A/N: WOW thank you guys so much for your feedback! I was so nervous about this, but I really, really, REALLY appreciate ya'll's responses. I also get a kick out of your anecdotes :) So I know the idea of a teacher/student relationship is unethical and might have an ick-factor for some, but, (taking advice from ) I tried to remove a little of that by making it clear that Sookie is an eighteen-yr-old. However, the forbidden-ness it is associated with is also what makes the situation so yummy! (OK, well obviously the hotness of Eric is another huge factor)....

Anyways, this story is entirely fantasy, and I hope ya'll enjoy this next chapter!

Disclaimer: All of these awesome characters belong to Charlaine Harris.

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The class quieted almost instantly, and I swear I felt Claudine swoon a little next to me when he turned around. I finally had a chance to stare openly at him, and I felt my classmates doing the same.

This man should not be a teacher, I thought. This man should be modeling Armani underwear on a runway.

He was tall, at least 6'3, with shoulder-length hair that was the same shade of blonde as mine and held back in a ponytail at the nape of his neck. His face had that indescribable characteristic that makes a man handsome- it wasn't rugged or refined, but falling somewhere in-between. And of course there was his body, which I could tell was toned and muscled under his white, collared shirt.

Moving in front of his desk, he then casually leaned back on it with his long legs stretched in front of him and his arms resting on either side. He scanned the class briefly before speaking, and his blue eyes (which seemed like pools of sapphires, not that I noticed) lingered on me. (WHY did I pick the second row from the front? Darn my grade-conscious behavior!) He smirked almost imperceptibly, but I definitely caught it and felt a tell-tale blush beginning to spread across my cheeks. He looked around again and began to introduce himself in a measured voice that had a tenor-like quality to it, but was a little deeper.

"I am Eric Northman. You may call me Mr. Northman. I am from Sweden, but I attended the University of Texas where I obtained my B.A. in History and my teaching certification. This is my first year of teaching, and so I expect to learn from you as well."

He paused, surveying the room. After hearing his accent and precise pronunciation, which was so distinctly different from our slower Southern drawls, Claudine was clutching her desk exaggeratedly for support. She met my eyes and, raising her eyebrows, silently mouthed out, "HOT!" Fortunately Mr. Northman didn't appear to notice this little exchange and continued his introduction.

"If you do the work and put in the effort I require, you will do well in this class. I do not offer extra credit but I will have tutorials every afternoon." At this, I could practically hear the wheels turning in the minds of every girl in the room- and maybe even in one of the boys. "I look forward to making this a great year. As I call out your name to check attendance, I would like for each of you to introduce yourselves and share an interesting fact with us. Let's begin with..." he picked up the attendance sheet, and I knew exactly which name he would say because, again, this is how my life works (or doesn't), "...Miss Susannah Stackhouse?"

I raised my hand and try not to gulp cartoonishly. "It's Sookie." He annotated the roll call with my nickname and I quickly tried to think of something interesting, something that would impress him. "And...erm..." I love cooking and I watch Food Network religiously? I have two dogs named Rhett and Scarlett? I want to marry you and have your babies? ...think, Sookie, think....

"I like cinnamon rolls."

The class tittered at my statement, while I colored and slumped down in my seat a little. Mr. Northman, instead of staring at me like I was a manifestation of Rainman, which is what I honestly expected, did the most unusual thing.

He laughed.

Not at me, but it was like he was surprised at something. In doing so, he smiled broadly, showing perfectly sharp, white teeth. "I also have a sweet tooth, Susannah. I am sorry, Sookie," he corrected himself. God help me, because when he called me Susannah I felt the most glorious tingle in my stomach...and lower. His electric blue eyes held mine for only a moment too long, and then he looked down at the list and called on the next person.

After that, every girl in the class said they liked something sugary. Hershey bars, chocolate chip cookies, heck, even Claudine batted her eyelashes and said she loved lollipops. But if they were looking for Mr. Northman to react in the same way as he did to my comment, they were sorely disappointed. He became more amused and incredulous with each comment, but also a little more guarded.

Lafayette's response of, "I like sex jelly," finally caused Mr. Northman to ask us to keep our "interesting facts" PG rated. The class was still snickering about Lafayette's obvious advances when he called on the last person, Debbie Pelt, who was sitting in the back corner of the room.

Debbie Pelt was not just an ordinary skank. If there was an Olympic event for skankiness, she would at least medal in silver, and then probably try to take out whoever won gold. She raised an eyebrow and said, (skankily, of course), "My birthday was last week and I just turned eighteen."

Wow. What a ho-bag, I thought, amazed that her sluttiness knew no bounds. I mean, I had turned eighteen in July but there was no way that I would ever...insinuate something like that in front of the entire class.

Claudine rolled her eyes at me, but I was focused on Mr. Northman's reaction. He simply marked off her name and said, "Happy belated birthday. Well, I believe that is everyone. I will pass out the syllabus, we will go over it, and then you may begin reading Chapter One until the end of class."

As he reviewed the syllabus, I was astounded by the amount of work he expected us to do, (like read at least one supplementary historical novel every two weeks). He seemed to receive a similar vibe from the rest of the class because he added, "It may seem like a lot right now, but you can prevent stress by pacing yourselves." Eventually he wrapped it up and offered to answer questions before allowing us time to study. Although I think he meant for us to ask questions about the syllabus and the class, the first few questions were about him. We found out that he played soccer, he had three older sisters, and he had moved to Louisiana for "personal reasons." As someone tried to get him to elaborate on this last answer, the bell rang.

