by L. M. Carr
On each side of the lot are cars, waiting patiently, silently abandoned temporarily while their owners party at Pulse. Porsche. Range Rover. Camaro. Mercedes. BMW. Lexus. Audi. Maserati. Corvette. It’s like a luxury car show; it’s the who’s who of fancy, expensive cars. But, no town car and no Phil wait for me. I’m so going to kill her!
A chill shoots up my spine, goose bumps spread across my arm when I realize that besides the sounds of muffled laughter and distant techno music, it’s eerily quiet and dark. Shit! I didn’t think to bring my pepper spray or more importantly, my gun. Yeah, it didn’t exactly go with my LBD and it definitely wouldn’t have fit in my clutch. And I can’t exactly cross state lines with a .22 cal.
The sound of an engine starting claims my attention. It purrs in the distance, slowly coming towards me before stopping completely; its headlights blinding my eyes. The driver’s door opens, heavy footsteps and a dark figure slowly approach me still a few yards away, but this ominous presence scares me to the point of immobility. I quickly open my clutch and unlock my phone, getting ready to call 911 if need be. Yeah, a little dramatic, I know, but hey, I’d rather be safe than sorry and end up a statistic. I look around for the fastest and shortest way back to the club, back to the sound of drunken laughter and pulsating music. Like a slap in the face, it occurs to me that I’m about to come face to face with Devin. His gait, deliberate and determined, indicates that anger still flows in his veins, tension radiating from his pores.
As he stops, only a few feet now separating us, his face is darkened by the light behind him. I take a small step back and begin to utter an apology.
“Look, I’m really sorry I hit you, but I don’t…” The terror is clear in my voice. I strain my eyes to see the expression on his face, but it’s too dark.
“Why? Why are you here? Why would you come to a place like this?” A hostile yet quiet voice cuts off my words. Confusion mars my face at his questions. Just because I didn’t want to have sex with him means I can’t come to dance club? What the hell is his problem?
“Why? Why would you come here?” The words are strained, as if spoken through gritted teeth, trying to comprehend the unfathomable. At that moment, I feel so terrible for punching him in the face. Well, now that’s not true. The bastard deserved it! My silent words scream, “I don’t know why I’m here. My dumbass friend brought me and abandoned me. You said you wanted to fuck me and you put your hands on me, you asshole,” but words fail me. I am mute.
“Answer me,” he demands, tension radiating from his body, his fists tightening. Almost instantly, I’m snapped out of my reverie. His voice. It’s a familiar voice. The shadowed figure and voice come closer. I am still mute not because I can’t speak; his voice has rendered me speechless. I’m not sure if it’s the tone in which he speaks or the questions and commands he hurls at me.
Cars pass by on the street behind me. I pray and plead that at any moment Phil will come around the corner, looking for me and offer to save me. A man to save me? Am I a fucking damsel in distress? Hell, motherfucking, no! I don’t need a man to save me! I mentally kick my own ass and buck up. I am Mia Delaney. I am Dan Delaney’s KAD. My father’s words about me being his kick-ass daughter who shouldn’t put up with a man’s shit are what I need at the moment. The silent pep talk provides all the courage I need.
“Excuse me?” I retort, my voice laced with disdain, fueled by my anger. I need to be smart about this. I need to stand up for myself and not back down, but I don’t want to exacerbate the situation because this asshole is already volatile.
“Listen, I think you’ve got the wrong idea,” I continue speaking, trying to placate him while I back up slowly, not wanting to turn my back to him. The smell of his cologne wafts into my nose, causing me to momentarily and involuntarily close my eyes and inhale, as he steps forward, closing the space between us. I open my eyes. The courage I felt just seconds before vanishes and the instinct to run and hide kicks into high gear. My body tenses with fear that he’s going to reach out, grab me, pull me into his car, rape me and kill me. I know it. My heart pounds frantically in my chest with fear that this might be my last few moments of life. The feeling of being hurt by this man is overwhelming.
“This…this isn’t a place for someone like you. You don’t belong here. Just go home.” The compassion in his voice is oddly comforting. Maybe he’s remorseful for having mistreated me earlier.
