Invisible String: An Enemies to Lovers Teacher Spicy Contemporary Romance
Invisible String: Chapter 7

Let’s Fall In Love For The Night – FINNEAS

Instantly, I tried to scramble away like a small woodland animal coming face to face with a fox–a fox with its eyes directly on mine and a look that screamed danger.

Ben Bennett’s head was all too close to mine. A proximity alarm was blaring in my brain.

“Is this, okay?” It was his teacher’s tone, firm and authoritative. His hands were still pressed against my shoulders, practically holding me up against the wall. His grip was solid, but the contact kept me grounded, keeping me in my body as the elastic band around my chest oh so slowly began to ease, still there but my lungs more easily able to inhale. He moved backwards, still staying on his knees to remain eye level with me. Almost as soon as he let go of me, I started to tip forward, the strength in my muscles completely drained.

“Whoa,” he said, catching me before I could fall, his hands firm on my shoulders as he helped me up. I didn’t flinch under his touch, instead accepting the help, noticing the delicious coolness that radiated from his palms. I was burning white hot, my head still spinning. “Has this happened before?”

“Once.” My voice was hoarse and dry from trying to catch my breath. I finally looked at him, replaceing his gaze already on me, soft and… was that concern? The cold temperature of the brick wall began to soak thankfully through my clothes, the sensation like the icy cool air from a fan against sunburned skin.

The last time… had been at the funeral.

Most of that day was lost in a haze, but there was a moment where life had felt normal. Like she wasn’t dead, none of that had happened. It was only for a second that I forgot about the grief.

We were waiting in a room, friends and family buzzing in and out as we got ready for the ceremony to begin, and I had turned to my dad, ready to ask him if he knew where Mom was. The words were so natural, like an instinct I had never had to think about before. But as they echoed around my mind, I fell apart.

Dad looked like he had seen what I’d been about to say, and placed a steadying hand on my back but it… it wasn’t enough. After retaining enough composure, I’d excused myself to the bathroom but hadn’t even made it halfway there before the room started to spin. I’d fled into a back room, and could barely remember the rest apart from an overwhelming squeeze of extreme, pure, animalistic panic.

“Panic attacks can be common for people with anxiety.” His voice was soft and soothing, my heartbeat steadying after the shock.

I shook my head, straightening up as I managed to replace my strength again. “That’s not what this was.”

“It’s okay if it was,” he added, moving to my side and leaning against the wall with me.

“I just need to go home, that’s all.”

In the corner of my eye, I saw him nod, the moment friendly and accepting. His body was so close to mine, his right side pressed against my left and I could faintly smell his cologne, could still feel the ghost of his touch on my knees–missed it almost.

“You can go inside. I’ll be okay, I’ll go home,” I stuttered, feeling a little awkward at seeing this side of him.

“I’m happy to stay with you, it was getting to be a lot in there anyway.”

For a single moment I wished to have the evil Ben back for a moment–evil Ben wouldn’t have a problem leaving me alone. That thought caught me off guard. All these years I’d wished for a nicer Ben, for him to just be more considerate of me, and now he was doing that it felt like I was running around a field full of hidden bear traps.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Of course you will be. If there’s anyone I don’t have to worry about being okay it’s the great Olive Davis.” I looked at him and for a moment our eyes connected as I tried to sense if that had been some sort of terrible joke. But apart from the genuine smile on his lips, there was no hint of humor in his eyes. “But maybe I need saving from the guys in my department who’ve been insisting I make a fool of myself with karaoke.”

Despite everything, despite the squeeze still loosening its grip on my chest, and the fact my heart hadn’t stopped hammering in my chest and the waves in my brain threatened to pull me back under, I asked, “What song?”

“I think they were still going through the Britney back catalog when I managed to make my escape.” His head tilted to the side, his lips pressing together into a lopsided grin that made him look a little silly.

“I’m sure you’ll smash the key change in Stronger.” I ignored the roughness in my throat, the words burning slightly as I spoke.

“Yeah, I don’t think they realized I grew up with an older sister who was very possessive over the car radio growing up. I can kill a Britney track.”

I chuckled, trying to imagine how that would even look: Ben stood alone on the small platform, mic held raised above his head, the head tilted down to meet his mouth as he confidently squawked through the vocals. “I’d pay to see that.”

