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He wanted more.

We should’ve had more, but we didn’t.

Why?

Because it’s wrong.

Because he’s like a whole acne human younger than me.

Because I’m his teacher.

I’m supposed to be educating him on how to find his voice not taking advantage of his ability to make me scream hard enough to forget mine.

What we did was bad.

So very bad.

And yet…it felt so good.

So very good.

“Mow,” repeats Noodle even louder than before, gathering my narrowed gaze.

“Look,” I viciously blow unbrushed strands of hair off of my glasses, “I’m really, really not thinking-”

“Mow.”

“Or dreaming-”

“Mow.”

“Or obsessing-”

“Mow.”

“-about Hogan.”

“Mow.”

“I’m just trying to mind my own business and take a break from proposed writing prompts to enjoy this Sloan Mathers novel.”

Noodle’s large paw landing on top of my e-reader is attached to another – although much louder – noise. “Mow.”

“Rude.” My finger gestures down to where he’s blocking my view. “And honestly, sir? A bit judgy.”

Additional conversing with my cat can’t be had due to the unexpected sound of my doorbell ringing.

“That’s also rude,” I murmur to him as much as myself.

You know I would say no one likes strangers ringing their doorbells except I’ve had the pleasure of meeting those that do.

They wrote an entire assignment about it last year.

Which made me wanna take a copy of it to my first graders to use as an example of why even grownups need to have solid stranger danger awareness.

I’m – to this day – still not convinced that he doesn’t have a collection of Jehovah’s Witnesses strung up in his serial killer memorabilia themed basement.

While ignoring the door is my plan, the fact the person rings the bell again indicates being ignored isn’t in theirs.