Teach Me Tonight: Chapter Five

 The morning after shouldn’t feel this easy… but it does.

Sunlight, coffee, soft teasing, and a slow unraveling of every truth they never said years ago. Lena and Evan finally face what’s been simmering between them—what they both wanted and never admitted.

There’s no shame, no awkwardness, just warmth and connection and the quiet realization that last night wasn’t a mistake.

Not even close.

And when he leans in with a smile that promises more, the only question left is the one neither of them wants to answer wrong:

What comes next?

Chapter Five

Lena

After Class

Morning light filters through the curtains, warm and pale, catching on the edges of the room like it’s trying to wake us gently. My body definitely doesn’t feel gentle, though. Every inch of me is aware of what happened last night, of his hands, his mouth, the way he said my name like it meant everything.

I blink up at the ceiling, half expecting to be alone.

I’m not.

Evan is stretched out beside me, one arm slung over his stomach, breathing slow and even. His hair’s a little messy, jaw shadowed, chest rising and falling under the thin sheet. He looks… peaceful. Younger. Like whatever weight he normally carries decided to clock out.

It’s unfair how attractive he looks first thing in the morning.

His eyes open before I can look away.

“Hey,” he says, voice low and sleep-rough, the kind that goes straight through me.

“Hey.”

A slow smile curves at the corner of his mouth. “You okay?”

My cheeks warm. “Pretty sure I’m the one who should be asking that.”

He laughs softly, rolling to his side, head propped on his hand. “If you’re referring to the part where you nearly killed me twice… yeah. I’ll survive.”

I groan, dragging a pillow over my face. “Stop.”

“No,” he says, tugging it down just enough to see my eyes. “You started it.”

His grin is impossible not to return.

I become vaguely aware of the way the sheet’s slipped down, the way my body aches in the best possible way, all loose and satisfied and a little sore. It hits me in a slow wave. We really did that.

He watches me for a beat, eyes softer now. “Regrets?”

The question’s quiet, careful.

I shake my head. “No. You?”

“Not even close.”

He sits up, stretching, and the blanket slips low on his hips in a way that absolutely should be illegal before coffee. “Speaking of starting things,” he says, swinging his legs off the bed, “I can offer caffeine. Black, with cream, or with enough sugar to qualify as dessert?”

“Coffee,” I say, pulling the sheet around me and sitting up. “Only if it comes with extra credit.”

He pauses in the doorway, looks back at me with a smirk that could melt concrete. “Trust me,” he says, “you earned it.”

Heat rushes through me again, traitorous and immediate.

I find the T-shirt he handed me last night draped over a chair and tug it on. It falls mid-thigh, soft and worn from age. The smell of him clings to the fabric, warm and clean and stupidly addictive. As I pad down the hallway, I catch glimpses of his life in the daylight. Photos of Mia at different ages, a framed game ticket, a picture of them where he looks tired but happy.

You really did build a life around her, I think, chest pulling tight.

He moves around the kitchen like he never left it, quiet, comfortable, practiced. The coffeemaker hums. Mugs clink softly. Morning sunlight catches on his bare shoulders, turning the muscles in his back into something that belongs in a very specific kind of museum.

“So,” he says, glancing at me over his shoulder as I slide onto a stool at the island, “you still a ‘ Saturdays are my favorite’ girl? Or did last night bump that up the list?”

I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling. “Don’t get cocky.”

“Too late,” he says, pouring coffee. “Pretty sure that ship sailed somewhere around lesson three.”

He hands me a mug, fingers brushing mine, and my body remembers exactly how he touched me last night.

“So,” he adds, “how’s your grade looking this morning?”

I take a long sip, buying time. “Pretty sure I passed.”

“Oh, you did more than pass.”

I swat his arm. “You’re impossible.”

His smile softens a little, less teasing now. “Can’t help it around you.”

That tiny shift—lighthearted to something truer—hits somewhere low in my stomach. I lean against the counter, mug warming my hands.

“Okay,” I say. “Official teacher review. You did very well. Clear effort, strong engagement, excellent… retention.”

He laughs, head tipping back. “Retention, huh?”

“Top of the class.”

“Good to know.” He takes a sip of his own coffee, then sets the mug down, watching me from where he is. “Can I make you breakfast? Or is that too much, too soon?”

“Depends,” I say. “Is it part of the extra credit package or a separate assignment?”

“Definitely bundled,” he says, lips twitching. “Full lesson plan experience.”

“Then yeah,” I murmur. “I’m not turning that down.”

He moves around the kitchen again, pulling out eggs and bread and some kind of fancy-looking cheese like this is normal, like I’ve woken up here a hundred times instead of once. The domesticity of it throws me more than the sex did. There’s something dangerously comfortable about watching him crack eggs into a bowl, bare-chested, morning-scruffy, moving with easy familiarity.

“So,” he says after a moment, fingers brushing the rim of his mug, “last night…”

He trails off, searching for the right words.

I raise an eyebrow. “Careful. You’re starting to sound nervous.”

He huffs a soft laugh. “Pretty sure last night says otherwise.”

My face warms. “Touché.”

He sips his coffee once, then sets it down running his finger around the rim. His voice drops, quieter. “You know… I used to imagine this.”

The words catch me off guard in a way I’m not ready for. “Imagined what?”

