Pushing the Limits (12 page)

I hear the clicking of her heels before I see her. I look up and see her walking in with her bag hanging off her shoulder. She looks absolutely stunning in her black skinny jeans and a white top that hangs off her shoulder just enough to see the smooth skin underneath. I look down and smirk when I see she’s wearing bright red heels, just like in my fantasy.

I stay put behind my desk and wait for her to come to me. I lean back in my chair and cross my arms over my chest.

She tilts her head and rolls her eyes. “You’re really bad at this teacher thing, you know that?”

“I take offense to that.”

“You should.” She laughs. “Now you want to tell me why I’ve been sentenced to early class time?” I can see her mind spinning with the way she’s fidgeting with her strap, but she’s trying to put a straight face on.

It’s pretty fucking adorable how antsy and nervous she gets around me.

Which really makes me just want to do it more to see how far I can push it.

“Grab a blank canvas, easel, and three oil paint colors.”

She drops her bag on the floor and glares at me. “You’re so bossy.”

“It’s kind of my job.”

She looks up at the clock on the wall. “Technically, it’s not for another forty-five minutes.” I sit up in my chair and keep my eyes locked on hers until she budges. “Fine.” A victorious smile flashes on my face and she glares at me once again.

It only takes her a minute to set up and then she’s standing eagerly waiting.

“Paint something happy.”

Her brows furrow and her lips turn down. “What?”

“Happy…to feel delight, pleased, or glad.”

“I know what the definition of happy is.” She shakes her head at me. “Why?”

“I just want to see if you’re capable.”

“I am.”

“Prove it,” I challenge her.

She sighs. “Fine. But you can’t watch me.”

“That wasn’t the deal.”

“Deal? I’m basically here against my will.”

“Don’t be so dramatic.”

“You’re lucky I love to paint.” She sneers.

I smile in return and say just above a whisper, “I know.”

She bites her lip and looks away. She dips her brush and begins making strokes against the canvas. Watching her gives me goose bumps, and I know I could watch her paint for hours.

I see her eyes look over the canvas at me every few minutes or so. She doesn’t say anything, just continues painting and checking to see if I’m still watching her. I can barely peel my eyes away from her when I check the clock on the wall to make sure we don’t run out of time.

“All right. Done.” She sets the brush down and smiles.

I’m intrigued to see what she came up with in a matter of thirty minutes. I hadn’t expected her to do a masterpiece, but I wanted to challenge her to explore a different part of her psyche.

“Ready?” she asks.

“Let’s see it.”

She spins the easel around in my direction and stands next to it as she waits for my reaction.

It’s quite simple, but so perfectly fitting. “It’s a vase of lilies,” she explains softly, all teasing aside.

The vase is tinted in a light pink color. The green from the stems pop out, bright and full of life. The lilies are left white, but only half of them have bloomed all the way.

“It’s really stunning,” I say honestly.

She shrugs. “Had I been given more time and supplies, I could’ve been more detailed.”

“As true as that may be, that wasn’t the assignment.”

The corners of her lips curl up slightly. “So, do I pass?”

I stand up and round my desk to where she’s standing. “Not quite.” She tilts her head and looks up at me. “The meaning. What’s the meaning behind a vase of lilies?”

Her head bows, and I see her throat tense. “Nothing. It’s just a vase of flowers.”

“Aspen…” I say roughly, and she looks back up at me. “What’s it mean?”

She inhales slowly and lowers her eyes to the floor. “It reminds me of my sister.”

“The one who passed away?” I probe.

“Yes.”

“She passed six years ago, right?”

“You remembered?” I see the mood shift in her immediately.

“Yes, of course. That must’ve been hard. Losing someone you loved so much at such a young age.”

“It was.” She inhales deeply. “It is.”

“I’m sorry. I know how it feels to lose a sibling.”

Her head pops up, and I see the interest in her eyes. “I’m sorry. It sucks.” She gives me a sympathetic glance.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She purses her lips. “I hate talking about it.”

“Is that why you paint her so much?”

She sighs, a relieved breath escaping her lips. “Yes. It’s my way of coping, I guess. I don’t think I’ll ever get over it. I don’t think I want to get over it because then that means I’m accepting it, and no matter how much time passes, I don’t want to accept it.”

