See Me After Class

by Quinn, Meghan

  How could I be the man she deserves when I’ve never had an example of what that looks like?

  “Uh, where did you go?” Gunner asks me, poking me in the shoulder.

  “Huh? Oh, sorry. Was thinking about Coraline,” I lie.

  “Everything okay with her?” Romeo asks.

  “Yeah.” I shake my head. “I should get some shit done before the teenage pukes get here.”

  “Same,” Gunner replies.

  “I’m going to deliver donuts unless you guys want one more.”

  I shake my head, but Gunner takes another.

  Looking between us, he says, “I have a girl, and I’m a dad. I think it’s about time I take this chiseled body to dad-bod mode.”

  Romeo groans. “Fine, but when you complain to me about your pants not fitting, I’m going to remind you of this comment.”

  Gunner has the donut halfway to his mouth when he replies, “Yeah, I’ll run extra tonight.”

  On their way out, Romeo says, “Meet us in the teachers’ lounge for lunch. I’m going to get the scoop on Greer’s date. Maybe there’s love in the air.”

  Nauseated, I set my donut down and slump in my chair as they both depart my classroom.

  There’s no way in hell I’m going to the teachers’ lounge for lunch. You couldn’t pay me enough to listen in on the date that had me agonizing, tossing and turning, and not getting one ounce of sleep.

  Nope, not happening.

  I’ll stay here and grade papers.

  Hell, I’ll grade other teachers’ papers. Anything to avoid hearing the sordid details of Greer’s date.

  * * *

  I’m here because I’m retrieving my salad, that’s it.

  No other reason.

  And I’m reading the bulletin board in the teachers’ lounge because I want to catch up with the current events.

  A 5K to benefit Special Olympics. I’ll do that.

  Oh, and look, Jamie Marino got engaged. She teaches . . . history, right?

  And, shocking, the underwear still hasn’t been claimed, but Dewitt is still taking leads.

  “Oh, I should not have eaten those three donuts,” Gunner says, holding his stomach as he walks into the teachers’ lounge.

  “I thought you had two,” Romeo says, trailing behind him.

  “I snuck another in and now I’m regretting it.”

  The door opens again, and this time, Stella, Keiko, and Greer walk in. “Romeo, those donuts were so good,” Stella says. “Are there any left?”

  Romeo goes to the pastry box and flips open the lid, revealing nothing. “How fucking rude.” He lifts it up. “Who takes the last donut and doesn’t throw out the box? That’s just giving teachers false hope, and that’s the last thing we need when dealing with hormonal nitwits all day.” He tosses the empty box on the floor and stomps on it.

  “You okay?” Gunner asks him, hand on his shoulder.

  “I think all the sugar is getting to me.” He lets out a deep breath and spots Greer. “Hey, how was the date?”

  Now this is the moment where I should leave, because I don’t want to indulge my curiosity about Greer’s date, but you just saw the violent outburst from Romeo. He’s on edge, and I’d be a terrible friend if I didn’t stay through this and make sure he’s okay.

  Greer and Stella walk over to the fridge and retrieve their lunches. Keiko claims a spot at one of the tables, and Greer and Stella join her.

  “Why are you prying into my personal life? Jason not give you what you want?” Greer asks, unpacking her lunch.

  I turn away and examine the bulletin board some more, trying to look casual, not interested, really just here for my friend.

  “No, he didn’t give me any information. Walker didn’t talk. Jason was hoping I could pull something from you.”

  “And why would I tell you about the date?” she asks. I can practically feel her raised brow.

  “Because if I don’t deliver, Jason will continue to ask incessantly. Remember what I told you last night?” Romeo clasps his hands together. “Please, just something.”

  “According to the ‘girl gab’ we shared this morning, they exchanged contact information,” Keiko announces to the room.

  “Keeks, what the hell?” Greer asks.

  “I’d prefer to eat my lunch in peace, not listen to Brock beg for morsels of a night over which he has no claim. Now he can take that information to his friend and be done with the badgering.”

