See Me After Class

by Quinn, Meghan

  “Four months. Dude.”

  Romeo holds up his hand. “I know . . . I fucking know.”

  Then they both turn toward me, and I slowly draw a circle on the table with my finger. “What, uh . . . what qualifies as sex? Like . . . coupling? Oral? Vibrators?”

  “Good question. Let’s say dick-in-the-vagina penetration,” Gunner says.

  “Oh, okay, then I don’t know, a while.”

  I can feel their eyes on me, trying to read my facial expressions, most likely taking in how red my face feels.

  “Is there another form of sex you’ve had recently?” Romeo asks.

  Yes. Multiple kinds, with your best friend, your overlord.

  “Nope,” I squeak out and bring my beer to my lips.

  Romeo sits taller and turns to Gunner. “How come I don’t believe her?”

  “Because she looks more satisfied than both of us combined,” Gunner says.

  “Do I?” I smooth a hand over my hair. “Must be all that chocolate I’ve been eating. Just as good as an orgasm.”

  “Sorry to break it to you, babe, but if chocolate is just as good as an orgasm, you’re not having sex with the right guy,” Gunner says.

  And that couldn’t be more true.

  “I’ve had chocolate and sex at the same time,” Romeo interjects, “and it’s not the same. Chocolate is great, but an orgasm is mind-blowing.”

  Gunner leans in closer, staring me down. “What do you really want, Greer?”

  “What do you mean? And how did this turn into a relationship conversation?”

  Gunner points to his chest. “Remember, currently in a relationship, which means I want everyone in a relationship.”

  “He’s been on my case, too. You’re not the only one,” Romeo mutters while bringing his beer to his lips.

  “We’ll get to you in a bit, but I want to know what you want, Greer. You said relationship. Is that what you’re looking for?”

  I think back to my notebook, the feelings I wrote down, the emotions I was thinking. My mind wanders to this “thing” with Arlo and how exciting it is, but how it’s missing something for me. And I know exactly what it is. Intimacy—that I crave desperately.

  I stare at the wood grain in our table and say, “I’d like something intimate. A relationship where I not only feel special, but where I make someone feel wanted, needed, cared for. I want to be able to go on dates, hold hands, take long walks at night under the stars. I want passion and spontaneity, but I also want reassurance that there will always be comfort and routine within a relationship. I want something sweet. Something naughty. Something that rocks my world and changes the colors around me. I want . . . love.”

  Gunner sits back in his booth, his shoulders slumped forward. “Damn.”

  Romeo drains the rest of his beer. “Yeah . . . damn.”

  “Is that too much?” I ask, feeling self-conscious.

  Gunner shakes his head. “Nope, it’s exactly what I want too.”

  “Hell, I think I might want that too,” Romeo says.

  And then we sit there, in silence, considering my words.

  Yeah . . . that’s exactly what I want, and not what I’m getting from Arlo. I don’t need him to love me. But these peek-a-boo orgasms and heated moments aren’t going to fulfill me.

  I want the promise for more. And I know it’s not a possibility with Arlo. So that draws a proverbial line in the sand.

  * * *

  “Thank you for inviting me out,” I say as we step outside the bar. I drove over with Gunner, so I called an Uber to take me home.

  “I’m glad you came. I liked getting to know you better,” Gunner says, pulling me into a hug. He’s such a nice guy. If I didn’t know he’s emphatically obsessed with his girl, Lindsay, I’d consider flirting with him.

  Romeo comes up to me and pulls me into a hug as well, my cheek pressing against his well-built chest. Hell . . . if Stella EVER considers anything with Romeo, I’ll have to tell her about his hugs, because this is nice, really nice.

  “It was a blast, Gibson,” Romeo says, pulling away. “I feel more connected to you than ever.”

  Gunner grips Romeo’s shoulder. “Now I have this overwhelming sense to find you a man.”

  “Why do you say that?” I chuckle.

  “Because, you’re a good girl.” He reaches out and boops my nose. “And after that whole speech about wanting someone to lean on and hold your hand and be your person, you deserve that.”

