering, which was why I decided to swiftly change the subject. “God, there’s no talking to you. Come on, let’s go find you an application form.”

Stu was quiet as he followed me to the reception desk. A few minutes later I sat down with him at a table close to the poetry section so he could fill it out. I pushed the form across the table and handed him a pen. He glanced down at both items in consternation before levelling his gaze on me.

“You do it. I hate filling out forms.”

“They need your address and a few other personal details,” I said, as I noticed Kian scanning books in the poetry section. “It’s quicker if you do it yourself.” He seemed irritated, possibly by my presence, so I thought I’d go check on Kian. “Go ahead. I’ll be back in a minute, then we’ll take it to reception to get your temporary card.”

Leaving Stu, I approached Kian. He was holding the collected works of T.S. Eliot. “‘
This is the way the world ends, not with a bang but a whimper,’”
I quoted and he looked up at me curiously. “It’s from
The Hollow Men
, should be in there.”

“I’ve only read
The Wasteland
so far. I like it but it’s very long.”

I gave a soft laugh and made a gesture with my hands. “I can see that quote on the blurb.
T.S Eliot, fantastic poet, but God, does he ever shut up?
”

Kian chuckled quietly. “Does poetry count as non-fiction? I want to borrow this one and read more of his stuff.”

“Sure, go for it. You’ve got good taste. Eliot is actually one of my favourite poets,” I replied and then heard a muttered expletive from Stu. Turning around, I saw him glaring at the form and it made me worry.

“I better go see what’s bothering him,” I told Kian before making my way back over to Stu.

“What’s wrong?”

He lifted his gaze to mine, his dark brows drawn together in frustration. Letting out a gruff breath, he shoved the form across the table and stood from his seat.

“Fuck this shit,” he muttered under his breath then strode past me.
What the hell?
After several seconds a thought suddenly hit me. I felt like such an idiot. He said he hated filling out forms and all last week he hadn’t submitted any homework. I’d given him leeway because he was new and still settling in, but I should’ve seen the signs sooner. It was a very real possibility that Stu had trouble reading and writing.

Firming my resolve, I followed in the direction he’d gone, finding him outside the library lighting up a cigarette. He glanced at me, inhaled a drag, then leaned back against the wall. I folded my arms over my chest and met his gaze head-on.

“Care to explain what that was all about?”

He shook his head. “Not really.”

I studied him, trying to decide how to broach the subject. “Stu, if you have trouble with reading and writing, you only have to say the word and I’ll . . .”

He turned and glared at me. “I can read and write fine.” The bitterness in his voice told me he was lying, though whether it was to himself or me I couldn’t say. Judging from his defensiveness, I decided now wasn’t the time to push the matter. So, I’d put it on the back burner, but it was definitely something we needed to discuss soon if he was going to progress in the class.

I tried a different tack. “Is everything okay at home?”

He blew out some smoke. “Just rosy.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“I’m thirty years old, Andrea. My daddy isn’t beating on me, if that’s what you’re wondering,” he practically sneered.

I ignored his tone.
For now.
“Are you living with your parents?”

“Oh, Andrea. Fuck off.”