So Many Reasons Why by Missy Johnson

I laughed as his
expression turned from nervous to horrified. “Come-on, it can't be that bad.” I
teased. “You trust my taste, right?”
    Simon made a face.
    “Hey. Stop being a dick or I will pick a really bad movie.”
Simon put his arms up in mock surrender. I kicked him playfully. Now for the
big decision. What to make him watch. It was a pretty easy decision, I leaned
past him on the couch. He gasped as my arm grazed over his chest. I jumped
back, embarrassed.
    “I’m sorry.” I stammered. My face heated up as I realised he
thought I was putting the moves on him. “No it’s not what you think. I didn’t
mean to...” I trailed off. I didn't mean to what? I wasn't even sure of what
I'd done. Simon smiled at me, his eyes sad.
    “It’s not you Em, It's me.”
    “That’s original.” I said dryly. “I was only trying to reach
the DVD. Nothing else.” I added. His eyes followed as I pointed to the DVD case
on the table. He handed it to me. Too quickly. His eyes avoided mine. Now he
was the one to blush. The joys of small victories.
    “What did you mean?” The words were out of my mouth before I
could stop them.
    Simon looked up, still embarrassed, the conversation clearly
making him uncomfortable. Finally he sighed.
    “I meant I have feelings for you and I shouldn't.” He
shrugged. I watched him as he focused way too closely on a loose thread in the
seam of his pants. He liked me. Hearing him admit that made my heart swell. If
he liked me then I wasn’t being a psycho crazy stalker girl.
    “Simon-” I began. He cut me off.
    “No Emma. Please don't say anything. Nothing you say right
now can be a good thing.” I moved away from him, hurt by his words. Nothing I
say could be a good thing? What the hell was that supposed to mean?
    He sighed. I saw guilt in the eyes. Good. He should feel
bad. For the first time he was living up to his reputation as an asshole He
reached for my hand. I jerked it away, the contact like an electric shock. Now
it was my turn to focus on something completely irrelevant. I chose a small
stain on the arm of the couch.
    “Em, I couldn't handle it if you told me you didn't feel
something for me.” He turned my face to his. Oh my god, his eyes. He was
staring so deeply into my eyes I felt naked. “But I don't think I could stop
myself if you said you did.” His hand gently touched my cheek.
    All of a sudden I was lost in his eyes. All I wanted was for
him to kiss me. I wanted to feel his lips touch mine. I needed him. I hated
that I needed him. 
    I kissed him. His shock only lasted moments, before he
kissed me back. His soft lips pressed against mine, urgently searching,
exploring.
    He tasted so sweet. His hand cupped the nape of my neck,
pulling me in closer. Our kiss deepened. His other hand enclosed mine, our
fingers threaded. His skin was so soft and warm.
    Eventually we parted. I sighed, leaning back into his arms.
He gently stroked my arm. I could still feel it the tension. The kiss hadn't
changed anything. I could feel it in his body language. He wasn’t going to give
in to this, he was going to fight it.
    “Em, we can't. There are so many reasons why we can't do
this.” His voice was cracking, like all this was so hard for him. Had he
considered what I wanted for even a second? 
    How could I be angry when I myself had no idea what I
wanted? The irony almost made me laugh.
    “What reasons?” I challenged, holding his gaze.
    “For starters I am your teacher. We could both get into so
much trouble over this. Second, I have a daughter. Are you ready for something
like that? You're only twenty for Christ’s sake. Which brings us to number
three, I'm 38-”
    “Do you care about the age difference?” I cut in. He looked
at me, surprised by the question.
    “No.” He finally said. “I don't, but others will. How old is
your mother Emma? 42? 43? I am almost the same fucking age!” I winced as his
voice rose. He obviously cared about what other people thought, and