  “She does.” Romeo clutches his chest. “Shame Arlo is such a douche. They would be perfect together.”

  My breath catches in my chest, the mere mention of Arlo’s name putting me on high alert.

  Gunner shakes his head. “Nah, he would never. Not because he doesn’t find you attractive, but because he’s too closed off. Greer deserves better. Let me ask around, I’ll find you someone. I’ll talk to Jason.”

  “Oh, that’s not necess—”

  “Don’t worry.” Gunner holds up his hand. “We’ve got you covered. Now go home and get some sleep. We’ve some practicing to do this weekend.”

  He winks, and just as I go to say something, my Uber pulls up behind me. Gunner opens the door and helps me in. With a quick wave, I’m being taken back to my apartment. And although it was a great night with the boys—total sweethearts—I feel a pinch in my chest about their last words.

  “Shame Arlo is such a douche. They would be perfect together.”

  “Nah, he would never. Not because he doesn’t find you attractive, but because he’s too closed off. Greer deserves better.”

  They’re right. I do deserve better. I like warm, open-hearted men over closed-off counterparts.

  Chapter Sixteen

  ARLO

  Gunner: Fuck, Greer is amazing.

  Romeo: A real champion among women.

  Gunner: The whole package.

  Romeo: So damn sweet, I feel like I need to see a dentist now.

  Gunner: Dude, that didn’t make sense.

  Romeo: It did in my head. And, hey, I thought we were in cahoots.

  Gunner: Oh shit, you’re right. Shhh . . . maybe he won’t see these text messages.

  Arlo: What the hell are you two talking about?

  Romeo: Damn it. He saw. What do we do now?

  Gunner: Pretend someone stole our phones.

  Romeo: Good idea.

  Romeo: Oh, hey, Arlo, someone stole our phones.

  Gunner: Yup, travesty, but we got them back.

  Arlo: You are fucking morons. You were still texting in the group thread.

  Gunner: Ah, hell.

  Romeo: Damn you, beer. *shakes fist*

  Arlo: What the hell is going on?

  Gunner: Should we tell him?

  Romeo: I think we should. He’s onto us.

  Arlo: Get to the point.

  Gunner: *sighs* We went out to dinner with Greer and, dude, she’s fucking phenomenal. The total package.

  Romeo: We told her if you weren’t such a douche, you two would be perfect together.

  Gunner: You would. So . . . care to shake the douche off and give it a go with her?

  Arlo: Stay the hell out of my business.

  Gunner: ^^^that’s the kind of douche we’re talking about.

  Romeo: Yeah, wouldn’t kill you to be a touch nicer.

  Gunner: Maybe smile a little.

  Romeo: Chortle every so often.

  Gunner: Lighten up.

  Romeo: Pull the stick out.

  Gunner: Act like a civilized human . . .

  Arlo: Did you want to practice and eat at my place?

  Gunner: Yes!

  Romeo: That’s rhetorical, right?

  Arlo: Then stay out of my personal life.

  Romeo: Sheesh, what crawled up his ass?

  Gunner: Dude, I was thinking the same thing. He’s being ruder than usual.

  Arlo: Still in the group thread.

  Gunner: Mother of God!

  Romeo: Beer, you tempting mistress.
/>
  * * *

  “It smells amazing in here,” Stella says, walking into my house with Greer trailing behind her. “My stomach is starting to crave your house.”

  I shut the door behind them, everyone else is already here.

  I’ve had quite the fucking weekend so far, thanks to Gunner and Romeo’s texting. After their Friday night drunk texts, they texted me again yesterday and continued to tell me how amazing Greer is. After a while, I stopped responding, because I didn’t know what to say.

  Yeah, she’s great.

  She makes me feel things I’m not sure I’m ready for—hell, I know I’m not ready for.

  She makes me smile when she walks into a room, and that’s concerning.

  Because I don’t know how to react to that response. I don’t know how to react around her.

  Hence why my shoulders currently feel stiff and the air in my lungs feels clogged as I catch a whiff of her perfume.