He barked a laugh, turning his head away from me for a moment. The comfort of the moment suddenly struck me–was this really a trick? Were serial killers as charming as he was right before they strike? Is that what this was? He was planning on murdering me, bury my bones and steal my department to fund his evil Math fueled purposes.

And yet, he was here. He’d seen me upset and had followed me out to check on me, made sure I was safe. Despite the fact I’d not given him a reason to be nice over the last few weeks.

“Do you like pizza?” he sent me a half smile and I lost the feeling in my legs again.

“Do I like pizza?” He’d caught me off guard, and not for the first time tonight. “Do I enjoy the internationally beloved carbohydrate-based dish? Why not ask me if I have taste buds?”

A smile broke out on his face, joy lighting up his features in a way I’d never seen before, and I swear to God my heart swooned.

“Come with me,” he said, pushing himself up off the wall and coming to stand in front of me, his hands outstretched towards me. I tried to calculate the risk in my head for a moment.

But the equation was meaningless to a tipsy–and now he mentioned it, starving–brain. Besides, there’s a reason I was an Art teacher, not Math. So I took his hand, our palms sliding easily together. His palm was soft, but his fingers that grasped around my hands had small pads of rough calluses, the change in texture sending strange sparks up my arm.

He helped me to my feet, and I dropped our hands so I could brush myself off, letting him walk slightly ahead. I followed him, watching as he kept turning his head to make sure I was still there.

“Did I miss you and Hanna doing the karaoke this time?” His face was still lit up with that smile, and I found myself unable to look away. Gone was the scowl, the stony stares, the murderous glares–this smile erased them all. I wanted to memorize it, paint it, use it against him next time he looked at me like I was insane for wanting to buy basic school supplies with my own money.

“No, I managed to hide from her.” The words were cautious, and I found myself unsure of exactly what insanity was causing me to follow him. “She wanted to do Meatloaf but I did not want to attempt the Cher parts.”

He grinned in response, turning to walk backwards so he could keep facing me. “I don’t think you could beat ‘Don’t Go Breaking My Heart’ anyway.”

“We did that one last year.” I stopped in my tracks, trying to figure out how he’d seen it. “Did someone record it?” He just shrugged, as if it was an appropriate response. “Then how did you see it?”

He cocked his head at me, as if the answer was obvious. “Because I was there,” he said slowly, like I was five.

“I don’t remember, I thought you didn’t come to staff night outs.”

“I do attend some, just not all of them. I am a head of a department, I show up for the other science teachers,” he explained before beginning to walk down the street again, this time keeping to my side.

“Oh,” was all I could muster.

“I’m not offended; we never spoke before,” he added simply with a glance my way.

I nodded, a little lost for words. I’d always assumed he was so unfriendly he’d never bothered to show up at our socials, but maybe this was more on me. Maybe I’d been the one missing him all that time.

“So, where’s this promised pizza nirvana?” I asked, genuinely interested to see where he thought the best pizza was.

“Ah, Gianni’s Pizza.” He lit up, and I stifled a smile. “They have a window out of the kitchen where you can buy a slice of the most delicious pizza Italy could only ever dream of.”

“I think I’ve heard of that place.” I could barely contain my smile. “It’s up here, right?” I said, pointing up the street to the small window on the otherwise plain building. Around the corner was a different view of the restaurant. Big open windows, a tall candle on every table, low romantic lighting. But if you asked me, walking down the street with a single slice in hand was the ultimate way to consume pizza.

He nodded as we crossed the road towards the building before asking, “Have you been before?”

I grinned. “A few times.”

We finally reached the window, and an older man popped out, a familiar scowl on his face.

“Can I get two slices of the vegetable?” Ben ordered, but the chef plainly ignored him, bushy gray eyebrows pressing together as he looked directly at me.

“Olive, what are you doing out this late?” He shook a spatula in his hands, his little white mustache twitching as he told me off. I smiled brightly back at him.

“I’m twenty-seven, Dad. I’m allowed to stay out this late.” My voice dripped in sarcasm, but Ben stood in silence, almost frozen as he tried to catch up. “Cancel that order for the vegetable please.” My face screwed up at the idea. Peppers, onions, and mushrooms on a pizza were far too boring. “You know my usual.”

