“And if I moved in closer, you wouldn’t feel the need to reach out and touch me?” I leave nothing but a few inches between us.
“No,” she answers, keeping her hands at her sides as her body remains rigid, but her eyes give her away.
Moving in the last few inches, I drag my fingers down her neck and across her collarbone. Her head rolls to the side and her mouth parts.
Her hand falls to the waistline of my athletic shorts, her fingers slipping against the elastic, dipping in just enough to drive me fucking crazy with need.
Swallowing hard, I catch my breath as I say, “And if I were to drag my hand between your spread legs . . . would you be wet?”
Her eyes flash to mine with lust in them. Hunger. Need.
Whatever answer she gives me, I know, right here and now . . . she wants me, just as badly as I want her.
“Arlo, I . . .” Her breath catches, she licks her lips, and her fingers rub against my skin.
Fuck . . .
I take her jaw in my hand, angle it up and stare at her luscious lips. Pink, wet, ready.
I lower.
Foreheads connect.
Noses brush.
Lips seconds away—
“Arlo, where’s the mac and cheese?” Coraline yells from the kitchen. “I can’t find . . . Oh, it’s in the oven. Don’t worry, everyone, it’s in the oven.”
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter in frustration and push away from Greer. Back turned toward her, I grip the back of my neck with both hands and catch my breath.
What the hell am I doing?
There are people in the other room, and I’m seconds away from taking Greer up against my office wall. This isn’t who I am.
Not even close.
We were discussing a student—how did it turn into this, seconds away from kissing a woman I despise?
Blowing out a heavy breath, I turn around to find Greer staring back at me, her nipples hard, her eyes crazed, almost as if she’s trying to discern what just happened as well.
We stand there staring at each other, both trying to catch our breath, both with arousal evident in our body language.
She takes a step forward, and I quickly say, “Don’t.”
Her eyes widen.
“Don’t fucking come near me, Greer.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. I said don’t come near me.” I pull on my hair, telling myself to stay in place, to not go over there and kiss the confusion off her face.
Getting involved with her would be an epically bad idea. Not only do we seem to be at each other’s throats whenever we get the chance, but she’s younger than me, a new teacher in town, and I share a wall with her at school. It all screams bad decision.
Ignoring my request, she charges toward me and pokes me in the chest. “You’re the one who made the first move. What am I supposed to do, sit back and let you play with me like that?”
“It was a mistake.”
“You’re damn right it was a mistake. Jesus, Arlo.”
Standing tall, I glance at her lips one last time and then smile, which only turns up the volume on her anger.
“Why are you smiling?”
“Nothing.”
I walk past her toward the door and once again she stops me right before I can exit. “No, not nothing. Why are you smiling?”
“Your nipples. They’re perfectly hard, begging for my mouth.”
She glances at her breasts and then quickly covers them up with her arms. “You’re an asshole.”
“So you’ve said before. Doesn’t mean you don’t want me.”
“You are unbelievable.”
“Imagine what you’d be thinking if I actually drove my tongue into your mouth.” On that, I let myself out of my office and head to the kitchen, where Coraline is the only one left filling up a plate. Everyone else is outside.
She lifts her brow at me and I ignore her, collecting a plate and filling it up, only for an irritated Greer to follow closely behind. She picks up a plate and bumps me out of the way, helping herself to the mac and cheese before me.
Coraline laughs and mumbles, “Oh, tonight should be fun.”
* * *
“Whack that cock,” Stella yells.
Romeo reaches back, swings his racket with all his might, and wallops the shuttlecock straight into the net.
“Ugh, and you call yourself an athlete.” Stella tosses her hands in the air. “Embarrassing, Brock.” It’s funny to me when Stella uses Romeo’s actual name. She’s the only one I know who calls him Brock, and it’s as if his mother is yelling at him by the way he straightens up.
After dinner, which I ate silently off to the side while Romeo, Gunner, Stella, Greer, and Coraline all sat together, we set up the badminton court—the game of choice this year—and started going over strategy.
Since there are four people allowed on each side, and we only have five people right now, we’re playing two on two. Romeo told us we’ll get people to fill in as opponents and play us as we near the tournament. I’ve been sitting out, watching Stella and Romeo argue, while Greer avoids all eye contact with me besides the few snide looks she sends my way in between volleys.
“I have to go to the bathroom,” Gunner calls out, tossing his racket to me. “Take my spot. Participation is required.”
Sighing, I stand, and Greer quickly says, “We should switch teams. Get used to other players.”
“No way,” Romeo says, shutting that idea down quickly. “Not when Stella is yapping at me about my athletic prowess.”
“What athletic prowess? I have yet to actually see you do something on this court, unless . . .” She turns to Coraline, who’s holding a rule book. “Cora, does it say anything in there about hitting the cock into the net for extra points that we’re unaware of? Because if that’s the case”—Stella slow claps—“you should be in the hall of fame for badminton.”
Coraline makes a show of flipping through the pages. “Nothing about netting the cock, but I’ll keep you posted.”
“Fine, until then, hit the damn thing over the net.” Stella pats him on the back and gets into position. “Come on, Turner. Greer won’t bite until after the game.”