“Okay,” I say calmly, trying to pacify him. “You’re right. I’ll go.”
The passenger’s window slightly rolls down a woman’s voice calls out, “C’mon, baby. Let’s go. Unless she’s going to join us…” I catch a glimpse of her and see that it’s the redhead who stood on the balcony hanging possessively onto the arm of the man I could have sworn was Adam. I’m pretty sure the man in front of me just flinched at her words.
Why would Devin warn me off if he’s leaving with someone? Confusion and annoyance furrow my eyebrows. I realize immediately that this man standing before me, is taller and leaner than Devin. His body reveals a quiet strength.
“Why are you still here? I told you to leave.” He’s completely serious and apparently completely delusional.
Oh, no he didn’t! My emotions are on a proverbial seesaw, teetering back and forth from anger to fear and then back to anger. I’m not a violent person, but this person in front of me produces such strong emotions and I’m about to explode. Again. Fuck appeasing. Fuck relenting. Fuck him!
Angry Mia and Fearful Mia are like a bad science experiment when mixed together, they explode and erupt. Everything I learned about keeping calm, assessing the situation to diffuse it, goes out the window because I’m…well, I’m just pissed off. Like really pissed off and scared shitless at the same time. I don’t take orders very well from anyone, especially strange men in a club parking lot.
“What the fuck? Who the hell are you to tell me what to do? And you, my friend, need to back the fuck up before I pepper spray your ass!” I shout defensively, opening my clutch. I’ve been manhandled one too many times tonight. He doesn’t move, but neither do I. There’s a tension, a magnetic force keeping me there drawn to him.
“Go. Home. Now. And. Don’t. Come. Back. EVER.’” Through gritted teeth, he enunciates each word calmly sending shivers down my spine and triggering a deep throbbing between my legs. What is wrong with me? This man is threatening me and I’m thinking about sex? I stand there trying to digest his words, my eyes narrow in contemplation. I don’t want to push my luck; I’d like to come out of this confrontation unscathed. Intelligence wins out over emotion.
My eyes narrow again. “Fine! I’ll leave...but not because you told me to.” I point my finger at him. The woman calls him again, even more impatiently than before. “Looks like someone is pulling on your leash, my friend,” I say defiantly while kicking myself mentally for being obnoxious and provoking him.
I back up slowly, turning in the direction of the club’s entrance and walk with quick steps away from the man with the familiar voice. The familiar voice follows me out onto the sidewalk and steps out from the darkness of shadow. I look over my shoulder to see if the domineering prick is still there. This man stands there watching me walk away. I gasp loudly when a passing car illuminates his bearded face briefly—it belongs to Adam Lawson.
TUESDAY MORNING FINDS me with a nasty headache and a sour stomach. I drank way too much this weekend. Moaning loudly, I stretch my hand out to reach over to give Brady his morning belly rub. I groan even louder, mentally slapping myself because I should have known better than to go out with Kate. It wasn’t the first time she’d ditched me. One time in college, I went to use the bathroom and Kate, drunk as a skunk, literally left me alone at the bar while she ran thirteen blocks all the way to our dorm room. I didn’t talk to her for weeks. Needless to say, I was beyond angry at having to find a ride home in a taxi cab. Again.
Trying hard to keep my eyes closed, praying for the nausea to pass so I don’t vomit…again…a muffled laugh escape
s my lips, remembering my silly antics at Shelby and Mike’s Labor Day cookout. Oh, I’m sure we’ll be talking about this one for a while. Cheeseburgers, beer, hot dogs, beer, BBQ, beer, brownies, beer, potato salad, beer…I’ll have to run a little harder this week to work off all the crap that managed to find its way into my mouth. All weekend, I sent all of Kate’s calls to voicemail and left her apologetic texts unreturned. Damn her and her disappearing act! She really fucked up this time. I’m going to need a few days, maybe weeks, before I can talk to her.
