by Cora Carmack
When we were alone again, she asked, “Are you the jealous type, Garrick?”
Right now? Absolutely.
“Not really.” I shrugged.
She raised a disbelieving eyebrow, and I smiled. She didn’t seem angry, so I wasn’t about to feel guilty.
“Maybe this discussion of Othello has set me a bit on edge.”
I was halfway to obsession already.
When she hinted that we go back to my place to wait on the locksmith a few minutes later, halfway went out the window.
I kept up conversation as best as I could, but my mind was already wandering onto other things, like how the short ride to my apartment wasn’t short enough. Like the way her hair would look spread across my pillow, how her hips would feel in my hands, and what her lips would taste like.
It was akin to ignoring an itch. Every second that passed, my world seemed to narrow until I couldn’t focus on anything else, but how badly I wanted to close the distance between us.
And like a tiny pebble causing an avalanche, she looked up at me from beneath her lashes and gave me an opening, a window.
And I took it.
And the walls of self-control I’d been straining to hold up crashed completely. I took hold of her elbow, and pulled her to her feet. And I followed the pull in my chest straight to her lips.
She froze against me, and I wanted to bloody pummel myself. I waited for her to shove me away or slap me, but that didn’t come either. I’d already hung myself out to dry, what was the harm in tightening the noose a bit?
I pulled her bottom lip between my teeth, and felt her shiver. She swayed toward me, and her neck tilted back. I threaded a hand through her hair at the same moment that her mouth opened.
Another window.
The first taste of her would have been worth any pummeling she or I would have given. By the second, I was addicted. Her hands pulled at my back, and I was starving for her. I tugged her closer, until the curve of her chest pressed against me, but it still wasn’t close enough.
I needed more.
So, I slipped my hand underneath the hem of her top, sliding my fingers across her lower back. Her skin felt like silk, and I traced the slight dip just to the side of her spine. I spread my hand, wishing I could touch more of her, sink my fingers deeper. A moan flowed from her mouth into mine, and I pulled back, wanting to touch more of her. My hand on her neck was heading for the hem of her shirt when my peripheral vision reminded me exactly where we were.
Damn it all.
I looked back to her lips, pink and slightly swollen, and God I wished we weren’t in public. She leaned closer, tempting me almost past what I could bear. I couldn’t look at those lips anymore. I dipped my head down toward her shoulder, inhaling her sweet scent.
My resolve broke for a moment, and I tasted the skin of her neck just for a few seconds.
With my eyes close, I tried to pull myself back together.
I said, “Sorry. Got carried away.”
The One Where They Meet… Again.
When I woke Monday morning, I thought maybe I’d dreamed her. That she was the strangest, most elusive siren ever. Or maybe that the universe was punishing me for breaking Jenna’s heart.
Mostly, I spent my morning guzzling coffee and resisting the urge to walk back over to her apartment and knock on the door.
I would give it a few days, and then go back. See if I could make sense of whatever the hell happened the night before. It was obviously an excuse, but I just couldn’t understand why. I’d given her several opportunities to get out, but she’d been the one to keep pulling us along. So, either I’d done something wrong or… I had nothing. I had to have done something, said something that made her change her mind, to make her literally run away from me.
I left bright and early to get to the university. As I settled onto my bike, I couldn’t help but think of the burn on her leg, and wondered how it was. That could be my excuse to check in on her. Maybe tonight. That would be long enough, right?
Damn it.
I made myself focus on the road.
It was strange to pull onto campus and not have to join the hordes of students circling the parking lot like vultures for a spot near the Fine Arts building. Instead I zipped around the lot and pulled into one of the reserved faculty spaces.
I pulled off my helmet and shook the hair out of my face.
Faculty. Jesus.
I was less than an hour away from being a professor. People in their twenties, only a handful of years younger than me, were going to call me sir or mister. I could almost hear the ominous slasher movie music playing behind my thoughts.
I had a real job. I was a real adult.
And I’d done it by accident.
I’m not sure if everyone feels this way or just actors, but I felt like I was in a movie as I entered the building, and made my way to my office. Well, Professor Jackson’s office anyway. I kept expecting to see a camera out of the corner of my eye or a catchy and yet appropriate song underscoring my movement. It was that surreal.
Sometimes in life you make these tiny little choices that at the time seem miniscule in the grand scheme of things. But you veer a little left, then a little more, and more, and then suddenly you’re facing an entirely different direction and have no idea where you’re heading.
My first class of the morning was a group of graduating seniors in their last semester. What could I possibly offer them? I’d been out of college just long enough to rack up even more debt in the form of a post-graduate degree, work less than a year in the regional theatre scene before mangling my personal and professional life into an unrecognizable carcass of failure.
My first lesson plan should be called: Life. No one knows what the hell they’re doing.
I sunk into professor Jackson’s chair, surrounded by his books and his files and his things, and rubbed at my eyes.
I had to believe there was a reason.
I had to believe that even though nothing about my life made sense at the moment, I was getting to where I was supposed to be.