Great.
I step into the marked-off space with Greer and keep my distance as Stella serves the shuttlecock over the net, straight to me. I get ready to hit it, only for Greer to step in front of me and hit it back.
“Uh, that was in my area.”
Romeo hits it over the net and cheers for himself.
Stella mutters a “finally.”
Once again, the shuttlecock flies toward me, and, with her hip, Greer bumps me out of the way to hit it.
“What the hell?”
She doesn’t answer me, but instead bounces on her feet like a tennis player at Wimbledon, waiting for the next hit.
Stella hits it this time, Romeo congratulates her, and I move in front of Greer, only for her to hop up and hit the shuttlecock back over the net.
“Greer, you can’t play by yourself.”
“Looks like she can.” Coraline snickers from the sidelines.
“Oh, nice hit,” Stella says to Romeo, the shuttlecock heading to the back corner of our court. Greer and I both back up, and before I know what I’m doing, I reach out and push her to the side, sending her into the grass, and hit the shuttlecock over the net.
“You bastard,” Greer says, hopping up and pushing at my chest.
The game is ignored as Stella hits the shuttlecock back over the net, where it drops between me and Greer as we stare each other down.
“You started it.” I poke her leg with my racket.
Her eyes widen and she pokes me back with her racket. “You were a dick to me way before I was to you. So, you started it. You can’t count previous experiences. This was a clean slate.”
“Oh, is that what that was back in my office, wiping the slate clean? I don’t recall that. All I can remember is you accusing me of punishing your athlete as vengeance.
”
“You did. Admit it.”
“I have better things to do with my time than fuck with another faculty member and her student athletes. That’s more than I can say for you.” I look her up and down.
Greer opens her mouth to reply, only to look to the side, where Gunner—back from the bathroom—Stella, Romeo, and Coraline are all standing together, watching us.
“You know, I, uh, I think we did enough practicing tonight,” Romeo says. “I think we should call it a night.”
“Good idea.” Stella hands her racket to Gunner, who collects Romeo’s as well. “I was getting tired anyway.”
“Yeah, me too,” Gunner says.
“Ditto,” Romeo adds.
Coraline looks at all three of them and says, “Are you mental?” She waves toward me and Greer. “We’ve front-row seats to this nightmare unfolding, and you want to leave now?”
“I’m nervous of what might happen and would rather not be an accessory to murder.” She takes Coraline’s hand and says, “I’ll treat everyone to ice cream while these two figure out their issues.”
Greer tosses her racket and says, “I’ll join you.”
Stella puts her hand up and halts Greer. “You know I love and respect you, but no. You aren’t invited.” She motions between me and Greer. “You need to figure this out, because now that I’m involved in this stupid teachers’ league, I won’t let your petty fighting make a mockery of us. So, air out your grievances, figure it out, and when we see each other again, you two better have smiling faces, even if you have to fake it.”
“Stella, I don’t—”
“Hey.” She snaps her finger at Greer, who rears back. “We helped you with the pranks, now it’s your turn. Fix it.”
“You know, it’s a huge turn-on that you’re so into the teachers’ league,” Romeo says, heart eyes practically spilling out of him.
“Shut up, Brock.” Stella charges past him, Gunner and Coraline following closely behind.
“I’m going to call up Lindsay and see if she wants to meet up with us, take Dylan out to some ice cream.”
“Great idea,” Coraline says, her voice trailing off. “I can’t wait to meet them.”
And then they’re gone, leaving me alone in my backyard with Greer.
A very angry, irritated, and less-than-excited Greer.
This should be fun.
* * *
“Here,” I say, handing Greer a water with slices of cucumber.
She looks at the drink and then back up at me. “Did you poison it?”
Rolling my eyes, I take a big gulp and hand it to her. “No.”
After the rest of the crew went to get ice cream, Greer angrily stormed off down the stone steps of my backyard that lead to the bottom half, where I have lounge chairs looking out over the lake. She took a seat and that’s where she’s been since.
Given the immense amount of anger in her eyes during badminton, I thought it would be a good idea to let her cool off, so I went inside, did dishes, and then took her some water . . . and cookies. But she hasn’t seen those yet.
“Move your feet,” I say sternly.
“Why?” she asks, staring at the lake.
“So I can sit down.”
“There are a lot of other chairs. Pick one.”
Huffing out in frustration, I push her legs to the side and take a seat on her lounge.
“Insufferable,” she mutters, bringing her legs into a crisscross position.
I hold the plate of chocolate chip cookies out to her and say, “Here, eat one of these. Maybe you’ll be less crabby.”
“Less crabby? Don’t you think you’re the one who should be eating the cookies? Or do they not fix bastard? Also, it’s extremely offensive that you think a cookie will change my attitude.” She picks up two cookies and takes a bite of one. “Damn it,” she whispers, reaching for the plate and taking another. When I quirk a brow at her, she says, “This has nothing to do with my crabbiness or need for sugar as a woman and everything do with how incredibly soft these are. Got it?”
“Sure. Whatever you need to tell yourself.”