“That’s the most honest answer I’ve ever heard.” I want to wrap my arms around her and squeeze all her pain away. “I haven’t accepted my brother’s death, either.”

“When did he pass away?”

I take a step back and hesitate before responding. “Six months ago.”

Her eyes widen and her lips part. “Oh my God! I’m so sorry, Professor Hampton. Honestly, I feel like such an ass right now.”

My eyes widen in shock. “What? Why would you say that?”

“Because I’ve basically been crying over my dead sister for six years when your brother died just months ago.”

“Everyone grieves differently and there’s definitely no timetable.”  I give her a sincere look.  “You either heal and move on, or you learn how to hide it better as time wears on.”

“I’m really not that good at hiding it. If I didn’t get to paint, I-I don’t know. I’d be a mess.”

I take a step closer, much too close, closer than I should, but I can’t help myself. I bring a hand to her cheek and rub the pad of my thumb softly over her smooth skin. “We can be a mess together if that helps.”

My eyes are drawn to her mouth as she pulls her bottom lip in between her teeth. I want to pin her up against the wall and kiss those feisty cherry lips until they bruise. I want those smooth, long legs wrapped tightly around me while she’s wearing those bright red incredible fuck-me heels. I want to feel her nails dig into my back as her moans release into my mouth. And I want her to not be my student so I can do all of those things to her...

She covers my hand with hers, and for a moment, I’m afraid she’s going to pull it off, but she doesn’t. She pushes deeper into my hand and closes her eyes. “I miss her. Every day.” She inhales slowly, keeping her eyes shut. “Every damn day I feel broken and that I’ll never feel whole again.”

I can hear the pain in her voice, and it nearly breaks me.

How can someone so beautiful and so gifted bear so much pain? She’s an oddity in my eyes, and every part of her pain has obviously contributed to how she expresses it on paper.

“I’d like to say I don’t understand, but I understand too well.” She releases my hand and it falls back to my side, feeling cold the moment it loses contact with hers.

“Were you two close?” she asks, and I hear the genuine interest in her voice, but my jaw ticks at the thought of how I have to answer that.

“When we grew up, we were really close. But we weren’t for a really long time.” Saying it aloud hurts more than I had anticipated. She looks at me with sincerity, and for some reason makes me feel safe in telling her. “We hadn’t talked in a really long time.”

“Five years?” she asks.

My brows knit together in question. “Yeah,” I breathe out. “How’d you know?”

She shrugs. “Lucky guess.” She lets out a low, sweet chuckle. “Ms. Jones mentioned you hadn’t been home in five years.”

“Ah, yeah. I’d forgotten about that.”

“So what happened?” She clears her throat. “Sorry, I shouldn’t ask that.”

“No, it’s fine.” I’m quick to brush her concerns off. I take a deep breath and push the emotions back. “I found him in bed with my fiancée. He had lost his wife a few years prior to that and it changed him.”

“Oh my God…” Her eyes widen in shock as a hand covers her mouth. “God, I’m sorry.” Her hand drops and my eyes narrow in on her mouth, so full and…off-limits.

I purse my lips and lower my eyes. If she only knew just how sorry
I
was.

I lift my eyes and meet hers. “I haven’t forgiven myself for not coming back before it was too late. I left and hadn’t come home. I’ll never get those years back.” The words come much too easy, but her silky voice filled with agony and understanding makes it feel natural to talk to her.

“It’s a double-edged sword, huh?” Her voice is soft with a tinge of agony. “Understanding the pain and living with the pain.”

“I recognized it the moment I saw your portfolio.”

She tilts her head and stares at me, but doesn’t say anything. She sets the painting of the vase of lilies down against the easel and walks to the drying rack where she’s kept the portrait of her sister that she did weeks ago.

“This one speaks to me the most.” She sets it down and stares at it.

“I can see that. I can see a lot of you in this.” I take a step so I’m standing directly next to her. I point a finger at the contrast of her painting. “The dark shading and light elements represent a battle. The battle of feeling happy and guilty that you want to be happy.” She looks at me with a frozen expression. “You live through the pain every day, but it’s dual. The pain of what happened to you and the pain of feeling guilty for wanting to move on.”

I see her swallow and her eyes narrow. “Every day is a battle. And yet, no one wins.”

“You never do when it’s a battle against yourself,” I say, stepping closer. “With internal battles, you either end up giving in or ending the battle altogether.”

