Hot air streams in through the open window and sweeps over his body. He leans back on the desk and a strong hand pushes his thick, brown hair out of his face. In the heat, his light shirt clings to his skin, revealing the toned abdomen beneath the thin material. He breathes deeply and lets out a soft sigh; his glistening blue irises make contact with my almost-green-half-brown blobs. He whispers my name softly. " Rita..."

"Rita." I felt an elbow jab me in the side.

"Rita. Did you hear anything I said?" Mr Anderson, my English teacher, gave me a stern look.

Blushing, I heard the giggles of the students around me.

"I- I..." I wasn't paying attention. I was fantasising about you sir, as I am wont to do.

"Bottom of the page, Rita." He sighed, but out of irritation rather than lust.

I stared down at the scattered notes in front of me but they had blurred into one blob of white sheets and black smudges and no matter how I shuffled them about, I couldn't seem to make any sense of the words. Desperation started to take over and I even looked to Daryl, a disgusting oaf of a boy whose constant company I was blessed with in English class, but he stared back at me gormlessly.

I started mumbling: "He- em... Orsino... I mean- in this scene-" I coughed, "I think... I mean- em. Sometimes-"

"A wonderful insight into the text, Rita," he interrupted me and I felt my cheeks redden to an unnatural shade. "Unfortunately, I don't have all day. See me after class, maybe you can explain yourself more eloquently."

After that, I refused to let myself slip back into a daydream; one humiliating act a day was quite enough for me.

A shrill bell rang and my classmates packed up their books to the sound of Mr Anderson's delicious voice saying, "And for god's sake, Benson, bring in your notes tomorrow."

As a rule, I was always the last one out of Mr Anderson's class, in some kind of attempt to let my eyes soak up as much of him as possible, and today was no exception, just for different reasons.

The classroom door swung closed and I gulped just from being alone in the same room as him. I couldn't help myself from drifting, only momentarily into daydream-land.

He pushes me against the desk, hands grip my waste, and I run my fingers through that much loved hair. Clothes are flung across the room and moans are supressed by forceful kisses. I hold onto the desk for support and he shifts my skirt to finally-

"Miss Peregrine." He gestured his head and I fumbled over to his desk, trying not to think about what I had just envisaged happening atop of it.

"Yes sir?" I pulled at the frayed sleeve of my school jumper, refusing to make eye contact.

"I can't say that I'm happy." He took out a folder from a desk drawer. "Looking over your work from last year, you were a top student and now," he paused, probably trying to think of a eay to say 'you're a shit student' without hurting my feelings, "your marks have seriously gone down." I chewed on the inside of my lip. "It's not only that, the work you do at home is fair, but half the time it's like you're not even awake in class." He rubbed a hand over his face sleepily. "I mean, I know I'm only a substitute, but you have to take me seriously here, Rita. "

"That's not it." I said too quickly. "Of course I take you seriously, I just-" how was I meant to explain this one?

'Sorry sir, I can't concentrate in class because you're too attractive.'

'Furthermore, I rarely do work at home because I spend so much time thinking about you. And me. And what we would do together in an ideal world.'

"So..." he looked up at me from his desk. "Is there something troubling you, at home maybe?"

Something troubling me?! Only since you walked into our classroom in September and announced that you'd be covering for wrinkly old Mr Ketchup-Stained-Shirt for the year.

"No, sir. Everything's... peachy." I smiled, probably unconvincingly.

He frowned, making an adorable crinkle appear on his forehead. "Perhaps a tutor, then?" He suggested, with a bit of a sigh.

" A- a tutor?" I must have looked horrified, and in reality, I probably was a little. "Sir, I don't need a tutor. " A cold shower, that's what I need.

"Rita, it's nothing to be embarrassed about. I think you could really benefit from having someone go through it all on a one-to-one bases." He said, stretching his hands out in his desk. God, what I wouldn't do to feel those hands all over m-

"Really sir, I don't really see some 70 year old failed author drowning on about symbolism helping me at all." I hadn't really meant to be so rude. But I didn't want Mr Anderson to think I'm stupid. And I didn't want anyone else trying to teach me English. And I didn't want him to be just my English teacher.