“See, that right there,” she says, pointing at me, mouthful of cookie. “That attitude, that’s what’s making me want to jab my fist through your eye socket. So condescending all the time. Ever consider not acting like a total motherfucker?”
“Never gave it much thought.” I plop a cookie in my mouth.
“Maybe you should. You’d be more likeable.”
“My goal in life isn’t to please everyone. I don’t have to make the world around me happy in order to be happy.”
“Wouldn’t kill you to not be a dick, though.”
“Contrary to what you might believe, I’m not a dick.”
She sips her water. “Oh, I know, you also suck ass really well.”
I run my tongue over my teeth and, in a deeper tone, say, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
Her eyes narrow and she stares at me while taking a bite of cookie. She chews, swallows. “Whatever happened in your office was a lapse of judgment.”
“Nothing happened. At least not for me. You were the one with the hard nipples.”
“And you were the one with the . . . well . . .” Her lips quirk to the side. “Were, uh . . . were you hard?”
Fuck, I almost laugh out loud from the confused look on her face.
Almost.
“No,” I answer. “I’d have to be remotely interested to be hard.” I was so fucking hard I could have hammered nails with my cock. But I refuse to be goaded.
She’s mid-bite of her cookie when I say that, causing her to sputter crumbs all over me with her outburst. “Remotely interested? Are you kidding me right now? You were the one with the hand up my shirt.”
“I wouldn’t have qualified that as up your shirt. My fingers barely touched your skin.”
“Well, there was touching, and caressing, and you . . . and you nibbled on my earlobe.”
I shrug. “Doesn’t mean I was interested.”
“You’re so full of yourself, you know that?” She washes her cookie down with water and then removes the plate of cookies from my hand, setting them on the side table next to the lounge.
“What are you doing?”
“Proving a point,” she says, standing, only to push me back on the lounge and then sit on my lap.
Seeing where she’s going with this, I place my hands behind my head and look up at her. “Enjoying yourself?”
She rolls her eyes and scoots up so her pelvis sits right on top of mine.
There’s no doubt in my mind that I can best her in this, that I can look away, think of other things, make for damn sure that I don’t get turned on.
But then . . .
She moves her hand over her neck, rotating her head to the side.
Eyes closed, she massages her shoulders, little wisps of her hair floating over her face.
Her top teeth roll over her bottom lip, sucking and pulling it in, and fuck . . .
Once again, her nipples are hard.
And I want to suck on them and fuck them.
Focus, Turner.
“Do you have a point to this nonsense?”
“I do.” Her eyes open and her hands tumble to my chest, where she very softly runs them up and down my sides.
“Then get to the point, I have better things to do than see your pitiful attempt at trying to turn me on. Keep in mind, we have to work next to each other, so I wouldn’t embarrass yourself if you can avoid it.”
Not saying a word, her hands travel up my stomach, over my pecs and to my shoulders, which she gives a little rub.
There’s something about another human’s touch, the kind of touch I haven’t felt in a while. It paralyzes my thoughts, blinds me to what’s happening.
Little flashes of getting lost in her touch blank out my mind sporadically as she continues to move her hands over my torso, always with a barrier of clothing between us, but nonetheless, it’s doing the job.
She’s doing the job.
Fuck.
I bite down on my lower lip and concentrate. Focus on anything that—oh fuck.
She rolls her hips.
Shit. Now I’m biting on my lip, trying to keep it together. But it’s not working. A tingling sensation travels up my legs and hits me straight in the groin. I grab her wrists and twist her so fast off my lap and onto the padded lounger that she has no clue what’s happened until I’m hovering over her, pinning her hands just above her head.
“Wh-what are you doing?”
“Putting an end to this. It’s massively inappropriate.”
“Inappropriate?” she asks, her neck flushed, her cheeks pink, a light sheen of sweat dotting her hairline.
She’s turned on.
Just that little movement, it got to her, too.
Fuck, it got to both of us.
“You’ve been inappropriate since the moment I met you, and now you’re throwing down that card? Can’t have it both ways, Arlo.”
“You think I want this? You?”
Her jaw clenches and she tries to free her hands, but I have them pinned tight, not wanting her to touch any part of my body, because I know that’s what she wants to do. I can see it in her eyes. But I won’t let her. I’m fucking thirty-two years old, and I don’t have time for this sort of immature shit. Especially after her claim that I marked Blair’s paper incorrectly. It was plagiarism.
I pull away and roll off to the side, placing my head in my hands, feeling that tension creep back up to my shoulders. This is so fucked.
“God, Turner,” she growls. “You drive me insane. What was the point of me staying here if you’re going to be a closed-off jerk the entire time?”
“We were supposed to work out our differences, and you were trying to work over my dick.”
“You would be so lucky. I was trying to prove a point, which clearly I made because you’re trying to hide the proof.”
“I’m not hiding anything.”
“Fine. Stay away from me. Just stay away.” I watch as she gets up, angry, shaking her head as if I'm a lost cause. “I don't give a fuck that you hate me, by the way. I don't understand it, as I'm a damn good teacher, but whatever." She takes a few steps away, then pauses. "I just wish you were more real with me, rather than putting up constant walls.”
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