See Me After Class
Page 29
“Good evening, Mr. Turner,” Gary, the captain, says while holding out his hand. I give it a firm shake as he introduces his staff. “This is my wife, Janet. We’ll be serving you this evening as you enjoy the beautiful views of Lake Michigan at night.”
“Thank you. This is Greer Gibson.”
“Miss Gibson, a pleasure.” Gary nods. “Let’s get you two on board and comfortable, and then we’ll set sail.”
I get on the boat first and then help Greer. I should have told her to change her shoes but being the greedy bastard that I am, I didn’t have it in me, not when they looked that tempting on her.
After a quick tour of the boat, Greer and I decide to sit at the boat’s stern while we take off into the lake, and once dinner is served, we’ll move to the table.
There’s a perfect bench in the back, just big enough for two people. She snuggles into my side, and I wrap my arm around her.
“Would you like a blanket?” Janet asks.
“That would be wonderful,” Greer says, taking the wool blanket. She drapes it over her lap, and I’m grateful she brought a jacket, too, because even though I love that top, she’d have been cold with nothing on her shoulders.
Once she’s situated, she lets out a long sigh.
“Comfortable?” I ask quietly.
“Extremely. I didn’t think my Wednesday night was going to end up on a sailboat, pulling out into Lake Michigan.”
“Surprised?”
“A little. A regular dinner at a restaurant would have been just fine.” She laughs.
“I’m sure we’ll have dates like that at some point, but I figured I needed to go big for the first date.”
“Already counting on multiple dates?” she teases.
I kiss the top of her head. “Yeah, I am.”
“Not sure how you can beat this.”
“I have ideas.”
Snuggling in closer, she asks, “Did you tell Cora what you’re doing?”
“No. She thinks I’m going out with the boys.”
“Smart, unless she contacts one of them.”
I shrug. “If she does, oh well. I’ll just lie until we’re ready. She’s been evasive with me ever since she moved in, and it wasn’t until recently that she confessed what she’s been doing.”
“Is that the marriage counseling?”
“Yeah. I won’t get into it because, that’s her story to tell to you as her friend, but to keep it brief, we both seem to have intimacy issues. Cora probably more than I do. Sex has never been an issue, but being affectionate, opening up and letting someone in, that’s been harder. She suggested I go to a session with her. I laughed her off until the other day. I thought if I really want to make something of this, then I should put in some time fixing myself.”
“You don’t need to be fixed, Arlo.”
“There’s room for improvement, and I became quite aware of that when you walked away.”
“It wasn’t easy,” she says quietly. “I felt like I was giving up on something I barely tapped into, but it started off too strong, too intense, and with a douse of hatred.”
“I never hated you,” I say quickly. “Did you hate me?”
“Yes,” she answers honestly. “And I hated myself for not having any willpower around you. I was tempting the beast and I didn’t know how to stop. It brought out a carnal side of you, a lustful side of me—which was great, but it wasn’t what I was looking for—and I was mad at myself for taking it to that level.”
“You weren’t alone in how things changed quickly between us.”
“I know . . . but then you dressed up as Jay Gatsby, and I knew there was a part of you that could be the man I’m looking for. Not just sexual attraction, but on a different level.”
“I can be.” I squeeze her tight to me.
“I don’t doubt it now. I think we’re granted with the perfect chance to get to know each other better now, which is what I’d like to do.”
“Ask me anything. I’m an open book.”
“Anything?”
“Anything,” I say, pressing another kiss to the top of her head, the act coming naturally.
“When I ran into you outside of the restaurant, the night I was going out with Walker, were you upset?”
“Upset isn’t the correct word. More like indignant. I had no idea what the boys were up to, and when I found out, I saw red. The last thing I wanted was to see you go out with another guy, especially . . . hell, especially when you looked so goddamn fine in your dress. I spent the entire night agonizing over my stupidity. I had a deep conversation with Coraline, and it helped me snap the blinders off and realize what I was missing out on.”
“When I saw you that night, it felt absolutely devastating. At the time, I felt vengeful because of everything that had happened between us, but I was devastated because it didn’t seem like you cared. I thought maybe I saw a flash of something in your eyes, but I couldn’t be sure.”
“I cared. Trust me, I cared.”
“Is it weird to say that makes me happy?”
I chuckle. “Glad my pain and agony bring you joy.”
She pokes my side. “You know what I mean.”
“I do, and I understand.”
“I do need to come clean about something from that night, though.”
Fuck, if she says she slept with him, I’m not sure how I’ll handle that. I’d have no right to be angry. She’s irresistible. Walker would be a blind idiot—
“Walker and I are friends, and friends only.”
Thank. Fuck.
“In fact, he talked about someone he’s extremely attracted to but can’t act upon that attraction, and I . . . well, I talked about you.” She’s blushing. God, she’s adorable when she blushes.
“Me?”
“From the outset. So, you have nothing to worry about there, okay?”
I can’t help it. I lean across and kiss her. Gently. Affectionately. Because she just showed me enormous kindness and respect. Not sure I deserve that yet. But I want to earn it.