“Your wish is my command,” he said, and suddenly I was a kid begging my father for a midnight snack, standing in the middle of our living room. My cheeks turned rosy, but I was too drunk to be embarrassed at the interaction.

“Your dad works here?” Ben whispered loudly as soon as dad disappeared into the building to get the order. I looked up at him, not expecting to see him looking so taken back, his eyes wide, skin slightly pale. An uncontrolled grin broke out across my face. When he told me this is where we were going, I knew it would be fun to mess with him a little bit, but I had vastly underestimated how delicious the moment would be. Is this how he felt when he taunted me?

“He trained the owner,” I shrugged, watching him as he started to relax, his shoulders slumping. “And it keeps him busy. He loves to cook.”

Looking back at the window, I caught my appearance in the reflection of the glass. Thankfully, I hadn’t worn enough make up to be disturbed by the minor breakdown I’d had earlier, the dizziness of which was lessening by the second. The exhaustion, however, was not. But at least I didn’t look like a horrific mess afterwards, my eyes barely puffy thanks to the cooler autumn night air.

Dad appeared back at the window, two paper plates in hand.

“Here you go, my lil Olly,” he said using a nickname he only used when he wanted to embarrass me. With a grin of his own, he handed me my slice before turning to Ben, pulling his plate away before Ben could grab it. They locked eyes.

“And who’s the man out with my only daughter at this late hour?”

Ben’s head snapped to me, his jaw slack as his brain completely overloaded.

Addicted; I was addicted to seeing him so wound up.

“This is Ben, now give him his pizza.” His face screwed up as I spoke, but he also handed the plate out again, allowing Ben to retrieve it.

“Ben the…”

“Ben the head of Science from the newsletter? Yes, that Ben, this is him.” I scrambled to make up an excuse, waving my arms about Ben as though revealing a flashy car at a convention. “Anyway, I’ll catch you later, bye!” I quickly tossed my dad a $5 bill before grabbing onto Ben’s arm and hauling him away for dear life. The man knew exactly how to embarrass me.

“Ben the what? From what newsletter? We don’t have a newsletter at the school, Olive?” Ben practically screamed in joy as I yanked him away from the window, further and further away from my father that seemed hell bent on making life even harder for me. “What was he going to call me, huh?” His lips stretched to reveal a full-blown grin, curiosity sparkling in his dark eyes.

I’d shown my hand too much, and Ben had read the cards perfectly. Squirming, I crammed the slice of pizza into my mouth, taking that first delicious bite and ignored the roasting hot sauce that threatened to burn my entire mouth before mumbling something inaudible.

He rolled his eyes, before crying “Liar!”

Did he have to enjoy this so much?

Finally, I relented, “Asshole. Ben the asshole.”

But his lips didn’t budge. We were facing each other again, and I found myself wondering where all the space between us had disappeared to; I could practically feel his breath on me.

Too close, he was too close. Too exquisitely close, and for a second, I swear just a fleeting moment, I glanced at his lips. Perfectly pink, perfectly kissable, perfectly… Then he spoke, breaking the spell.

“Just asshole?”

“I’m not going to swear in front of my dad,” I admitted, making sure to step back from him, get some space between us. “I might be an adult but that won’t stop him from trying to ground me.”

He chuckled, before taking a bite of the pizza, his eyes practically rolling back as he bit into the delicious dough. My legs turned to jelly beneath me as I almost melted into the sidewalk at the sight of him. Watching the ecstasy on his face, caused by a foodgasm or otherwise, it was bordering on pornographic.

“I grew up with this pizza. Imagine this – every single Saturday night.”

He looked like he was dying in jealousy, eyes wide as he took another bite, too enamored with the food.

“I’d be destroyed for all other pizza if this was my standard,” he spoke, mouth still halfway stuffed with pizza, but I couldn’t blame him for the lack of etiquette. The pizza was that good.

“Oh I am. But we’re close so I have an unlimited supply,” I added like it was no big deal, but it was true. I was extremely picky about my pizza after growing up with this kind of quality.

“So, if your dad’s a pizza God… what does your mom do?” he asked, not looking at me anymore, but instead gazing at the half eaten slice in his hand with the love and intensity of a new lover.

