Breaking Noah by Missy Johnson, Ashley Suzanne Page A

a few inches in the back, and even from here I can tell you her underwear is the same color as her skirt.
    Whipping my car around, I pull into the spot next to hers and climb out, moving to stand in front of her so I’m not tempted to learn any more intimate details about her undergarments.
    “Is everything okay, Ms. Hamilton?” I ask, forcing my eyes to focus on hers and not down her ill-fitting tank top. My resolve weakens as I remember how her lips felt pressed against mine. I’m like a horny teenager. I have to stand on the other side of the fender just to conceal my growing erection.
    “The fucker won’t start. I don’t get it. I just did a tune-up last week. Everything should be fine,” she says, slapping her hands on the raised hood, peering farther into the motor.
    “You can use my phone to call your boyfriend if you’d like,” I offer, digging my phone from my pocket.
    “He’s at work until seven. If you could give me a ride, I’ll have him stop on his way home to see if he can figure it out.”
    “No problem. Come on.” I climb back into the driver’s seat while Zara gathers her belongings from the Mustang. She pulls out her backpack and purse, puts the keys under the seat, and pulls out her phone, presumably to text her boyfriend to let him know where her keys are so he can fix the problem.
    When Zara’s situated and buckled in my car, I pull out of the lot, careful to not let my gaze divert to her legs again, or to her breasts, which are being accentuated by the seat belt currently cutting across her chest. Hell, I’ve already gone through puberty, so I shouldn’t still be feeling like a teenage boy who’s seeing boobs for the first time. This is insane.
    “Why weren’t you in class today? You were obviously at school,” I ask, trying to cut the tension and remind myself she’s a student.
    “Lady troubles,” she responds, not giving anything further.
    The rest of the ride’s quiet until we pull up in front of her building. As I put the car in park, Zara reaches toward the backseat to grab her stuff, forcing her body within millimeters of mine, and I have to hold my breath so we don’t actually touch. When everything’s in her hands, she sweetly smiles and thanks me for the ride. I nod in response. I’m such a damn tool.
    I’m about to pull away from the curb when Zara rushes back out to my car, waving her arms frantically in the air. “Wait, Mr. B. Wait a second!” she yells, causing me to slam on my brakes.
    I open the passenger window and she leans into the car, again giving me a first-class ticket to confirm that her bra matches her skirt, too. “What’s the problem, Zara?”
    “I’m the dumbass that didn’t just leave the car keys for her boyfriend, but left the house key as well. I can’t get in,” she says, blushing. Finally, a sense of normalcy from this young woman. She does have emotions.
    “I can take you back to the school, if you’d like. It’s really no problem.”
    “It’s like twenty minutes away. Can you give me a ride to the factory district instead? I can wait there until Dillon gets off work.” There’s absolutely no way I’m taking a beautiful girl to sit at the factories, where nearly all rape and murder victims are found. That’s the most unsafe idea I’ve ever heard in all my life.
    “That seems pretty dangerous, Zara. I only live a few miles from here. If you’re interested in some pasta from Zeoli’s, you can wait at my apartment. I can at least fill you in on what you missed when you didn’t show up to class today.”
    Terrible idea, Noah. Terrible fucking idea.
Teachers and students should never spend time alone outside of school.
I’m asking for it. Fuck.
    I mentally slam my hands on the steering wheel as her face lights up and she climbs back into the car. “That sounds pretty good, actually. Thanks, Noah. You’re the best.”
    Or am I the worst?

Chapter 9
Zara
    I purposely hitch my leg up, letting my skirt ride higher on my