Chapter 84
**Tom**
I pulled up to Sara's apartment complex, my heart racing with excitement and nervousness. The bouquet of flowers I'd picked up on the way sat in the passenger seat, a colorful jumble of roses and lilies that I hoped would make up for canceling our plans earlier.
"Alright, Tom," I muttered as I cut the engine. "Time to turn on that charm."
I grabbed the flowers and stepped out of the car, taking a deep breath of the cool evening air. The walk to Sara's door felt like a mile, each step bringing me closer to those captivating eyes and that mischievous smile that had been haunting my dreams.
Before I knew it, I was standing in front of her door. I raised my hand to ring the bell, then hesitated. What if she was still mad about the canceled date? What if she'd changed her mind about us?
"Oh, for crying out loud," I grumbled, shaking off my doubts. I pressed the doorbell, hearing the muffled chime echo inside.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then I heard footsteps approaching, and the door swung open.
My jaw nearly hit the floor.
Sara stood there, backlit by the soft glow of her apartment. She wore tiny denim shorts showing off her long legs and a white tank top that left little to the imagination. Her hair was slightly tousled, falling in soft waves around her face.
"Well, hello there, Professor," she purred, leaning against the doorframe. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"
I blinked, trying to remember how to form words. "I, uh... flowers," I managed, thrusting the bouquet towards her like an idiot.
"They're beautiful, Tom. Thank you." She took the flowers, her fingers brushing against mine and sending sparks through my body.
She stepped back, gesturing for me to come in. "Don't just stand there gawking, Professor. Come inside before my neighbors start getting ideas."
I followed her into the apartment. The scent of vanilla and something floral hit me, enveloping my senses and making my head swim. It was intoxicating, just like her.
"So," she said, closing the door behind me, "did you have a good time with your parents?"
I froze for a split second, my mind racing. Right, parents. That's what I'd told her. "Oh, yeah. It was... great. You know how family can be."
"Uh-huh. I'm sure it was thrilling."
"Nothing thrilling, really. Just a casual dinner. However, my father did spend half the time trying to set me up with girls from rich families. You know, the usual."
"Oh? And why are you here instead of out marrying one of those lovely ladies your father's parading in front of you?"
Without waiting for an answer, she turned and sauntered towards the kitchen, her hips swaying hypnotically. Those tiny shorts left little to the imagination, and I found myself mesmerized by the view.
I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts. This woman was going to be the death of me.
Following her into the kitchen, I leaned against the counter, watching as she filled a vase with water for the flowers. "You know," I said, trying to keep my voice casual, "if I didn't know better, I'd think you were jealous."
Sara snorted, not bothering to look up from her task. "Jealous? Why would I be jealous?"
"Oh, I don't know," I drawled, moving closer. "Maybe because the thought of me with another woman drives you crazy?"
She whirled around, nearly bumping into me. Her eyes widened slightly at our proximity, but she quickly recovered, crossing her arms over her chest. "You're awfully full of yourself, aren't you, Professor?"
I grinned, enjoying our little dance. "Just calling it like I see it, Sara."
"Well, your vision must be going," she shot back, but I caught a hint of a smile. "I'm not jealous. I just think it's ridiculous that your father is trying to marry you off like it's the 18th century or something."
"Ah, so you're concerned about my well-being. How sweet."
"Please. I'm just looking out for you, old man. You should be settling down with a nice girl your age, not chasing after students."
"Old man?" I scoffed. "I'll have you know I'm in the prime of my life, thank you very much."
She laughed. "Oh, come on, Thomas. You're practically ancient. I mean, you're what, around my dad's age?"
I felt my jaw drop. "Your dad's age? Just how old do you think I am?"
"Hmm, let's see... Given your distinguished air and those adorable little crinkles around your eyes when you smile, I'd say... what, around 40?"
"Forty? Forty?! Do I look like I'm going through a midlife crisis to you?"
She giggled, clearly enjoying my reaction. "You are chasing after a younger woman. Isn't that what men your age do when they're trying to recapture their youth?"
"I'll have you know, Miss Smartypants, that I am not anywhere near 40. I'm 31, thank you very much."
"Thirty-one? Are you sure about that?"
"Am I sure about that? Of course, I'm sure! I know my own age, thank you very much."
"Oh, I don't know. All that grading has addled your brain. You could be forgetting your own birthday."
"Very funny. I assure you, my memory is just fine."
"If you say so, old man," she teased.
"Old man? I'll show you," I growled playfully, stepping closer.
Sara's breath hitched, but she stood her ground. "Well, you must admit, we have quite an age gap. I mean, I'm only 23. That's what, eight years difference?"
"Eight years is hardly a huge gap," I argued, though a part of me wondered if she had a point.
"I don't know. Eight years is practically a decade. When I was in high school, you were already..."
"Already what?" I challenged, closing the distance between us.
"You were probably already teaching. Maybe even had a few gray hairs," she teased.
I couldn't take it anymore. I cupped her face and pressed my lips to hers swiftly. The kiss was electric, sending sparks through my entire body. I poured all my passion and desire into it, determined to make her forget about any supposed age gap.
When we finally broke apart, both of us were breathing heavily. I rested my forehead against hers, our noses almost touching.
"Still want to talk about age gaps?" I murmured.
Sara's eyes were dark with desire, and her cheeks flushed. She licked her lips, and I had to resist the urge to kiss her again.
"When you kiss me like that, it's hard to think about anything else," she said, her voice shaky.
"Oh? And what exactly are you thinking about now?" I murmured, my lips brushing against her ear.
She shivered, her hands gripping my shirt. "Wouldn't you like to know, Professor?"
"I would, actually. Care to enlighten me?"
Sara pulled back slightly, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "I was thinking about how unfair it is that you look so damn good for your age. If I didn't know better, I'd swear you were in your mid-twenties."
"Oh? So now I'm not an old man any more?"
"Okay, okay, I admit it. You're not old. But you can't blame a girl for having a little fun, can you?"
"I suppose not," I conceded, pulling her closer. "Though I think I prefer being called handsome to being called old."
"Mmm, handsome works," Sara purred. "Very handsome, actually. It's almost unfair how good you look."
"Oh, so now you're admitting I look good? What happened to the old man's routine?"
"Don't let it go to your head, Professor. I'm just stating facts."
"Facts, huh? Well, here's another fact for you," I said, pulling her closer. "I may be older than you, but I have the stamina to shame those frat boys."
"Oh really? That's quite a bold claim. Care to back it up?"