I had to believe that even though I couldn’t see the map, and I was making wrong turns and taking not-so-short cuts—the destination was there.
Maybe I was supposed to be here. Maybe I was supposed to lock myself out of my apartment, and meet Bliss. And as bizarre as it seemed, maybe it was a good thing that she’d run out on me. I liked her. She was sweet and silly, and when everything else seemed complicated, being with her felt simple.
There was more than a one off there.
A knock on the office door pulled me out of my thoughts, and I sat up straighter at my desk. The department head, Eric Barnes stood filling up the doorway, his hands in his pockets. He was a lanky man, twice my age, and had taught me theatre history and directing in my days here, among other things.
“You get all settled into your place?”
I smiled, trying not to think too much about last night, and said, “Yes, of course. Thank you.”
I stood, and he leaned over the desk to shake my hand.
I felt again, like this was some movie, rather than my life. Five years ago, I’d been getting sloshed and doing impressions of him and the other professors in a room full of college friends. Now, he was my boss.
“I thought I’d go down to your first class with you to get you all introduced. Most of the students will have heard the rumors of your coming by now, but I’ll be there just to get you settled.”
“Of course. That would be great. Thank you.”
I felt like a bobblehead, nodding along and just spouting ‘thank you’ every few seconds.
He said, “I think you’ll like this group. They came in the year after your class left, and they really stepped up. They’re a strong group.”
“Good. That’s good.”
God, I hoped I was better at figuring out what to say during class.
“ I think you’ll have a blast teaching them. But make sure to hold your ground, too. They’ll push the l
ine as far as you let them. But be firm, and keep them on track, and you’ll do fine.”
“Right.” Be firm. God, I was going to make a bleeding mess of this whole thing.
“You’re looking a little yellow, Garrick.”
I forced a smile and said, “Just a bit of nerves, that’s all.”
“You’ll be fine. You may not feel experienced enough to do this, but you’re still light years beyond these kids. Most of them leave college, determined and passionate, and half of them give up within the first year. You’re past that phase. You’re in the trenches, but you’re still hanging on. Your perspective will actually be more valuable to them than a seasoned professor who has forgotten what it’s like to go on a dozen auditions a week. This is a clean slate. These kids don’t know you, and you don’t know them. Just tell them what you wish someone had told you when you’d been sitting there. It’s a simple as that.”
It did seem simpler when he put it that way.
I didn’t have to have all the answers. I just had to get them past the first hurdle.
I nodded. “Thanks Eric. That helps a lot.”
He gave that cheesy teacher shrug that said, ‘I do know what I’m talking about.’ He clapped a hand on my shoulder. “Let’s go down and get you settled. You’re in the blackbox.”
My nerves spiked, and I turned to my desk, desperate for anything to stall. I grabbed a pen. What I was going to do with it, I had no idea, but I felt better holding something.
“Okay,” I said. “Let’s go.”
We descended the stairs in silence, and as soon as we entered the theatre wing, I could hear the students in the green room down at the far end of the hallway. They were laughing and screaming, and someone was playing music, and I envied them. I missed being where they were… not just in the green room, though I did miss that. I missed being on the cusp of things. That feeling before you jump when you know you’re going to fly, so falling doesn’t even cross your mind. I missed feeling like I had all the time in the world.
We entered the small theatre, and I smiled. I inhaled the familiar scent of dusty curtains and old furniture and props. Black, moveable curtains encircled the entire room, and the flexible seating was set up in a thrust style with risers on three sides of the audience. A prop table had been pulled to the middle of the room, along with a chair. I took a seat, but that didn’t feel right, so I stood. Then I tried leaning on the table, but it tipped under my weight, so I settled for standing with my hands in my pockets.
Eric laughed at me, and said, “It’s actually kind of refreshing to see you like this. You’ve always been very confident and comfortable, even as a student.”
I cleared my throat.
Yes, well. I was a bit off my game lately.
I uttered, “I’m fine,” just as the door swung open and students started filing in.
“Eric!” A few of them called as they piled onto the chairs in the center section. A pretty redhead turned toward Eric and said, “Did you miss us over the holidays?”
Eric laughed. “I’m saving my missing until you’re all gone for good.”
She held a hand over her plentiful chest and frowned, “I’m hurt. You’re going to cry for days when we graduate. Admit it.”
I cleared my throat, and pulled my eyes away from her. The last thing I needed was to get caught ogling a student. I squeezed the pen in my hand and tried to clear my head. Last night had really done a number on me. The sooner I saw Bliss again and got things settled, the better.
For the most part, the students ignored me.
Well, they stared, for sure. But they went back to their conversations, talking about who had said what and who was seeing whom. It was like looking into the past and seeing my class right before we graduated.
I started labeling them as my friends from college. The red head was Emma definitely. Spunky and pretty, but a little bit off-putting. There was another guy they called Dom that was hands down Jack from my class. He tried too hard to be cool, and every time he spoke I saw half a dozen eyes roll.