  “You exchanged numbers?” Romeo asks as I turn around.

  Greer eyes me quickly and then turns to the wrap she packed for herself. “We did.”

  “Does that mean a second date?” Romeo asks and, honestly, I’ve heard enough.

  I grab my salad and take off, leaving everyone in discussion over Greer’s date.

  Romeo doesn’t seem to need my support anymore.

  And even if he did—I roll my eyes at myself—I’m not the friend he’d expect help from.

  No. It was the right decision Greer made, and she should look for her future husband. Or whatever.

  Fuck.

  And I’m the one who has to act like everything is normal.

  * * *

  Knock. Knock.

  I look up from my computer and see Greer standing in my doorway, wearing a pair of leggings and a Forest Heights Volleyball T-shirt. Her hair tied up into a high ponytail.

  Remember when I said this outfit does nothing for me?

  I lied.

  “Hey, we’re all going to grab a beer and strategize about badminton. Gunner and Romeo request your presence.”

  “Busy,” I say, turning back to my laptop, where I’m checking on my Amazon Subscribe and Saves.

  “I don’t think busy is an option with them. They were adamant about you coming.”

  “Then why did they send you to come get me?”

  “They raced to the bar to grab good seats since the Bobbies are playing tonight. Stella is with them already.”

  Vitamins and toilet paper are all coming in on time, thankfully. I shut my laptop and stuff it in my messenger bag.

  “I should get home to Cora—”

  “She’s meeting us there.” Greer crosses her arms over her chest. “Any other excuses? Need to check your vitamins again?”

  Hell . . .

  “How about this? I don’t fucking feel like it.”

  “At least that’s honest.”

  I stand from my chair and sling my bag over my shoulder. I move toward the door, but she doesn’t move.

  “What?” I ask, exasperated.

  “Everyone says you’re cranky. You’re unbearable to be around unless Romeo gives you a donut.”

  I’ve had five this week, which is unheard of.

  “And that you’re being a dick to your students.”

  “I’m not being a dick to my students.”

  “Blair said you handed out two pop quizzes yesterday, and everyone failed the second one.”

  “Then they should pay attention more when they’re reading, shouldn’t they?”

  “Arlo.”

  Pushing my hand through my hair, I say, “What’s the point of this conversation? To tell me I’m in a bad mood? I don’t need you to tell me that, I’m living it. So, unless there’s something constructive you want to inform me of, please move the fuck out of my way.”

  She moves to the side. “Excuse me for wanting to see if you’re okay.”

  “Really? Is that why you’re here? To see if I’m okay? Because you sure as shit didn’t start the conversation like that.”

  “Why are you so hostile? I did nothing to you.”

  She’s right, she did nothing. This is all on me, and yet, I can’t seem to control my anger.

  Do I want to taste her again? Abso-fucking-lutely. But I hadn’t realized how much I liked passing her in the hallway and teasing her. With snark. It was banter she reciprocated, and because of her fucking smart mouth and sassy attitude, it challenged me. The fight. The tease. Her. Occasionally, I sa
w her smile, but that’s gone now too. And I’ve missed that. Her.

  Seeing her, in my classroom, beautifully flushed with anger, the feelings I’ve tried burying arise. Want. Need.

  “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.”

  She did nothing but tell the truth. It’s agonizing. I know what my body wants, but my head is fucking with me. Which makes me angry.

  “Just leave me alone, Greer.”

  “Oh, so now you call me by my first name?” she asks, her voice sounding menacing. “But when your tongue is between my legs, I’m Miss Gibson?”

  My lips purse, my eyes narrow, and I take a step closer, getting in her face. “Do you miss my face between your legs?”

  She doesn’t flinch, but stands tall. “I miss the feel of a man’s hand holding mine.” She steps in closer. “I miss the feel of someone calling me just to hear my voice.” One more step. “I miss the feel of a man holding me while I drift off to sleep. Anyone can make me come, Arlo, but it’s the one who makes me feel special that I miss.”