  Pull it together, Turner.

  “Congrats on your win Friday,” I say, running my eyes over Greer quickly.

  Short denim shorts, frilly white tank top, brown high-heeled sandals, and her hair tied up into two buns on the top of her head.

  Fuck, I want her.

  Again.

  “Thank you,” Greer says and turns toward me. “Arlo, I need to talk to you about Blair again, can we have a moment?”

  “Sure,” I say, confused. Nothing should be going on with Blair. Her last paper was B- material and needed a little work, but nothing we need to talk about.

  “Stella, let everyone know we’ll be right out.”

  “Sure, but, you know, teachers get breaks, too.” She takes off down the hall, and Greer leads me to my office.

  She shuts the door behind her and points to my desk. “Sit. Now.”

  “Do you really think you’re about to take charge?” I ask.

  “We’re not doing anything sexual, but I need you to sit and listen to me.”

  Sighing, I walk over to my desk and sit on the edge while crossing my arms over my chest. “Make it quick. I don’t like keeping guests waiting.” And I can’t possibly be in here with her alone for too long. I don’t trust myself.

  “Heavens to Betsy, we couldn’t have that,” Greer says, clutching her chest. She’s in rare form today.

  “Taking the sarcastic approach today?”

  “I suggest you watch what you say, Arlo. I’ve had time to think, and I’m itching to get it off my chest, and instead of walking away or pushing it to the side, I’m going to talk to you.”

  Fuck . . .

  “Okay, talk,” I say, trying to remain as casual as possible.

  “Okay,” she says, shaking out her arms and pacing my office.

  Fuck, she’s adorable. Angry and geared up to give me a piece of her mind.

  “I’d like to start this out with a general statement.” She turns to face me, hands on her hips. “You’re really good at oral.”

  I chuckle. “Thank you.”

  “I mean . . . really good.”

  “So far, I like how this conversation is proceeding.”

  “And your ability to turn me on with just a push of your sleeves up your forearms is ridiculous.”

  “Glad I can oblige.” I smirk.

  “But . . .” She pauses and takes a deep breath. “I’m not the type of girl who just . . . messes around. Nor do half the things you’ve made me do these last couple of weeks.”

  “I haven’t made you do anything. You went into it willingly.”

  “You know what I mean,” she says, sounding exasperated. “You’re all kinds of tempting, and it scares me a little. I have a job to worry about here. You know first-year teachers are on probation and they have to prove themselves at Forest Heights. Any misstep could ruin this opportunity for me. And this is one hell of an opportunity.”

  “Okay, so you’ve stated the obvious. Is there a point to this conversation?”

  “You don’t have to be rude.”

  “Not being rude. You don’t have to be sensitive.”

  “You’re so annoying,” she says, turning away from me. “I can’t believe I’m actually about to ask you this.”

  “Ask me what?” I say, pushing off the desk and walking up behind her. She’s facing my window, which looks out over my front yard, and I take that moment to move my hand around her waist and press against her stomach, bringing her back against my chest. I bring my lips to her neck and kiss up the column until I reach her ear. “Nervous?”

  “A little,” she answers honestly, twisting in my arms so we’re facing each other. “I don’t want you to think I’m getting all clingy, but . . .” She bites her bottom lip and blurts, “I’m looking for a relationship, not a fuck fest. I want to know what your intentions are with me.”

  “Oh.” I take a step back and pull on the back of my neck while I stare down at her.

  “From that one move away from me, I’m going to guess your intentions don’t involve such titles as boyfriend and girlfriend.”

  “Yeah, not . . . really,” I answer. Hell, where is this coming from?

  She nods. “That’s what I thought you were going to say.”

  “I don’t do intimate—”

  “I know.” She takes a deep breath. “I’m glad I know where we stand.”

  “Okay.” Feeling uncomfortable, I ask, “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. I am.” She smiles. “So, I guess I’ll be going.”

  “Okay.”

  She turns to leave but pauses and faces me again. “You realize this means I won’t keep doing this, right?”