The sailboat picks up speed as we head out of the harbor and into the vast darkness of the impressive lake.
“Have you ever had a favorite student?” Greer asks.
“Yeah. Easily. There are students that take a piece of you every year, ones that you’ll remember, but there’s one student who sticks out above all of them.”
“Tell me about him or her.”
“Her name is Crystal. Crystal Meyers. She was eager and excited to be in an advanced placement class. She played basketball, was the school spirit type, and participated in every themed day the student counsel came up with. She was happy all the time. That was, until she got her first paper back from me and failed.”
“Oh no. You knocked the spirit right out of her with a red pen.”
I chuckle. “I did. She was devastated. That lunch break, she came to my classroom and asked if she could speak with me. Being the asshole that I am, I told her she had five minutes.”
“Ugh, Arlo . . .”
“I know. But I’ve never been one to make friends with students. I wasn’t about to chitchat.”
“Did she speed-talk to you?”
“Basically. It all came out in one sentence. She was confused, didn’t know how she could make the paper better, what she was missing. She just signed a letter of intent to attend University of Connecticut. She received a full-ride for basketball, and she took my class to prepare herself for the higher level of education she’d be facing.”
“Like Blair.”
“Exactly, but where Blair is surrounded by friends and a support system, I quickly realized Crystal wasn’t. She’d come to my classroom almost every lunch break to work on her papers. I didn’t think much of it until I started asking around about her. Other teachers never saw her with anyone.”
“Oh God, she didn’t have any friends.”
I shake my head. “No. She had a few friends on the basketball team, but she never hung out with them. She found solace a
nd friendship in my classroom.”
“Oh Jesus, you’re about to break my heart, aren’t you?”
“Depends. We started hanging out at lunch, and of course, Nyema knew, and would frequently pop in to be there, you know, for child protection laws. Or send another female staff member in her place. We followed policies carefully, although, I never feared that Crystal had any feelings toward me, which Nyema and I both monitored. I watched basketball games so I could relate to her, and we talked about what she should expect when she went to college. When the end of the year came, she invited me to her graduation party.”
“Please tell me you went.”
“I did. I wouldn’t have missed it for anything. At the party, she had the ‘most significant people’ in her life that got her to where she was. Her parents, grandparents, her coaches . . . and me.”
“Yup, and here come the tears.” Greer dabs at her eyes.
“They served dinner at a table, and she toasted every single person individually, telling the room how important they were to her.”
“What . . . what did she say about you?” Greer asks, her voice wavering.
“She lifted her glass of sparkling cider to me, looked me in the eyes, and said, ‘Thank you for being the friend I’d never had. Without you, I’d have slipped into another hole of depression. Because of you, I stopped cutting myself, and because of your faith in me, I have confidence going to college.’”
“Oh my God.” Greer pulls away to look me in the eyes. “Arlo.”
I smile softly. “She has no idea how much that meant to me because, frankly, I think I was lost, too. I cherished those lunches with her. We still email back and forth. She’s a junior in college this year. She has a boyfriend who is on the men’s basketball team, and they’ve been dating for a year. She thinks he’s ‘the one..” I chuckle. “I told her to be careful and to not forget about why she was in college, to earn a degree and play basketball.”
“Ugh, of course.”
“But she’s thriving, and as an educator, that’s all I can ask for.”
“I think that’s the best teacher story I’ve ever heard.” She cups my cheek and looks me in the eyes when she says, “Thank you for sharing with me.”
“No need to thank me, Greer. I want to share everything with you.”
She looks momentarily surprised, then smiles and leans in, placing a gentle kiss on my lips. She returns my embrace and together, we watch the wake of our boat disturb the quiet peace of the lake.
A week ago, I’d have mocked and ridiculed any man for giving that level of power to his partner. But ever the avid reader, I’ve spent time going over the book that the counsellor suggested both Cora and I read. Phrases like emotional attunement, where “turning toward” one another, listening, and showing empathy rather than “turning away,” builds trust and safety within a relationship. Something Cora and I never received growing up. We excelled at turning away. So, I want to try, because Greer is a safe place . . . already.
* * *
“How is everything?” Janet asks. She’s been respectful of giving us space and attention equally. They’re going to be tipped exceptionally well tonight.
The night has been absolutely perfect.
“These crab legs are spectacular,” Greer says. “I can’t get over how much meat is in them.”
“I’m happy to hear that. Would you like some damp towels to wipe your hands with?”
“Shortly, that would be great,” I say, as we still have a few crab legs to eat.
“Of course, and the music, is it too loud?”
“Perfect,” I answer. “Thank you.”
“Very well. Please let us know if you need anything.”
She leaves me alone with Greer. The lanterns cast a warm glow around us, adding a beautiful, intimate atmosphere. The instrumental music is quiet enough to make conversation easy, but also soft enough where we can still hear the lapping of the water against the boat.
“This is so amazing, Arlo, seriously. I feel so spoiled.”
I smile. “Get used to it.”
“Was your childhood like this? Lavish?”
“Depends. Dinners were silent and served to us by my grandparents’ staff, so maybe others would call it lavish, but I’d call it cold and uncomfortable. We weren’t to talk, just eat.”