This is going to be the longest day ever. I mean EVER! Brady’s soft snores assure me that it’s still early enough that I can get at least another hour of sleep. When I finally wake up, I realize I’ve overslept and now have to rush to get myself to work on time. Not exactly the right way to start off. I feel like shit. Plain and simple. After showering and dressing quickly, I pull into Dunkin’ Donuts drive thru to get an extra-large cup of coffee with a double shot of espresso. The drive thru window opens to Pete’s laughter and calls for “high-fives.”
“Shhhhh…you’re so loud!” I close my eyes and rest my head on the steering wheel as I wait for my coffee.
His laughter does little for my headache, but does jog some memories of me giving a fair share of “high- fives” to anyone and everyone at the party. I think at some point I even high-fived myself. I must’ve been fun to watch. I can only imagine the videos that are sure to circulate! They better not show up on YouTube.
Regretting my poor decisions for overindulging and oversleeping, I mentally rebuke myself and mutter words promising to never, ever drink that much again. Ever. Shit! I feel like I keep making that same promise over and over.
My biggest problem when I arrive at work is to decide how I’m going to open the heavy double doors at the front entrance of the school with a very sore hand wrapped in an ace bandage. So much for knowing how to throw a punch! Not to mention all the hand slapping and high-fives.
Since my hands are full, I wedge the door handle in between two fingers, wincing at the pain that shoots through my hand. A string of muttered curses fly from my lip-glossed lips when I realize that I’ve just spilled coffee down the front of my red and white sundress.
“Goddammit! Shit! What the fu—” I mumble.
Snickered laughter startles me, drawing my eyes straight to the beautiful, amused, freshly shaven face of Adam Lawson.
“Good morning, Miss Delaney. Let me get that for you,” he offers kindly, opening the door for me and then reaches for my cup of coffee.
“No, thank you. I’ve got it,” I answer, my resolve strong, although I wince and inhale as the pain again shoots through my hand.
He gives me an incredulous look with his eyebrows raised up. “Let me. I insist.” His voice drops to a deep tone, similar to the one he used at the club, while his eyes bore into mine and he steps forward to close the gap between us.
I reluctantly give in and smile, passing my coffee to him. When our fingers graze one another, I’m flooded with a current of heated energy that surges through my body, turning my cheeks pink.
“What’s wrong with your hand?”
“Nothing. It’s fine.” I lie.
Somehow I don’t think he believes me when he peers at me, his lips part and then close, saying nothing in response.
“Thank you,” I concede, sighing heavily as I enter the building.
Adam walks back into the building alongside me. We silently pass the office and walk into my classroom, finally stopping at my desk where I set my bags down and reach for my coffee, taking care not to touch him, and mumble sheepishly, “Thanks again.”
Either he doesn’t hear me or he has something else to say because he just stands there with one hand in his pocket, looking at me blankly. There’s a flurry of activity out in the hallway as parents come in to drop off their children for school. I wonder why he’s still here. Shouldn’t he be at work already?
I walk over to the sink and grab a paper towel to blot the coffee from staining my dress. His eyes follow me and he watches me carefully. I can’t believe I’ve spilled coffee on my new dress.
Adam saunters slowly over to me. “You missed a spot.” His eyes travel from my face to my chest and then back up. My hand is engulfed in his as he guides me to the mark, wiping the stain near my cleavage. “It’s right here.”
I should slap his hand away. I should step back out of his reach, but I can’t. I don’t want to. I am incredibly drawn to this man in front of me. He has me hypnotized just by his presence. “There you go. You’ve got it.” He grins, knowing how much he’s affecting me. Bastard! I need to get the upper hand here.
“Um…is there something I can do for you, Mr. Lawson?” I ask in my professional teacher voice before walking around him and taking a small sip of coffee.
“Well…” He turns and grins wickedly. “I was actually hoping there was something I could do for you.” He lets that last word float out there, waiting for my response. Oh, dear Lord. There are so many things that he could do for me. The list is endless. The possibilities are endless. Hello, Mia. He’s the father of a student in your class!
“Excuse me?” I choke on my coffee.