  “Walker not giving that to you?”

  “That’s none of your business.” She steps away and says, “I’ll let the guys know you’re too much of an asshole to join tonight. I’m sure they’ll understand. They’ve known you long enough.” Then she walks out of my classroom, her ponytail swishing over her shoulders.

  Shit.

  * * *

  “Here,” Coraline says, handing me a beer and taking a seat on the large lounger I’m stretched out across.

  “Thanks,” I say, staring out at Lake Michigan, the sun setting over the horizon, lighting up the sky in beautiful shades of pink and orange. “How was the other night at the bar?”

  “Fun. The guys bitched about you for a bit.”

  “What’s new?” I ask, bringing the beer to my lips.

  “Greer was in a crap mood. Kelvin and Keeks were there, too. They sat at another booth, though, and compared notes on a recent article they read about wind propulsion. Or something like that. I can’t quite tell you what it was, but at one point, I looked over and they were holding hands across the table. It was adorable. Keeks then went to the bathroom with me and told me her arousal was spiking so she was going to go make out with Kelvin behind the bar. Things I didn’t need to know.”

  A light chuckle comes out of me.

  “Hey.” She pokes my side. “You do know how to laugh.”

  “What are you trying to say?” I ask her.

  “Just confirming what the guys think. That you’re a grump.”

  I watch the small waves of the lake lap at the rocks that jut up against the body of water. “Can I ask you a question, Coraline?”

  “Always.”

  “Do you think we’re incapable of affection?”

  She doesn’t answer right away, but rests her head on my shoulder. “No. But I do think it comes to us less naturally. It’s one of the reasons He Who Shall Not Be Named wanted a divorce. Called me cold and frigid.”

  “He was a dick.”

  “He was right. I was never into PDA despite his many attempts to get me to loosen up. It was hard for me to stop what I was doing and remember that maybe he needed a hug. As time went on, I forgot to kiss him at night, he didn’t kiss me goodbye, and we drifted apart. He cheated on me, and now we’re in the middle of a messy divorce. Yes, his cheating was the reason for leaving him, but I didn’t help the situation. I didn’t participate in my marriage like I should have.”

  “You never said that before,” I say, surprised. “You just told me he cheated on you.”

  “Because I wasn’t ready to face reality.” She sips from her drink and says, “You know how you always ask where I am?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, I’ve been going to marriage counseling.”

  “With—”

  She shakes her head against my shoulder. “No. Not with him. I’ve been going on my own. I’ve been trying to figure out where I went wrong and, when the time comes, how I can be a better partner. It’s how I came to terms with my lack of affection, and it’s something I’ve been working on.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I was embarrassed. I think the lack of love in our household growing up really fucked with me, and from the sounds of it, it fucked with you, too.”

  “Yeah, you could say that,” I say with a heavy breath.

  “Is there someone you’re not telling me about?”

  Without going into detail, I say, “There was, but she wanted more, and I couldn’t give her that. I didn’t really know how to without feeling completely lost.”

  “Is that why you’ve been cranky lately?”

  “Something like that,” I answer.

  At first, I was so angry at Greer, how she’d made me feel. But what she said the other afternoon was spot-on. She knows what she wants in a partner. She knows what she misses. And in that moment of anger, as she turned for the door and left, my first thought was I want to try. My second thought was That’s stupid, asshole. It’s beyond you. And the anger kicked back up a notch.

  And here’s my sister, telling me that she thinks counselling will help her be warmer. Is it right to lay all the blame for my prickly persona on the family environment I was raised in?

  Is there any other answer? But I can’t do this with Cora right now. I need to think. “I’m also irritated that Romeo keeps bringing in Frankie Donuts. I’ve had to kick up my cardio more than I care for.”

