See Me After Class

by Quinn, Meghan

“No.” Stella rolls her eyes. “But I’ve heard enough stories from his college and baseball days that claim him as very skillful in the topic.”

  “Would he converse with Kelvin?”

  “Want me to ask?”

  “Yes,” Keeks says with a nod. “Thank you.”

  “Why are you worried about that right now?” I ask, curious as to where her mind is wandering to.

  “This is a romance novel book club, is it not?”

  “It is,” Cora says, handing out giftbags. Inside is a small clipboard with attached book suggestions. All read like a romance novel.

  “That’s what I gathered from the invitation. According to an avid Google search, romance novels include graphic coitus, bringing fictional characters to completion. Research proves that acts of pornography, written or recorded, can lead to an increased level of arousal, tapping into the reptile part of the human brain and reflecting in physical wakefulness. In street terms, one can become horny. Although, I have an extensive amount of maturity in beguiling myself—”

  “Oh dear God,” Cora mutters, leaning back in her seat and drinking her wine. I take a large sip myself.

  “I have obtained someone of interest of the opposite sex and would prefer for him to bring me to completion. Therefore, he needs to prepare himself for the ravenous behaviors I’m anticipating taking over me once I dive deep into erotic literature.”

  The three of us find ourselves silent. All of us blinking. All of us unaware of how to respond.

  When I signed up for book club, I didn’t think we’d be talking about Keiko masturbating or training her boyfriend to be a suave man of the sheets rather than sweating all over her.

  And we haven’t even picked out a book yet . . .

  * * *

  “Before we get started, I’ve been told I need to ask you a question.” Stella sits cross-legged in front of me, a nervous look on her face, water in hand.

  “Oh?” I ask, bringing a glass of red wine up to my lips.

  She glances over at Coraline and winces. “Uh, I feel weird asking.”

  Uh-oh. I hope this isn’t what I think it’s going to be. “You know, we don’t have to—”

  “Then why bring it up if you’re not going to propose your query?” Keiko impatiently pushes her green-rimmed glasses up on her nose. “You know the frequency of these meetings are dependent upon staying within the comprehensive itinerary I composed during my lunch break.”

  “Cool your bloomers, Keeks,” Coraline says while taking a large sip from her wineglass. “I want to know what’s making Stella so fidgety. Out with it, Stella,” Cora says.

  “Please, so we can proceed,” Keeks says, straightening her notepad on her lap.

  Stella looks me in the eyes and says, “Brock wants to know if there’s anything going on between you and Turner. Apparently, Turner won’t say a thing, but Brock thinks there’s some strong sexual tension building.”

  Cora whips her head to me, her eyes wide. “Are you getting it on with my brother?”

  Finger pointed in the air, Keeks leans in and says, “The proper term amongst company would be coitus.”

  Rolling her eyes, Cora asks, “Did you have coitus with my brother?”

  “You could also say intercourse if that amuses your jargon more,” Keeks adds. “Or copulating would be sufficient. But if you are inclined toward romantic terminology since we are in the presence of the book club, you could say lovemaking or performing intimate acts. Although given the circumstances of when coitus took place—in the work environment—I would deduce that your actions were performed carnally rather than with the interest of developing a devoted accord.”

  “Good God, Keeks,” Cora says, irritated. “Who cares what it’s called? We just want to know if it happened.” Cora looks me in the eyes. “Did it?”

  “What? No.” I shake my head, feeling the wine sloshing around in my body. “With Turner, no way. He’s an ass.” I wince. “Sorry, Cora.”

  “No, he is an ass, you’re right.” She sighs. “Ugh, how fun would that have been though? You and my brother. You might have been able to change his horrible mood. He can be such a dick.”

  “Isn’t he allowing you to gather your comrades in his house to discuss literature?” Keeks asks.

  “Yeah . . .” Cora answers and then with a smile says, “He can still be a dick.”

  Hear, hear.

  At least, that’s the kind of attitude I try to convince myself of.

  My attitude hasn’t changed because he dressed up . . . nope.

  He didn’t penetrate my armor at all . . .