“What if you can’t do either?”

“There’s always a choice,” I remind her.

“The choice to feel happy or let the pain consume you,” she states. “I wish I could push the pain out and invite the happiness in without feeling guilty about it.”

“Why can’t you?”

She looks at the painting and then back to me. “Because I’m reminded of her every time I look in the mirror.”

“Do you think she’d want you to be happy?” I ask, knowing damn well what her answer will be.

“Yeah, of course. She was always so energetic and smiling. It was contagious.” I notice the corner of her lips curling up slightly as she shifts her head and looks up at me. “I wish I could stop missing her. Stop wondering about what ifs and if it had been me instead.”

Without permission, I wrap my finger around a misplaced piece of her golden hair. She keeps her eyes locked on mine as I slowly tuck it behind her ear. I’m closer than before, and this time I don’t back up.

The air between us is electric. There’s no other way to explain it. The way her eyes bleed into mine, the way her lips part when our eyes connect, the way she looks at me when I seem to be the only one who knows how to speak her language—it’s electric.

I wait for her to make a move—indicate that she wants what I want, but it looks like she’s barely breathing.

I decide I can’t wait for her anymore and that the risk is worth it, but before I can do anything about it, she breaks away at the sound of a door creaking.

“Professor Hamp—” I lower my hand and turn toward the door to a student of mine.

“Kara…” I say after an awkward silence. “What can I help you with?”

Aspen starts busying herself with her supplies while Kara continues walking in and begins talking again. “So sorry to…interrupt. I thought I’d catch you before your next class starts. I had a quick question about our latest assignment.”

“Sure, what can I help you with?”

The way her arm brushes against mine doesn’t go unnoticed, but neither does the fact that Aspen walks out without a second glance. I know she’ll be back before class starts, but I feel the urge to run after her even though I know I can’t. Almost getting caught by a student is enough to make me step back and realize I need to get my head straight.

But around her…I can’t seem to think straight at all.

CHAPTER NINE

ASPEN

By Saturday, I need to clear my head of any and all thoughts of Professor Hampton.

I invite Kendall out to lunch with me, hoping for a much-needed distraction. I would’ve asked Zoe, but she was still in bed from her late Friday night shift.

However, if there’s anyone who can drown out my own thoughts, it’s Kendall.

“So I’ve never asked. What made you pick California?” she asks after our food arrives.

“I needed to get some sun,” I say dryly, avoiding eye contact.

“Oh, speaking of sun, you should totally come with us paddle boarding this summer. My friend, Beef, is an instructor and is going to teach me. You’d have a total blast!” Her eyes light up as I fork a piece of chicken in my mouth.

“His name is Beef?” I query, furrowing my brows.

“Well, his last name is Beefer. I’ve always just called him Beef because he’s like totally beefed up.”

I snort. “Classy.”

“Don’t be judgy.” She sneers.

“So you two never…hooked up? Does Kellan know you plan to paddle board with hot, beefy guys?”

She glares at me, and I laugh.

“I’m just asking,” I say innocently.

“Don’t even get me started.”

“I’m starting to notice a theme.”

“Well, if you must know…we have not. Not from a lack of trying though. Before Kellan, I ended up dating a wide range of weirdos.”

“Really? Do tell.” I grab my drink and take a quick sip.

“Well, Beef is really into fitness, which is fine. But I’m more in the ‘I’ll only run if I’m being chased by a bear’ proximity.”

“So nothing in common?” I offer.

“Not really. We’re just better off as friends.” She finishes chewing and takes a drink, her cheeks reddening.

“So what about these other guys you dated?”

“Well, there was Lance. He was great…
at first
. From the outside anyway. Good looking, full-time job, owned his own car and house. Then we met up for drinks and dinner.”

“I’m afraid to even ask…”

She sighs and rolls her eyes before speaking in a high-pitched mock tone. “This restaurant—
brilliant!
This food—
brilliant!
The music—
brilliant!
My outfit—“

“Brilliant?”

“Oh my God! It was a fucking nightmare!” I can’t stop the round of laughter that escapes my throat at her facial expressions. “And then when I asked about his job, he said
brilliant
thirteen times!” Her eyes widen, and I continue laughing. “Thirteen times! I started counting!”

By now, we’re both hysterically laughing.

