and the one for the novelized version
Seth Garrett didn’t look like a teacher. His short, medium-brown hair was mussed as though he ran his fingers through it—probably from frustration with me. Deep set, green-gray eyes regarded the world with weary cynicism from a face that was too hard, too angled, to be classically handsome. Ever since I’d moved into his class in January I’d spent hours memorizing the stark lines and planes of that face, until I could see it perfectly in my mind. There wasn’t a girl at school who hadn’t sighed over him, and fantasized about him at least a little.
But I was the one who was going to get him.
I wasn’t supposed to want her. I didn’t want to want her. I was her teacher, she was my student, and the whole situation was a disaster in the making. I should have gone to someone for help. I should have had her transferred to another class. I should have kept my temper and libido firmly in check when she was in the room. But I didn’t do any of those things. Maybe it was because forbidden fruit really is the sweetest, or maybe it was just because I wasn’t done self-destructing yet. Either way, I did nothing to stop it.
And then it was too late.