My spine stiffened at the question and I completely lost my train of thought for a moment.

“She taught piano,” I said after a beat, blinking a few times but burying, burying it all down. Not now. Later. I’d deal with it then.

“Must’ve been a creative family,” he added. I looked up at him, expecting a snort, a look of disgust. But instead his attention was on me, his head tilted ever so slightly to the side, those perfect lips parted just a little.

“Your worst nightmare,” I forced a smile, still analyzing his reaction.

“All my family work in STEM,” he added before taking another bite of his slice.

“Nerds,” I said, as I took another delicious bite, eyes still on him.

He chuckled. “Pretty much. My oldest sister is insane, she’s got two degrees and a secret job with the government.”

“No way.” I looked up at him, awe transforming my face. “That’s so cool.”

“We all had to get background checks. It was the proudest I’d been of her,” he added matter of factly.

“Oldest sister? You have more than one?” I asked, finally processing the small detail he’d dropped earlier.

“Two, both older. I’m the youngest.”

“That explains so much.” The revelation was too much for my still sobering brain. What if it was the youngest child syndrome? He ignored my excitement this time, instead finishing off his slice of pizza.

“But it would’ve been nice to have some outlet in the family. Mom and Dad were very analytical and quiet so there wasn’t much room for any art or music in our house. I do have an uncle who does amateur theater though.”

“That’s cool, is he any good?”

“Define good?” he smiled, and my heart warmed at the sight. “I always thought he had more guts than us anyway, putting himself out there to do the thing he loves. None of my family would dream of getting on a stage like that.”

I searched for something to say back, but words, all of them in fact, had left me at a loss. I didn’t know this side of him existed. This side that thought took guts to put yourself out there creatively, that could see the value of it.

“I have a proposal for you.” His tone altered the light atmosphere that had surrounded us, his back stiffening from the friendly slump he’d adopted, his full height reminding me how small I was in comparison to him. “I think we need to work together to save the Mathletes.”

“And the art club?” I asked, looking up at him for confirmation that he hadn’t reverted back into the asshat I’d previously known him to be.

He nodded, “Both clubs.”

My heart squeezed painfully at the idea, my throat turning dry as unease settled in. “I- I don’t understand how working together is supposed to solve things? We barely manage to work together just organizing the damn thing.” I pointed out, not even able to imagine what working together would look like.

“I think Mathletes have the best chance of getting outside funding –because of the potential winnings in the competitions,” he carried on, his body turning towards me as we walked.

I rolled my eyes at him. “Art has competitions,” I reminded.

“Sure,” he said, waving his hands dismissively. “But Mathletes would definitely appeal to more practical people–like business people.”

“Gee, and you wonder why I wouldn’t want to work with you.”

He rolled his eyes, ready to respond, but I knew exactly what words were about to fall out of that idiotic mouth of his. So instead, I cut him off. “But the real question is: why do you need me? If you dismiss what I do so easily.”

He paused mid-step, his arms held out in front of him in midair. “Because people like you more than me.”

It was my turn to roll my eyes at him. “That’s because I’m not rude to people,” I retorted, taking another step forward, only to replace him frozen, his lips pressed into a thin line and his brows furrowed.

“I’m not rude to people.” His head shook as he spoke, the mess of hair ruffling slightly in the night air.

“You’re rude to me.”

His mouth opened, and I waited to hear his justification, hear his excuse, whatever it was this time. But instead, nothing came out. He closed his mouth, as if he thought better of his response.

I took this as my cue to carry on, turning my back to him as I continued walking. “This is why I wouldn’t want to work with you. You’re just so… frustrating! You can’t stand to admit when you’re wrong, and you constantly talk down to me like what you teach is better. I’m your equal but you’ve always gone out of your way to make sure I never feel like it.”

“I’m difficult?” he laughed, taking a long stride and immediately catching up with me.

Curse his long legs.

“The most difficult.” My heart was in a frenzy in my chest.

“Why don’t we talk about you for a moment instead?” He stared right into my eyes, straight down at me, and he’d never seemed so large. Not in a dangerous sense, but… almost intimidating, dark. Like all the frustration at me had resurfaced, all the times I’d irritated him instead of the other way around. Like I’d finally cracked him open. “Who was it that refused to give up their field trip budget when no other department had even considered a trip all year?”