Naturally, most of the girls tried to linger until they saw Mr. Northman gather up a few things and walk out the door. Then there was a mad exodus. But Gran had raised me to be polite and, even though I was dying for another peek at his sweet backside, I waited for the other girls to file out.

Finally, when there were only one or two others behind me, I stood up and moved around my desk. Suddenly, I felt someone bump my shoulder and I dropped my bag on the ground. Since it was a tote bag, half of my stuff fell out. Debbie Pelt looked back and sneered at me before marching out of the room. I sighed and knelt down to pick up my things. I was busy collecting everything when someone bent down beside me. I saw a large hand offer a few papers to me and as I turned to say, "Thank you," I realized it was Mr. Northman. He was still studying the top page, on which I had drawn little hearts and flowers...and the initials EN + SS.

And just as I thought that the situation couldn't get more awkward, I noticed for the first time that he was wearing a wedding ring.

My only thought was, oh, God, please open a hole in the ground for me. After what seemed like an eternity (a really, really bad one on par with, say, hell), I stood up and quickly stuffed everything in my big, dumb, stupid bag. He straightened and regarded me in a serious, professional manner. "Sorry," I mumbled, looking at the ground as I passed him. He moved to the side, but not soon enough because I accidentally brushed against his arm. I felt him stiffen and I cringed as I bolted through the door.

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Laying in bed that night, thinking over the day and especially about Mr. Northman, I couldn't help but reminisce about my one and only previous relationship.

I met Bill Compton when I was seventeen. He had just transferred as a senior to Bon Temps High School after a brief stint in juvie. (I know, this doesn't exactly scream "WINNER!" but isn't part of being a Christian about forgiving others?) Fate had conspired with me (or rather, against me, I would later discover) and placed us next to each other in English Lit. He had turned around in his seat, giving me a moment to admire his dark hair and eyes before asking me with a cool, soft voice if he could borrow a pen. The rest was infamous history. We dated last fall, although in this case "dating" meant that he would call me when he was bored and I would come running. I knew it was lame to make excuses, but it's just that when we were together, he made me feel like I was the only person who mattered. It made it easier to ignore all of the times that I needed him and he was nowhere to be found.

Amelia liked to call him "Vampire Bill" because she thought he was sucking the life out of me. Everything I did, said, thought, and wore revolved around him. I couldn't help it though- he was my first love, the first guy who I was attracted to that had ever shown any interest in me. His lack of availability was just part of his charm, I told myself, but I knew he cared. I was sure of it.

We made love for the first time on Christmas Eve. Gran had dragged Jason to Maxine Fortenberry's annual Christmas soiree, but I had begged off with a fake cold so that I could see Bill. The event itself was pretty forgettable- almost immediately after he had entered me, (and I had to forcibly keep him from moving at first because of the slight pain), he thrust in twice and came. As he rolled off of me, I stared up at the ceiling, wondering if that was all there was, and what exactly the big deal was about something so...small. (And I say this now not as a scorned woman, but as an objective observer. Bill was tiny enough to make me wonder if I was still technically a virgin.) But as usual, I forgave his selfish ways and just considered myself lucky that someone would care about me.

I went to sleep with his arms around me and woke up alone. There was a note on the pillow. I prayed it would say, "Love you. See you soon." or even, "Went to grab food. Will be back." But the four words it did contain destroyed me: "I can't do this."

Amelia came over on Christmas Day and after crying with me for what seemed like hours, she started to rail against Bill, even making fun of the girlie-handwriting in his note. She summoned an anger and a sense of dignity that helped me, at least temporarily, conquer my deep, aching sadness. My brain knew that Bill wasn't good, it told me repeatedly that he didn't care, but the heart wants what the heart wants. And at the time, my heart just wanted him.

Now, with some distance and time between me and my disappointment, it was tempting to place all of the blame on Bill, but I still couldn't. I realized that I had let him take advantage of me. There was absolutely no excuse for his disgusting behavior, but I never should have let it go so far. I should've had the confidence and been secure enough to tell him to fuck off the moment he started expecting things without demonstrating that he actually did care about me. Instead of being grateful for his attention, I should have demanded his respect. But of course, hindsight's always 20/20.

So after the break-up, I was miserable for the next few weeks, slogging through school, avoiding Bill whenever possible, and rarely leaving the house. Amelia stuck by me, and Gran was supportive even though I felt too ashamed to tell her exactly what had happened. Eventually, when the weather began to warm up, the birds came out and started to sing, and all the other springtime clichés occurred, I finally got a move-on. Bill was expelled before he could graduate (for smoking pot on school grounds) and then left town. I spent the summer forgetting him, but not what I had learned from the experience. And in fact, I had avoided anything even remotely resembling a guy or an attraction until today.

I could try to deny it but I wanted Mr. Northman. I wanted Eric Northman. I wanted those deep blue eyes to smolder at me, I wanted to hear him groan my name with those delicious lips and that sensationally seductive voice. I imagined him kissing me, sliding his large hands around my waist and pulling me against his rock-hard frame and....okay, this was buying me a one-way ticket to Crazytown. He was my teacher, for cripes' sakes, I shouldn't be fantasizing about this. Especially now that he'd had a pretty obvious glimpse into what I was thinking. And, oh my gosh, DUH, because he was married!!!!! (I subconsciously kept wanting to forget this.) How was I going to face him in class every day for the rest of the school year?

Tossing and turning, I thought intermittently about him and Bill before finally drifting off into a restless sleep.

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Coming up: an Eric POV....and is he really married????

SPOILER: No, of course not :D