“Really? That’s so sad.”
“Yeah, I only realized that wasn’t the way families shared dinner when I went to my friends’ houses, and I became resentful. I was resentful about a lot of shit, still am, but trying to work through all of that. What about you? What were your family dinners like?”
“Obnoxious.” Greer smirks. “Mom cooked, my brother and I set the table, Dad said the prayer at the head of the table, and then . . . well, we’d talk about the most obnoxious things, like different ways you can say the word fart.”
“What?” I laugh out loud.
“Yup, it was a thesaurus battle. We’d pick one word for the night and go for it. Dad always won, of course, but there was this one night where Mom made porkchops and applesauce, Dad’s favorite. He was in heaven, and I think that distracted him, because Mom dominated and took the win.”
“What was the word?”
She smiles and, fuck, she’s so damn beautiful it hurts. “Penis.”
A laugh bubbles out of me and I ask, “How old were you?”
“High school. The words didn’t get dirty until we were in high school, and my parents thought it was appropriate to expand our vocabulary so when we were in college, we had new and different ways to not only refer to genitals but to have a colorful bank of insults, as well.”
“Give me an example.”
“Oh, you know, classic insults like dunderhead, fussbudget, and gollumpus.”
“Gollumpus.” I chuckle. “Hell, I think that’s what I might start calling every single one of my students until they prove themselves otherwise.”
“I’d love to see that.”
“Don’t tempt me.” I wiggle my brows. “Your family dinners sound like the ones I craved growing up.”
“Well, if you’re lucky, maybe I’ll invite you to one some time.”
“And where would that be? I have no idea where you’re from, which strikes me as odd. I feel like I should know that.”
“Well, if you weren’t such a bastard at first, maybe you’d have known.” She chuckles.
“True. Well, I’m here to learn now. Where are you from?”
“Nebraska. My parents own a farm. They used to sell corn until they realized they could earn big money by having wind turbines on their property and selling renewable energy.”
“Smart,” I say, rather impressed.
“Yup. They’re retired now and living the good life of not having to do very much.”
“Good for them. And your brother?”
“Marine. He went straight into the service from high school. He’s always had a passion to be a part of something bigger than himself. And let me tell you, the insults we learned at those family dinners come in handy now when he’s yelling at his peons.”
“I can imagine, that gollumpus said in a scary tone could be toe-curlingly terrifying.”
“You have no idea.” She chuckles and picks up her glass of wine. Head tilted, she says, “I’m having a really great time, Arlo.”
“So am I.”
“Thank you for stepping out of your comfort zone and trying something new for me.”
“No need to thank me.”
“Does this mean you’ll try my teaching techniques?”
“I want nothing more than to be the man who holds your hand, but there’s no way in hell I’m going to try your teaching techniques.”
“And why not? Too rudimentary for you?”
“Too ostentatious.”
“Oh my God, no, they’re not.”
I lift a brow in her direction. “Just last week, did you or did you not perform a one-woman dance routine to help show the timeline of Pride and Prejudice?”
“You are something else,” I say before taking a sip of my drink.
“You like it.”
“I like you.”
She smiles over her wine glass. “Smooth, Turner . . . smooth.”
* * *
“I think I still have sea legs,” Greer says as I hold her hand on our way up to her apartment.
“Technically, they would be lake legs since we weren’t out at sea.”
“You sound like Keiko.”
“No one sounds like Keiko.” I chuckle. “She has her own way of speaking.”
“Which I love. Sometimes, I just want to sit back and listen to her. I think things are getting hot and heavy with her and Kelvin.”
“I can’t imagine Kelvin Thimble ever getting hot and heavy.”
“He’s quite the charmer—at least, that’s what Keiko says.”
We make it to her apartment and she turns toward me, gripping the bottom of my vest. “Want to come inside?”
I sure as hell do. I want to come inside her.
Really fucking bad.
I want to taste her as she comes on my tongue.
I want to hear her trembling cries as she orgasms around my fingers.
Then eat her again.
And again.
And fuck.
“I don’t think that’s a really good idea.”
“Ah, you’re horny, huh? Afraid you’ll plow your love stick inside me?”
“Do you have to say it like that?”
“It’s more fun.” She smiles and stands on her toes, pressing a soft kiss to my mouth. “Thanks for the wonderful date. Goodnight.” She unlocks her door and reaches for the handle, but I stop her and twirl her around, only to gently push her against the door.
One hand next to her head, propping me up, and the other gripping her jaw, I tilt her mouth up and say, “No way in hell you’re getting away with a quick peck.”
“No?” Her fingers hook through my belt loops. “So, what are you going to do about it?”
Moving in closer, I lower my mouth to hers and, without answer, I take what I want. I open her mouth right away and dive my tongue against hers. I’m hungry, needy. I want so much from her, but know I need to take this slow, so I focus on her mouth and her mouth only. I don’t move my hands from where they are now, even though I want to feel her breast in my palm. I want to rub the silk of her shirt over her stomach, and I want to cause her to gasp by pinching her nipple between my fingers . . . maybe my teeth.