  And thanks to Mr. Turns Me On Especially In A Tuxedo, I don’t even have my vibrator to help me with any type of penetration. Infuriating, insufferable man. Ha. I sound like Elizabeth Bennet.

  * * *

  “So, it’s between the teacher romance and the historical with the Scot on the front and the burly man chest,” Stella says, looking over the printed-out options Cora provided us with.

  I’m one bottle of wine deep, feeling pretty damn good, and I’ve been able to black out the first part of this meeting when Keeks went into great detail about the clitoris and proper stimulation needed in order to orgasm.

  It was disturbing and educational all at the same time.

  We devoured the food, delighted in some cookies, sent texts about Kelvin to Romeo, who said he’d rather not be the “Hitch” to Kelvin Thimble, and now we’re finally zeroing in on the book to read.

  It’s been a fun night.

  A relaxing night.

  One I really needed.

  “Both are alluring,” Keeks said. “Both I believe will bring arousal.”

  I think she’s missing the point about book club, but hey, there’s always one in the group, right?

  “At first, I thought you girls would like the teacher book since you’re teachers. Thought it could fulfill a fantasy for you, but then you referred to my brother as Mr. Turns Me On . . . several times.” She gives a pointed look to Stella, who laughs. “And now I think I’ll picture my brother when reading and I really don’t want that. So, my vote is for the Scot.”

  “I vote teacher,” Stella says with a smirk.

  Cora playfully tosses a pillow at her.

  “That would leave you to decide,” Keeks says to me.

  Smiling broadly, I pull my knees to my chest and drain the rest of the wine in my glass. I say, “Although the teacher book is enticing, I’d rather not think of Cora’s brother either. I vote for the Scot.”

  “What? Come on,” Stella whines. “But there was promise of sex on a desk.”

  “As if that would ever really happen,” I say. “No teacher in their right mind would ever have sex on a desk, in a classroom, where anyone could walk in.”

  “It’s fiction, Greer. You should know a thing or two about that.”

  I motion to Keiko. “Yes, but think of our poor Keiko. She’s impressionable. Who’s to say what she’d do if she read that book and she started taking it to heart? Next thing we know, she’s riding Kelvin Thimble on one of her chemistry tables, twirling her granny panties over her head like a lasso.”

  “Valid concern,” Keeks says, adjusting her glasses on her nose.

  “Keiko is smarter than that. She can decipher the difference between reality and fantasy.”

  “Stella,” Keeks sighs with exasperation. “Need I remind you about the reptile part of the brain again? When arousal spikes—”

  “Okay, okay.” Stella tamps Keeks down with her hand. “Yes, I remember. Please, God, let’s not go over it again. But if you read this book, are you going to try to find a Scot to make out with in the Highlands?”

  “Don’t be absurd,” Keeks answers. “Clearly that’s a preposterous notion.”

  I chuckle. “Am I drunk, or is this not making sense at all?”

  “This is not making sense,” Stella says with a shake of her head.

  “Doesn’t matter.” Cora lifts her empty glass of wine to the air. “We have our v
ery first book. Yay.”

  I lift up my empty glass as well. “To the sisterhood of the book pants.”

  “Oh, are we naming our book club?” Keeks pulls a slip of paper from her purse. “I took the liberty of developing some fastidious names for us. I ran them through a series of linguistic tests and discovered one to be the most superior of the three.”

  “I have a name too,” Cora says, sitting up. “Shall we take a vote?”

  “It would be the democratic thing to do,” Keeks says.

  Stepping in, Stella says, “Cora, since you hosted, let’s hear yours first.”

  She nods, the room growing serious as Cora clears her throat. “I was thinking we call it the Ladies in Heat Book Club.”

  Stella and I both laugh as we nod. “Oh, that’s amazing,” I say.

  “Preposterous,” Keeks says. “Such a name degrades us in a manner I’m not comfortable with. We’re not feral cats, strutting with our tails up, searching out a male suitor to ease the ache in our loins.”

  “You might not be . . . but I am,” I say, realizing . . . huh, maybe I’m drunker than I thought.