I manage to swallow my food down without choking, but not without effort. When the waitress checks on us, she responds, “Brilliant. The food was brilliant. The drinks were brilliant.
You
were simply brilliant.”

I don’t know how she manages to keep a straight face, but once the waitress purses her lips together and responds with a cold, ‘great, I’m glad to hear it,’ comment and not so casually leaves the bill on the table before walking away, we burst into a fit of giggles once again.

“Seriously…I don’t think anyone will ever be able to top off Mr. Brilliant.” I shake my head, reassured he has to be the worst of the worst.

“Sad thing is…I’m sure some of the others could.” She takes another drink although she really shouldn’t.

“Don’t you do background checks on these guys? Urine samples?”

“I really should,” she agrees, but the frantic bobbing of her head lets me know it’s the alcohol taking its course. “Or someone should. Oh! Like an agency! A pre-dating agency.” She clears her throat and continues. “
We provide the work up so you can do the work down!”

I cover my mouth to avoid laughing again, but it’s no use. “That’s the worst slogan I’ve ever heard.”

“But admit it…you’d totally use it.”

“It might scare them off.”

She shrugs her shoulders. “Then at least we’d know beforehand. No time wasted!”

“Speaking of wasted…” I murmur, but she waves me off. “All right…so who else?”

“Oh! There was Quinn. I met him through a mutual friend from high school. So we start talking online, which leads to texting and
other things
, and when we finally plan to meet up, he tells me he doesn’t drink! Like what are we, cavemen?” I burst out laughing, and when I start to notice that other people are staring at us, I suggest it’s time we get going.

I put some cash down on the table to cover the bill plus her tip before sliding out my chair and motioning her to do the same.

“I mean, really? I get being all religious and not drinking, or even being sober because you used to fancy the bottle a little too much, but he’s never
ever
had alcohol even after he turned twenty-one.”

We begin walking out to the car when I loop my arm inside hers, mostly to make sure she doesn’t fall back on her ass. “How’s that even possible?” I ask, getting into the driver’s seat.

“I don’t even know. That’s like staying a virgin after your married. It doesn’t make any sense at all!”

We’re about half way to the apartment building when she brings up the one thing I had really hoped she wouldn’t ask…

“So, I know you’re focused on your art and busy at school and work, but have any art geeks grabbed your attention long enough to stick around for more than a night?”

I snort at her choice of words. I know I can’t tell her, although I’m dying to tell someone I’m crushing hard for my art professor—but I need to be careful. Even though I’m almost one hundred percent certain she wouldn’t say anything, I can’t risk it.

“Nope.”

“C’mon…no one that’s interested you for more than twelve hours?” She perks a brow, sporting a devilish grin.

“There’s been an
interest
, but that’s it. We just talk and flirt.”

“And?” she prompts.

“And nothing. It’s best we just stay friends.”

“Well…friends can have fun, too.”

I smile at her insinuation. “As much as I wouldn’t mind some of that
fun
, it can’t happen, either.”

“All right, Aspen. I’m starting to notice a theme.”

“Which is?”

“You have a boring life.”

“I beg to differ.” I roll my eyes. “Since we’re on the topic of interests, when are you finally going to kick that non-grabby hands boyfriend of yours to the curb?”

She exaggerates a gasp. “He is plenty grabby, thank you very much.”

“Oh, has he reached the elbow finally?” I snort, cracking up at my own joke.

“I hate you!” she hisses with a laugh, throwing a pathetic punch at me. “We are way past the elbow!”

“Oh, good!” I glance in her direction. “So I can expect a graphic second base story coming soon?”

“Gah! I wonder if it’s because he’s small. Do you think that’s why he’s put off on going all the way?”

She leans her head back on the headrest where she closes her eyes and sighs. “Well, I guess there’s really only one way to find out, isn’t there?”

“That’s it…we’re doing it. It’s been three months, dammit. I’m just going to get naked and jump on top of him. There’s no way a guy would push this—” She opens her eyes and waves a hand down her body. “—away unless they’re gay.”

“Agreed. I’d even let you get to a few bases before I pushed you off.”

“You’re such a bitch!” She laughs.

We arrive back at the complex and head back inside. I plan to nap before we head out for the night. “So you’re meeting Zoe at the bar around ten?” she confirms before we each head back into our apartments.