  She chuckles. “I think a few donuts aren’t going to kill your figure.” I pinch her side and she giggles, swatting me away. “Seriously, though, do you want to go to marriage counseling with me?”

  “Marriage counseling with my sister—pretty sure that would be an ultimate low.”

  “We’d be really clear that we’re not interested in marrying each other.”

  I laugh. “I don’t think I’m at that point. I just need to take the plunge.”

  “Do you need me to push you?”

  “Maybe,” I say.

  “Honestly, Arlo, what do you have to lose? If it doesn’t work out, at least you tried. It’s better than sitting around, being angry all the time.”

  “What if I’m not good enough?”

  “You can’t think of it that way. You have to give yourself the chance at least. You can’t set yourself up for failure before you even give it a shot. That’s not fair to you or to her.” She elbows me and says, “Plus, who wouldn’t want to be with my brother?”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  “Well, your arrogance can be quite off-putting at times.”

  “Thanks.” I chuckle.

  “Just trying to keep you grounded.” She twists her head and kisses my shoulder. “See? Affection. It’s easy.”

  “I’m your brother.”

  “Doesn’t matter. It’s still progress. Now, stop making excuses and go after the girl. Then report back to me. I’m going to find out who she is soon because I’m nosey like that. The only reason I’m not asking right now is because you opened up. But next time, I’m going to need a name and a picture.”

  “Don’t push your luck.”

  “Initials?”

  I chuckle. “Maybe.”

  “I’ll take that for now.”

  Chapter Twenty

  GREER

  Greer: Pleeeease, Stella?

  Stella: No way in hell. I did my duty last year.

  Greer: I don’t feel good. I really need you to fill in.

  Stella: Liar.

  Greer: I’m not lying.

  Stella: Then what’s wrong with you?

  Greer: Headache, stomachache, legs ache.

  Stella: The stiff air of the gymnasium will make you feel better.

  Greer: Did I mention I have the poops? I can’t possibly chaperone with a situation like that.

  Stella: I’ll bring you some Imodium on the way to the bar. That should help.

 
Greer: Ugh, why are you not a good friend right now?

  Stella: Me? You’re the one not being a good friend, trying to guilt me into chaperoning the homecoming dance.

  Greer: You’re more experienced. I think pregnancies are going to happen on my watch. That’s not something I can have on my conscience.

  Stella: But, there is the possibility they might name the baby after you in nine months. That’s an honor.

  Greer: Stella, I’m begging you. I’ll buy you lunch every day until the end of the semester.

  Stella: Your attempt to bribe me with food is commendable. Unfortunately, I’m watching the game with Romeo tonight. He got tickets and invited me and Cora since Gunner and Arlo are chaperoning with you. I’m about to get a footlong hotdog and shove it down my gullet. Don’t worry, I’ll think of you the entire time.

  Greer: You hate me.

  Stella: I love you. But this is something you have to do on your own. Good luck. Have fun!

  Ugh. I shove my phone into the pocket of my dress and step out of my car. I tried Keeks, too, but she texted back “reptile brain” and that was it. I didn’t dive deeper, because, good God, I could see her thinking it’s okay to show pictures since she’s into evidence and all.

  No luck.

  I’m stuck chaperoning with Gunner and Arlo. I’m just hoping Gunner can be a good buffer.

  I cross the threshold of the school and hear the music thumping through the halls. God, I already feel uncomfortable. From what I can remember from school dances, you’re either on the dance floor, grinding against each other, or you’re one of the nervous high schoolers sitting to the side, watching everyone grind on each other.

  Unfortunately, I was a grinder growing up.

  I decided to dress nicely though. A simple black dress with pockets that flares at my hips and black heels. My hair is pulled back into a high ponytail, and I added a touch of red lipstick, something I never wear at school, but I felt like I needed to make an effort.

  “Greer, hold up.” I turn to find Gunner jogging up to me. He’s wearing a pair of dark jeans and a navy button-up shirt, tucked in, and a brown belt wrapped around his waist.