  “We could always call it the Reptile Brain Book Club,” Cora deadpans.

  “Mockery isn’t a pleasant shade on you, Coraline,” Keeks says, causing Stella to snort and Cora to laugh as well. “But that was a well-placed burn, so I offer my compliments.”

  “Uh, thank you?” Cora asks with confusion.

  “Okay, Keeks, what was your well-thought-out and researched book club name?”

  Sitting taller, chin jutted out, Keeks says, “The Austen Empowerment Collaborative.”

  Silence . . . as everyone stares at Keiko.

  “Austen, as in Jane Austen?” I ask.

  She nods. “What a woman of her time.”

  “It’s . . . nice,” Stella says.

  “Very womanly,” I add.

  “Yup, both those things,” Cora says while tapping her chin.

  “Shall we take a vote?” Stella asks. “All in favor of The Austen Empowerment Collaborative, please raise your hand.” Keeks raises her hand with pride, but that’s it. No one else. “Okay and all those in favor of the horny book club name—”

  “Ladies in Heat Book Club,” Cora corrects her with a smile.

  “Yeah, all those in favor of the Ladies in Heat Book Club, raise your hand.”

  Unfortunately for Keiko, Cora, Stella, and I raise our hands.

  “Blasphemy,” Keeks says, fist hitting the armrest of the couch.

  “Sorry, Keeks,” I say, “But the other one is funny and I had a lot of wine.”

  “Shall we vote when two of the members haven’t lost control of their faculties?”

  “No,” we all say at once.

  “Very well. We shall be referred to as the Ladies in Heat, I hope you are delighted with yourselves.”

  “Oh, quite delighted,” Cora says and yawns, stretching her arms over her head. “Okay, ladies, I think our first meeting must come to an end.” She points at me. “You’re not driving. You can stay here.”

  “I can take her home,” Stella offers.

  “Nonsense. She’d just have to come back here and pick up her car. Arlo has a great guest room full of everything you’ll need.”

  “He won’t mind?” I ask.

  “Nope, and he’s not even home to vote. Keeks, are you okay to drive?”

  “I didn’t consume any alcohol.”

  “Yeah, but from the way you’ve been stroking the cover of the Scot book, I wanted to make sure you’re not accessing the reptile part of your brain.”

  “If I was accessing the reptile—”

  “Please, for the love of God, no more,” Stella says while standing. “Enough arousal talk for the night. A girl has to return home alone, after all.”

  Laughing, Cora stands as well and starts gathering empty plates. “Can you ladies just help me clear the coffee table so Arlo doesn’t lecture me in the morning about leaving dirty dishes out?”

  “Of course,” we all say.

  Together, we clean up our mess, wipe the table down, and leave the kitchen and living room spotless, as if we weren’t even there. We say bye to Keeks and Stella at the door, making sure everyone has each other’s phone numbers, and then Cora, with another giant yawn, shows me to the first-floor guest room, fully stocked as promised, and the attached bathroom.

  “Are you sure Arlo won’t mind? I feel kind of weird staying at his place without him knowing.”

  “I’ll text him, let him know. Don’t worry. He’d rather you stay than drive home.”

  “Okay.” I give her a smile and then pull her into a hug. “I’m so glad you accidentally walked into my classroom.”

  She hugs me back. “I’m glad I did too.” When we pull away, she gives me a soft smile. “I really needed the friendship, so, thank you.”

  “No, need to thank me. I needed a girl group. You made that happen.”

  “Nothing some sliders and mini quiche couldn’t accomplish.” She sighs. “Okay, you all set?”

  “Yup. I have everything I need. Goodnight.”

  “Night.”

  Chapter Twelve

  ARLO

  Cora: Don’t freak out if you see a random person in the house. Greer is in the guest room. Wine was consumed tonight.

  That’s the text that greeted me when I got home a little past eleven.

  Now that it’s one in the morning, I still can’t seem to get it out of my mind.

  Greer is sleeping in my house.

  Downstairs, in the guest room, she’s sleeping.

  Normally, I wouldn’t think twice about a guest, but something has shifted in me and I can’t seem to turn it off.