  “Doing what?” I ask.

  She motions between the two of us. “This. I can’t have you touching me anymore, not if it doesn’t mean anything. I came here to start a new life, Arlo. That involves a serious relationship that leads to marriage and a family. I know that seems like a lot, but it’s my hope. My dream. If I keep fucking around with you, with no promise of going anywhere, I won’t reach my dream. I would just be putting it on hold.”

  My jaw clenches, my heart rate picks up, anger starting to form at the back of my neck, spiking me into a tense ball. I have no right to be mad about her choice. She’s looking for something I don’t want to give. I can’t blame her. And yet, I don’t fucking like it.

  “Do you understand?” she asks.

  “Yes, I understand.”

  “No more touching, Arlo. Strictly colleagues, that’s it.”

  “If that’s what you want.”

  “I want other things, but you’re not in a position to give them to me, so this is how things have to play out.”

  I stick my hands in my jeans pockets and rock on my heels. “I get it.”

  She smiles sadly. “Thank you for understanding.” She thumbs toward the door. “Guess I’ll get going.”

  “Be right behind you,” I say as she walks out of the office.

  I don’t follow right away. Instead, I back up to my desk, where I contemplate what just happened. Greer isn’t a girl who can keep feelings out of the mix. I was lucky I got as much out of her as I did.

  The only problem is, I never got to feel her mouth on my cock, on my body . . . on my lips. I never gave myself the opportunity to strip her bare, hover over her, and then plunge myself so far deep inside of her, she’d be imprinted for life. That’s ridiculous talk, Turner. Imprint. I’m not a fucking werewolf. Well, no harm, no foul. I don’t really have time to torture—pleasure—Greer, so now’s a good time to put an end to that immature game anyway.

  And that weird feeling inside me isn’t an ache for her. For her cries of ecstasy. For her cries of my name as she submits to my seduction.

  No. For the first time since I met Greer Gibson, I agree with her one hundred percent. Now my life can go back to its normal rhythm and structure and order.

  As it should, right?

  Chapter Seventeen

  GREER

  “No, no, no,” Jason says, shaking his head. “You have it all wrong. Mr.
Darcy wasn’t prejudiced against Lizzie. He could not care less about her rank in society.”

  “Are you insane?” I ask. “Did you even read the book?”

  “Uh . . . did you?” Jason Orson, the starting catcher for the Chicago Rebels, asks.

  “More times than I care to admit.”

  “Then you should know that he was never prejudiced. He was scared.”

  “Oh Jesus.” I rub my temples. “Where in the book does it ever say he’s scared?”

  “The great thing about Jane Austen is she doesn’t have to write it; she portrays it in the mood.”

  “You’re giving me a headache.”

  “Quit now,” Dottie, his wife, says while leaning in. “He can go all night.”

  “Trust her, my stamina for Mr. Darcy is fierce.”

  “Oh, I could go all night and into tomorrow,” I counter, taking a sip of my wild berry seltzer. No drinking for me tonight. No way in hell am I staying here for the night, especially with school tomorrow. I don’t need to be rolling into the parking lot with Arlo Turner driving, one eye barely open while I second-guess all my decisions from the day before.

  “She’s annoyingly persistent,” Stella says.

  “I don’t think you know Jason,” Gunner cuts in, taking a seat at the outdoor table. “He created the term annoyingly persistent.”

  Jason smiles gleefully at me, the large brute of a man entirely too adorable for his own good.

  “You’re proud of that?” I ask him.

  “Very. I take my annoying habits to heart. I wouldn’t be the man I am today without them.” Jason tilts his drink toward me and then sips from the can. And I have to admit it, I might have started this party feeling pretty upset from the conversation with Arlo, but spending time with Jason has cheered me up, even if he acts like an emotional idiot.

  “How about this? We both agree we have passion for P and P and leave it at that?” I say.

  He mulls it over, giving the pact some serious thought, making a show of it. At this point, I wouldn’t expect anything less from him. “I guess I can agree on that, under one condition.”

  “What’s that?” I ask.