His eyebrows frowned and he looked down, but his lips twitch like he was trying to stop a smile. He folded his hands together and looked back up at me. "Rita, I just want you to get the grades I know you can. Whatever this is, it's just a blip. And if you can just overcome it, you could achieve great things. I mean, take these creative pieces," he reached into a drawer and pulled out a folder with my name scribbled in his adorable handwriting on the front, "there are incomparable to the work of your classmates." he said with a genuine smile now, "I mean, some of these could be published one day."

Hearing him talk like that made my stomach twist in a delightful way and I blushed from the compliment. I loved writing and I had honestly feared his judgement when I handed them in.

"Th-thank you." I stuttered quietly, pulling my sleeves over my hands.

"So maybe you'll rethink the tutor?" He tried, an eyebrow raised.

"Sir, I-"

"Sleep on it." He suggested quickly, standing up from his desk. "Maybe I can arrange someone who isn't a 70 year old failed author." He said, a small grin evident in his words.

It sounded like he wanted to help pretty badly. And not the way other teachers want to 'help' so that you don't bring their class average down, he genuinely wanted me to do well, for me.

"I- okay." I said finally. "I'll think about it."

"Great." he said, moving out from behind his desk. He was going to walk me to the door, what a gentleman. "If you do decide to go for it, I think you'll find the one-to-one classes really beneficial." he said as he closed the door behind me.

One-to-one.

The three short syllables hummed in my ears as I walked down the hall towards my next class.

Mrs Gallagher scolded me for being late when I walked into my compulsory/waste-of-time physical education class. But I barely registered it and responded with an airy 'Sorry Miss'. My thoughts were somewhere else completely. They weren't even in the school any more. They had floated into the air and had congregated in my house, in my dining room. 'A one-to-one lesson with Mr Anderson...' the thoughts whispered suggestively. 'Now, wouldn't that solve everything?'

I played volleyball less than half heartedly.

I wanted nothing more than to spend some time with Mr Anderson, just the two of us, but I'm not stupid. While, technically, at seventeen, I'm nearly an adult (and totally legal, by the way), student/teacher relationships are completely forbidden, even when the teacher is as young and delicious as Mr Anderson. But besides that, Mr Anderson (as I may have mentioned before) is capital-H-Hot, and thus, completely and utterly out of my league.

If he's so out of your league, where's the harm in a little one-to-one time?

Hm. The voices in my head were starting to make a little sense. I mean, I learnt best from Mr Anderson and in a tutoring environment, when we're in such (I shivered) close proximity, there'd be no opportunities for wandering thoughts... or eyes.

Wait, are you using this as an excuse to- A sensible voice began, but I'd already started ignoring the common sense.

Straight after P.E was lunch, so I had a quick shower and threw my stuff into my bag.

He was leaving his classroom for lunch when I approached.

"Mr Anderson?"

He round to me, a satchel thrown over his shoulder. "Rita," He smiled, "decided against it already?"

"Actually..." I twisted my hands together nervously, wondering if I had left all my courage on the volleyball court, "I was wondering if you wouldn't mind... tutoring me..." I let my words fall away.

"Oh. I... I don't know, Rita." He scratched the back of his head, uncertainly, showing off his strong arm muscles. "Most people would think I'm not qualified; I've only be subbing for a year and-"

"But you're such a good teacher!" I said, sounding a little whiny, "I know I won't do better with anyone else." I definitely sounded childish; like a toddler refusing to go to bed without sweets.

"I don't know," he whispered, staring at his feet, completely not in teacher-mode. For some reason, his reaction gave me shivers. "Well, I guess, if it's the only way." He looked up from the ground and right at me. "I'd be happy to help." His voice sounded a little strained.

Internally, I was beaming, of course. But outwardly, I said very coolly, "Super. Can we start next week?"

"Sure." He said, just as calmly (although, his probably wasn't feigned) "I'll get your address from the secretary."

I could barely contain myself as I practically skipped to the canteen.

Mr Anderson's going to be in my house!

Then the sensible voice chipped in: And it will be completely professional. And hopefully my grades will improve.

Of course. My grades. That was the reason I wanted to do this.


Smell that? That's the beginnings of a much longer story! Please leave a review of the first chapter, it means so much!

Hope you enjoyed! xo