“You and me,” he says, eyes lifting to mine. “Talking like this. Being easy with each other again. Not exactly like this,” he adds, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “The details were different, sure. But the idea of you? That part never changed.”

My stomach flips. “You thought about that?”

“More than I should’ve at the time.” His gaze holds mine, steady and unguarded in a way that makes my chest tighten. “I didn’t say anything back then because it felt wrong. But after Mia left for school… I kept thinking about it. About you.”

I look down at my mug, letting the heat creep into my palms. “I used to think about it too.”

His brows lift, a flash of surprise and something warmer. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” I swallow, the confession sticking a little in my throat. “Just never thought I’d actually let myself have it.”

His ears go a little pink, which is unfairly cute for a man who had his hand between my thighs just last night.

“How so?”

His gaze drifts toward the window, then back to me, softer now. “I kept thinking I had to handle everything myself. Work. Life. All of it. Letting someone in felt… risky.”

I tilt my head. “Risky how?”

He breathes out slowly. “Because wanting something for myself wasn’t something I let myself do. Not for a long time.”

I nudge his arm lightly with mine. “So… control issues?”

“Probably.” He hesitates, then adds, “Or maybe I just didn’t find the one I was looking for.”

The words slip between teasing and confession.

I swirl my coffee, pretending to think about it. “You were always good at taking control.”

“And you were always good at pretending not to like it.”

The heat that rushes through me is instant. I glance at him, finding his eyes already on me, dark and steady.

“I don’t remember that,” I lie.

His smile is small, knowing. “You never had to say it.”

My throat works around another sip I don’t really take. ‘You have got to stop doing that to me.’

He flips the eggs, plating breakfast like this is just another morning. It isn’t. He sets a plate in front of me, then takes the stool beside mine instead of across from me, our knees brushing.

For a second, we just eat in silence, the quiet not awkward, just full. Comfortable. Charged.

He sets his fork down first, fingers tracing the edge of the plate like he’s debating saying what’s running through his mind. “I thought about reaching out to you,” he says quietly.

My breath stalls. “You did?”

He nods once. “More than once.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

He lets out a slow breath. “You were in college. Starting your life. And I was…” His mouth lifts in a rueful almost-smile. “A single dad who couldn’t figure out how to send a text that didn’t sound like an awkward thank-you for tutoring my kid.”

A warmth flares in my chest. “You could’ve tried.”

“Yeah,” he says softly. “But it felt easier to think you were out there doing amazing things instead of risking messing it up by dragging you into my world.”

“And now?”

His eyes meet mine, steady and sure. “Now I get to look at you without pretending it’s nothing.”

My chest tightens in a way that feels too real, too soon, too everything. I stare down at my plate like it might help. “I almost called you once.”

He stills. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I say softly. “A few years ago. I found your number in an old email thread with Mia. I almost dialed. Just to say hi. Just to see if you’d remember me or if that was all in my head.”

He’s quiet for a beat. “Why didn’t you?”

I huff out a breath, eyes burning a little more than I want them to. “Because I overthink everything and because I talked myself out of it. Told myself I was imagining the past, that you probably didn’t even remember me.”

His eyebrows lift, like the idea is ridiculous. “Lena. I remembered you.”

Something inside me loosens, something I didn’t realize I’d been holding tight for a long time.

He reaches out, brushing his fingers over mine against the mug. The touch is soft, nothing like last night, but somehow it hits harder.

“You were… this bright spot,” he says quietly. “Back when everything was about schedules and report cards and making sure Mia didn’t fall apart. You walked in with your highlighters and your lesson plans and your ‘no shortcuts’ face and… I noticed. I just tried really hard not to.”

My throat gets tight. “You really waited until after I slept with you to say that?”

He laughs, the tension easing just enough. “Timing was never my strong suit. Plus you were young and I was older than you.”

“No kidding,” I mutter, but there’s no real bite in it.

He squeezes my hand once before letting go, like he’s testing how much contact I can handle before I bolt. I don’t move.

“So,” I say, quietly uncertain and stupidly hopeful. “What now? Does the age difference still bother you?”

He picks up his mug again, but his gaze stays on me. “Well, professor,” he says, voice low, “we’ve covered the basics. Intro to Bad Ideas. Advanced Extra Credit.”

He leans in slightly. “Pretty sure the only thing bothering me was how long it took me to stop pretending it mattered.”

I snort. “So that was just the intro?”

He smiles. “I’m calling it a strong start.”

“Evan.”

He sobers, the playfulness softening into something more grounded. “Moving forward… we don’t pretend this was just one night. Not unless that’s what you want.”

My heart stumbles. ‘Do I want that? No. God, no.’

“I don’t,” I say, before I can talk myself out of it.

“Good,” he murmurs, relief flickering across his face so quickly I almost miss it.

He steps closer, setting his mug down, hand sliding along my waist, warm and steady.

“Guess,” he says, voice dropping, “we find out what the next lesson is.”

A smile pulls at my lips. “Think you’re ready for it?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs, leaning in, “I’m counting on it.”

His mouth brushes mine, soft and unhurried, a promise instead of a demand. It tastes like coffee and something sweeter, something that feels suspiciously like hope.

And just like that, the morning shifts with promise, heat, and something neither of us is pretending away anymore.

The End

Copyright © by LS Phoenix

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Published by LS Phoenix

New Hampshire, USA

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First Edition: November 2025

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