Page 8 of Learn Your Limits

Chapter eight

Emiliano

I fucked up.

It was evident Cal was new to talking to others—possibly other men from what I’ve gathered—even if it was only a few texts on some dating app. I pushed him a little too fast with some of the flirting and my sarcasm that may have come across the wrong way.

Did you plan on deceiving me this whole time?

Of course, I didn’t mean it literally. Is this why emojis are so important? Should I have sent a little winking face with it? An absurd emoji with a tongue sticking out?

He probably thinks I’m some older asshole trying to control him.

My messages began to go unanswered last night around eleven p.m, and I finally gave up waiting for a reply about forty-five minutes later. At my age, I’ve had my fair share of missed connections and people losing interest in me, but none have stung this much.

I crave Cal’s attention.

Sighing into my cup of coffee, I sit quietly in the back of the conference room for our department meeting. As much as I’m not one for formal meetings like this, I am actually getting some good information on new policies we’ll have to implement this year.

Listening to our department chair clarify a question from a fellow professor, I realize I’m about to finish my third cup of the day, and it only just hit noon. Fuck, I’m deregulated and not able to focus because I’m haunted by the image of Cal’s body as much as I’m haunted from his desertion.

Perhaps I deserve it after all. In what right mind would it be okay to be interested in someone fourteen years younger than me? Especially if there’s a chance he might be a fucking student of mine.

That little nagging voice stays in the back of my mind, though it should be at the forefront. I know he’s a student at Oakhart, and that’s fine, I’ve made my peace with that. It’s something that I would be willing to accept because I am so enraptured by him.

Oh fuck, he doesn’t know I am a professor here, does he?

I sneak my phone out of my blazer pocket as fast as I can. Our conversation is implanted in my brain, but I need to double check to see if I was the one actually deceiving him.

Before even opening the app, I see there are a handful of notifications about messages from Cal. Thankfully, they just came in a few minutes ago. I have a tendency to forget my phone exists when I’m deep in my work, and it typically stays on silent in a drawer at my desk.

I am relieved to hear from Cal, but I’m also afraid of the content of the messages. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s had a moment of reflection and he’s ready to end our exchanges.

The first message, a short “Hey, Milo.” has me imagining how my nickname would sound from his lips. Is this a sad greeting, a shy one, or perhaps one that precedes a goodbye?

I continue reading.

He was scared and feeling vulnerable. The abrupt drop in conversation last night was because he regretted sending me the photo of his drawing. Of all the things we discussed, and how heated things became, Cal was afraid of letting me perceive his true self.

The flirting and the sending of enticing photos were nothing new to him, I’m sure.

Even at my age, I’m no stranger to sending nudes when spicing up a conversation.

His artistic side must be something he keeps hidden.

The sentence about him living up to others’ expectations of him is what hits me the most. Cal must be suffering in the suppression of himself, even if he doesn’t necessarily present it to others.

JustMilo: Hola, Cal.

JustMilo: I’ve been thinking about you all morning.

In all honesty, I thought I had perhaps pushed you too far last night.

In truth, I wasn’t upset with you but more with myself.

I know you said you’re new to this, and based on your message, I can tell there might be some things you are not comfortable sharing.

I’d like to thank you for feeling like you could share your art with me.

My thumbs type away as I try my best to listen to the conversation happening between our presenter and the audience.

I take a moment to scan my eyes over the photo he sent me.

There’s an adorable smile on his face, and the bit of auburn scruff on his jaw leaves me itching to feel stubble beneath my fingers.

JustMilo: A beautiful smile from a beautiful young man.

JustMilo: My forgiveness is not what you’ll get, Cal. I don’t have it to give because I’m not angry with you.

Setting my phone screen down on the table in front of me, I focus my attention back to the final remarks in the meeting. My fingers tap lightly on the polished wood in my strain to keep from checking my phone right away, but I lose the battle when it buzzes repeatedly with notifications.

CallMeCal: I've been thinking about you, too. I haven't stopped thinking about you.

CallMeCal: I've never had the opportunity to explore anything beyond friendship with a man, and I freaked out.

CallMeCal: Not because of you.

CallMeCal: Nothing you said was too much for me. I just didn't expect to feel so drawn to someone so quickly. My art is the only thing I have that feels like it's just mine. Exposing that piece of myself made me feel a little raw.

CallMeCal: Thank you, Milo. For understanding. I would really like to continue getting to know you.

CallMeCal: If you're still interested.

I may have snuck a glance at my phone before the meeting ended to read Cal’s replies, but it’s only once I’m walking over to my office at the opposite end of the building that I feel collected enough to reply to the devastatingly emotional messages.

He’s opening up to me again, but I wonder if this will turn into a cycle of us moving forward and Cal pulling away. I wonder if there will be much of a future for us at all if things turn out for the worse and we would have to be each other’s secret.

Already feeling like I’m damned one way or the other by not being able to resist the temptation of him, I message him back.