  Awareness of whenever she’s around.

  This need to . . . hell, to make her smile even though it goes against my basic principles.

  An overwhelming sense to talk to her.

  Today was my undoing. I don’t know what possessed me to acquiesce, sure as hell wasn’t peer pressure, because I got my fair share of looks from other English teachers when they knew I wasn’t going to dress up. But when I noticed how sad she was, how reserved . . . hell, it snapped something inside of me this morning, and before I knew it, I was putting on my tux and slicking back my hair.

  I blame it on the soft spot I have for my sister. Unbeknownst to Greer, when she took my sister in, befriending her without a blink of an eye and bringing her into her girl group, it fucked with my ability to detach. It’s weakening me. Softening me. It’s making me do stupid shit like think about Greer in a whole other light. One that paints her even more brilliantly beautiful, with a heart of gold and a caring soul.

  She’s torn down one of my well-constructed walls, and I can feel my will slowly slipping away.

  It’s why I find myself gravitating toward her. Needing to touch her. Smell her. Please her.

  It’s why I dressed up. Why I have this sense, this urge to make her happy.

  And I’d never say this to her . . .ever . . .

  But it was . . . fun, bringing life to Jay Gatsby. It was great timing with my lesson plans, another reason I was okay with my decision.

  I wasn’t expecting much when I ran into her this morning. I was more or less expecting her to rub it in my face, give me a little told-you-so attitude.

  That’s not what I got.

  Instead, there was gratefulness in her eyes.

  Appreciation.

  Pure joy.

  I made her smile. Made her happy, brought her spirit back.

  Dragging my hand over my face, I sit up and swing my feet to the side, setting them on the rug beneath my bed. I need a drink, something to ease my mind, help me relax.

  The lights are out, the house is quiet and still, so I quietly make my way down to the kitchen in just my boxer briefs. The guest room is on the other side of the house so I’m not worried about waking up Greer.

  I turn the corner going into the kitchen and head to the cabinet where I keep the alcohol but then
think better of it. Drinking at one in the morning isn’t something I do, and it’s not something I’m going to start.

  Instead, I grab a glass from the cabinet, open my fridge, and pour myself some apple juice. A far cry from a glass of whiskey, but it will have to do for now. Leaning against the counter, I bring the glass to my lips just as a movement from the corner of my eye gives me pause.

  “Jesus, I didn’t see you there,” Greer says, holding her hand to her chest.

  Wearing nothing but a tank top and what I can only imagine is a thong from how thin the fabric is, Greer steps into the kitchen with wild, wavy hair and a sleepy look in her eyes.

  “What are you doing up?” she asks.

  “Thirsty,” I answer, not wanting to tell her the truth.

  She walks up to me and that’s when I get a better view of her practically bare tits in a thin, threadbare tank top. Damn.

  “What are you drinking?” she asks, completely oblivious to the way my eyes are eating her up.

  “Apple juice.”

  She chuckles. “You don’t seem like an apple juice kind of guy. Where are the cups?”

  “Cabinet next to the stovetop,” I say.

  She moves past me and my eyes stay fixed on her, and when she passes me, I’m granted a fucking gorgeous view.

  High, tight, and round, her ass is exposed to the chilly night air, only a thin string of black falling between her cheeks. I spend too much time taking in her backside, and when she turns around, she catches me, realization dawning on her.

  “Oh God, I’m not wearing pants.”

  “Nope,” I answer, bringing my glass to my lips.

  “You just saw my ass.”

  “Correct.”

  “You were just staring at my ass.”

  “You can keep saying it in different ways but it’s not going to change the fact that, yes, I saw your bare ass.”

  “Well, this is embarrassing.”

  “Only if you make it.” With one hand, I grip the counter behind me, keeping myself from reaching out and pulling her in close so I can smooth my hand over her perfect rear end.

  “Right.” She smiles and goes to the fridge, where she opens the door and pulls out the apple juice, my eyes attached to her backside the entire time. Firm hamstrings lead to her glutes, giving her a very athletic look, a look I can appreciate.