“I cut as much as I could within my own department to be able to afford it. I took in my own supplies. I saved for that trip.”

“No, the school saved for the trip.”

“We’ve had our budget hacked over the years and yet you think it’s okay to march in and start taking the things we’ve bought with our own budget, just because you’ve overspent,” I defended, but he shook his head.

“And what makes you think we aren’t in the same boat?” He cocked an eyebrow, and I stumbled, trying to think of an excuse, another insult to hurl his way. “We didn’t overspend, we’ve got math coming in and stealing our calculators and workbooks, not to mention our department essentially covers three different departments with Chemistry and Biology sharing the budget.” He ran his hands through his hair as he spoke, his gaze wildly unfocused.

Meanwhile, I was silent, my heart hammering so hard as I got the side of the story I’d never bothered to ask for.

“It was never personal, Olive. It was never supposed to be, anyway. And..” he trailed off, and my eyes were glued to him, his face lit up in purples and neon colors from the signs that lined the street. He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry if it ever felt that way. If I made you feel that way.”

And I couldn’t believe my eyes as I watched straight-laced Ben, all come undone, his gaze soft and for the first time, I felt like I’d finally burrowed my way past his grumpy exterior. His chest heaved in and out as I burned under the intensity of his gaze, like a thousand-watt lightbulb shining straight down on me.

This was Ben. Ben who had given up the funding to keep both clubs open, both of them, for as long as he could give us. And he’d found me after the panic attack. He’d known how to keep me grounded, and then kept me suitably distracted. I hadn’t even thought about it again until now.

He stepped forward, just a single step that closed some of the gap between us.

It was like a coin had flipped.

One side: Ben the enemy. Must be destroyed or avoided at all costs. Would single handedly burn down my department for any possible gain, personal or otherwise.

The other: Ben, the co-worker. Who taught so well his students listened, who wanted to save his after school club so much he’d try to work alongside people who thought they hated him. Who had seen me, today and before, and had recognised that something wasn’t right.

Had seen me. Followed me. Helped me.

But the question remained. Was he friend or enemy? The intense, stormy look on his face said enemy. The closing space between us said friend, said something more than friend as he took another step closer, and I was forced to really look at him under the light of the street lamp shining down on us. The size of him, his body tall, the extra height that always had me craning my neck when he got too close.

I didn’t know if I’d ever stood this close to him before, close enough to wonder if it was his aftershave I smelt or if he smelt this good naturally.

“Olive.” The way he said my name was smoky, his voice low as his eyes focused on mine, the golden hint of the hazel gone. My eyes, meanwhile, had been fixed on his lips, pink and soft. Would he be all light touches, grazing, a hand slowly moving up my back. Or hard and needing, and pressure–delicious pressure.

Somehow, I needed to replace out.

“What are you doing?” he asked, and I didn’t have the answer. His words felt like a hallucination at first, but they cemented themselves in my brain as I stepped forward, pushing myself up onto the tops of my toes so I was closer to his height. My hand snaked around his neck to the soft skin there. His gaze stuck on me, the alarm erased and replaced with a burning heat as he realized what I was doing. I pressed my lips to his, feeling the softness of them move against mine.

It was like two magnets colliding, the electric pull of him kept me going, kept him meeting my lips, moving against me. He tasted spicy, like ginger ale and brown sugar and rum. And now that I’d had a taste, I wanted more.

I pulled back momentarily, my lungs burning for air as I waited for my sense of self to take hold again. I immediately missed the pressure, the taste of him. He stared back at me, and blinked, like he too was trying to process what I had just done. I lifted my hand from the back of his neck as my heart fell into my stomach.

“Shit, Ben, I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking–” I started to babble, panic building as I continued to process what on earth I had actually just done.

I’d kissed him. Out of nowhere. What on earth had I been thinking?

“Olive.” His voice was barely louder than a whisper, the sound like stones rubbing together.

I blinked, trying to swallow the lump that had suddenly appeared in my throat, “Yes?”

“Shut up.”

And then he was wrapped around me. One calloused hand replaceing my lower back, the other landing on my opposite shoulder as he pulled me impossibly close. His lips were on mine, the velvet softness landing with a pressure that clearly demanded more.