“Yup. Save me a seat.” I wink before unlocking my door and stepping inside.

I wouldn’t normally think twice about going out with the girls and finding a guy to take home, but since getting closer to Professor Hampton, it makes my stomach turn just thinking about bringing anyone back to my place. Although I have absolutely no claim on him, it doesn’t stop the burning desire to wish I did. The way it feels to be around him isn’t a feeling I’ve ever had before…

He makes me feel things I shouldn’t.

Seeing Professor Hampton twice a week is really starting to mess with my head. The next week goes like the previous three weeks—work, school, noticeable throbbing between my legs, painting, daydreaming of what Professor Hampton’s lips would feel like against mine.

How his naked body would look and feel…

The constant struggle of trying to stay focused around him while wondering what he’d look like naked and tangled in my sheets is distracting to the point where I almost left the house without a shirt on and about walked into a closed door when I finally realized it.

It’s really becoming a safety hazard.

Every time I’m concentrating on a project in class, I feel him watching me. Even when I’m not facing him, I feel his presence near me, and I wonder if I’m crazy for having these mixed feelings. I know he feels them too and that confuses me even more.

I’ve never wanted a guy to have those types of feelings for me. I knew I couldn’t return them. I know the emotional baggage I carry around is too much for anyone to be burdened with, so I keep it inside. I push it deeper and deeper, never exposing it for what it really is—
fear
and guilt
.

It started back in high school after Ariel’s funeral. I was allowed to take a week off before returning, but it might as well have been one day, because no matter how long it was, it never would’ve been enough. Students stared at me, teachers pitied me, my counselor, Ms. Newman, pulled me from classes that I wasn’t participating in.

Although my parents were called several times about it, they were just as mentally absent as I was. I’d isolated myself from everyone and everything. One day during study hall, Ms. Newman stood in front of me and told me to come with her. It wasn’t a request. It was an order.

I followed her into the art room where students were all quietly working on art projects. Mr. Bakersfield sat at his desk when Ms. Newman walked me in and introduced us. I was told to come to his room every day instead of study hall. Without questioning anything, I did as I was told. It didn’t really matter where I was anyway.

The first half of the semester, I just sat in his classroom. I didn’t talk. I hardly listened. I didn’t participate in any of the assignments. After awhile, I’d pick up a pencil and start doodling. That led to drawing, which later led to painting. I began participating in class every day, silently working alone. One day, after class had already been dismissed, Mr. Bakersfield handed me a large canvas. He didn’t say anything, just smiled at me and winked.

I stayed late and painted the darkest image I’ve ever seen. I let my guard down and let everything inside of me out on that canvas. I wasn’t exactly sure what it even was, but it released something inside of me.

I continued working on it for weeks, adding to it and trying to make sense of what it could be. It looked evil on one side, but on the other, it was bright and happy. By the time I finished, I knew.

The painting was me.

What I couldn’t express verbally, I had expressed through art. I was furious with the universe that she had died. I was angry and bitter, and I hated everyone for it.

But she represented happiness and laughter. Her memories would always be with me, and deep down, I knew that. I was battling with so much inside that I didn’t know how to express myself with words. Drawing and painting gave me that outlet. I started staying after school to use the art supplies as Mr. Bakersfield cleaned up the rest of the room. He never barraged me with questions or asked how I was doing. He was just there.

I hadn’t realized it at the time that my counselors put me in art classes due to my lack of interest in talking things out. It’s what finally clicked for me and gave me what I hadn’t realized I needed.

But then school wrapped up for the year and my outlet was gone. I was back to being bitter and angry, and I just wanted my paints back. One day, after grabbing the mail for my mother, I noticed an envelope addressed to me. I flipped it over, looking for a return address, but there wasn’t one.

I ripped it open to a folded piece of paper. When I unfolded it, I immediately knew who sent it.

Mr. Bakersfield.

It was a flyer for an art class at the local college. It was open to high school and college students. At the bottom in his handwriting were the words,
Make a masterpiece. Do her proud.

I cried, relieved and happy that I’d be able to do just that.

I spent the next three years focusing on art. I signed up for every high school art class and any available at the college. I started at the beginners level, but by the time I graduated high school, I was mastering techniques college seniors were still trying to nail.

So when it was time to start thinking about college and majors, it was a no-brainer for me.