This was simple. I could do this.
By the time nine A.M. came, and Eric introduced me to the class, my nerves had all but disappeared. This would be no different than the conversations my friends and I used to have before graduating. We debated the pros and cons of graduate school and regional theatre and moving to New York. Only now, I had the added benefit of having already made those decisions, as had my friends. At least now, I knew what the hell I was talking about.
He was mid-sentence when the loud theatre doors creaked open. Those things had ruined many of my own attempts to sneak in and out of class in college.
Eric called out, “Late,” and two girls called back, “Sorry, Eric!”
They pushed through the curtain, snickering, their coffees held in front of their bowed faces.
The first was blonde, again pretty.
I hadn’t anticipated this particular issue with teaching.
Eric took a breath and started talking again, but I didn’t follow what he said. The second girl had lowered her coffee, and even though her head was bowed searching through her purse, there was something about her that pulled my eye.
Something about her hair and the curve of her back was familiar, and I wondered if maybe she was the little sister of someone I’d gone to school with. That happened a lot, family legacies.
Then she lowered her bag and leaned back in her chair, casting light onto her face. I knew when I saw her lips, those lips that I’d spent so long staring at the night before, but I told myself it wasn’t possible.
But as I took in her pale skin, her small nose, and her faintly pink skin, my world flashed hot and then cold. I squeezed the pen in my hand, and felt the plastic crack under my palm.
A roaring filled my ears, and it took me several long seconds to realize it was the students clapping, and not my world coming apart at the hinges.
Then her eyes flicked up to mine, blue and wide and so familiar that my whole body tingled with recognition.
Her jaw fell open, and it was like there was a wall in my brain that I couldn’t get a thought past. I knew I should look away. I knew I should acknowledge whatever Eric had just said and the other students in the class.
But more than all of that, I knew her. Bliss.
And I wished to God that I didn’t.
I was back in that surreal world, like a movie. And everything that had seemed simple and right turned out to be a complicated bloody mess.
The One Where He Changes His Mind
I could die happy watching Bliss dance. She held her hands up to her chest, opened her mouth in a silent scream, and bounced from side to side. She shook her head, her hair whirling.
Just watching her made me feel younger, happier. And I loved that she could be this girl—carefree and exuberant—and also put forth the kind of performance she’d given yesterday at auditions.
Her performance burrowed under my skin and tore me open. She transformed on stage, and she took us all with her.
Last night had been the hardest night yet to stay away from her. Seeing her out with her friends, celebrating, I had wanted her to be with me.
I tore my eyes away from her waist and the strip of skin revealed there as she danced.
I said, “I’m guessing you saw the list.”
She froze, and it was so hard to hold in my laugh. I imagined the blush creeping across her skin, and then got to see it a few seconds later as she turned.
“Hi Garrick.”
I would never get tired of hearing her say my name.”
“Hello Bliss. Congratulations.”
She ran her hands through her hair, taming it, and I had to fist my hands to keep from assisting.
Every morning when I woke up, I told myself this wasn’t a big deal. I could handle it… resisting her. But then I would see her in person, and it would be so much harder than I anticipated.
She said, “Thank you. I’m, uh, pretty excited.”
“As yo
u should be. Your audition…” There were so many things I wanted to say, but all of them seemed too telling. I stepped closer, and lowered my voice so no one else could hear. “Your audition was fantastic. There was no competition.” Then again, I was biased. I never saw anyone else when she was around.
Her voice was breathy and tempting when she said, “Thank you.”
“But Friday night…”
“Oh God—”
There were so many things I wanted to say about that night. How much I’d hated seeing her with Cade, how tempted I’d been to accept her invitation and join their party. I chose the most innocuous of my thoughts.
“As ridiculously cute as you were, please don’t get that drunk again. Eric will need you to be at your absolute best for this role.”
“Of course.” Her eyes were wide and panicked. “Absolutely. I promise.”
“And… I was worried about you too.”
Mostly that.
“Oh.”
I looked from the circle of her lips to the wisps of hair that still stood out of place and down to the leg she’d burned on my motorcycle.
“I don’t like being worried about you.”
She looked up at me from beneath her lashes, and I couldn’t resist not touching her in some way. I restrained myself to just touching a curl instead of her skin.
She smiled, and it devastated me. Leveled me completely.
“You should probably worry about yourself. Calling me ‘cute’ again is bound to get you injured, possibly maimed.”
I loved when she got cheeky. With how she made me feel, I might willingly let her maim me.
Like her skin was magnetic, my hand in her hair swayed in, and my knuckles brushed against her cheek.
I should have held my tongue, but I had impulse-control problems where she was concerned. “Since I can’t very well call you the alternative here, ‘cute’ will have to do for now.”
I’d just have to call her sexy in my mind. And maybe someday…
I cleared my throat and put a few feet between us. That was dangerous territory, thinking we had any possible future. I was her teacher, and she had Cade, and that was only the beginning.