“I’m not sure if Madison has told you, but I own my company. Being the boss has its benefits.” He smiles, his eyes gleaming with humor before continuing, “One of the nice things about being in charge is…I can do whatever I want, whenever I want. I don’t answer to anyone. Ever.” That’s great for you! I have a boss to answer to and she’s not going to be happy if I’m late to pick up my class.
“Okay…” I drag my response, wondering where this conversation is heading.
“My work schedule is…” he hesitates, “very accommodating. I’m available to help out whenever you need it.” Oh, Mr. Lawson, you have no idea what I need! I can almost feel that hard body pressed against me, making me moan in pleasure. I shake my head to clear my erotic thoughts.
He continues, “Field trips...class projects. I’m very good with my hands and I’d like to spend some time in you…”
My eyes widen and then narrow. “Excuse me?? What did you just say?” The last sip of coffee catches in my throat, causing me cough and sputter.
The look on his face has me confused. “I said, ‘I’d like to spend some time in your classroom.’ You know, I’m available pretty much whenever and am willing to do whatever you need, Miss Delaney.” His voice drops to a sexy growl. I’m pretty sure we’re not talking about making popsicle-stick picture frames or weaved construction paper placemats.
Holy shit! Did I just imagine that whole thing? I could’ve sworn he said he wanted to spend time in me. Maybe Shelby’s right—I need to have sex. Fast.
My eyes open wide, a slight flush on my face. “Wow! That’s a really generous offer, but unfortunately, I don’t get to choose who helps out for things like that. The office handles all of that stuff. Sorry.” I offer an apologetic smile.
“Hmmm…that’s really too bad,” he hums. “So, that’s it?”
“Yep, it would seem so,” I reply.
“You really won’t accept my offer?” he asks with humor in his voice. His eyes glare at me. “Any possibility of me coercing you?” He grins, toying with me.
“Nope. Sorry.” I glance at the clock, thinking of all the things I need to do before my students come in.
“C’mon. Everyone takes a bribe once in a while. I think we can work something out, don’t you?”
“A bribe?” I laugh. “I don’t think so. I play fair and I play by the rules.” I take another sip of coffee, my eyes flicking up to meet his gaze.
“What if I were to say…blackmail you?” He drops his voice to a playful tone.
“Blackmail? What are you talking about?” I eye him skeptically.
He steps in, closing the space between us as he whispers, “Choose me and I won’t tell anyone about that vulgar little mouth of yours.” His tongue slides through as he licks his lips.
Vulgar mouth? What is he talking abo
ut? How would he know that I have a potty mouth?
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Play dumb. That’s a good way to go.
“I think you know exactly what I’m talking about.” He smirks.
We’re at a Mexican standoff—neither one of us willing to relent.
“That’s too bad. But maybe I’ve found your soft spot…” His eyes drop to my lips, watching me sip again. My throat burns as I swallow and stand silently. I want to scream, “Nobody has ever found my ‘soft spot.’ I don’t think it really exists, but I’m happy to let you try!”
“Here’s what I propose,” he says insistently. “If you make sure they choose me, I’ll bring you coffee every time I come.” He waits for my response to his offer. A giggle nearly erupts when I imagine a cup of coffee arriving via a little parachute at all hours of the night whenever he “comes.”
“We’ll both get what we want. It’s a win-win, don’t you think?” His eyes dance with humor. The thought of this glorious man coming is definitely not something I need in my head as I start my day with a roomful of six and seven year olds.
I need to appear unaffected so I remove the lid and blow slowly. “Whew. That’s hot.” My eyes look straight at him, clearly amused by his offer. “Again, that’s a really generous offer. I’ll keep it in mind. There aren’t too many dads offering to help me out.” I need a diversion or I just need him to leave. “Well, I hate to cut this conversation short, but I really need to get ready for the day.” I smile professionally. “By the way, your daughter is doing a great job. I’m available for a conference if you have any concerns.”
The ringing bell signals the start of my work day so he extends his hand, blocking my path. “Thank you, Miss Delaney. Thank you for considering my offer and for being Madison’s teacher.”