Under The Peaches (Teaching Love Series Book 1)

by Shana Vanterpool

  “Good thing it’s the weekend. You ready?” He starts to open his door right as his cell rings. He glares at the caller ID. “What, Layla?” he demands after sliding his finger reluctantly across the screen. “I’m not going to argue with you right now. I can’t come over tonight.” He glances at me. “I don’t want to come over. Are you drunk?” He rolls his eyes at something she says. “You’re drunk. Call me when you’re sober and then maybe we can talk.” He hangs his phone up and hops out like it’s nothing.

  I quickly follow suit. It’s not nothing. He grabs my things from the back as I clutch my phone in my hand, squeezing it too tightly. Layla wants to get back together? Something disgusting and bitter forms in my stomach. It isn’t a pit. A pit is too tame. This is more like a boulder. She can’t get back with him. All I can think is: She can’t.

  I follow him to his porch. He takes his key out and unlocks his door. “Excuse the mess,” he throws over his shoulder. “I haven’t been in a cleaning kind of mood.”

  “Does she want to get back with you?” It tumbles out of my mouth before I can stop it.

  He pauses before turning on the light inside his house. “She’s drunk. You know how it is when you’re drunk. Bad ideas seem good.”

  “I’ve never been drunk.”

  His eyes skirt away. “That’s right. You’re only eighteen.” He clears his throat and steps back, revealing a doorway. “Are you hungry?”

  “What if she does?” I can’t get over her calling him. I can’t.

  “She doesn’t. Her lover probably ditched her tonight and she’s feeling lonely. Don’t worry,” he assures me quietly, taking off his shoes and setting down my bag. He then starts to undo the buttons on his shirt, already at home.

  Don’t worry, he says. What does that mean? Because I most certainly am not going to stop worrying just because he told me to.

  “I can’t eat right now.”

  “When’s the last time you did?”

  “Last night. With you.”

  He frowns. “You should eat. Come on. I’ll make dinner.”

  I follow him past a living room and a bathroom down a hall. There are pictures in frames, Layla smiling at the camera, Julian grinning back. The boulder in my stomach rolls over, making me sick. The hall ends thankfully, and we are in a large comfortable kitchen. Warm colors, like beige and cream, make it feel homey. He turns the lights on and the warmth blankets the entire room.

  There’s a bottle of peach lotion on the counter and a high heel by the back door. Remnants of Layla are everywhere. It even smells feminine. Like scented candles and perfume. Julian opens the fridge and examines the contents as I enter deeper into his kitchen, curious as to who he is at home. I walk over and pick up her lotion, opening it to smell it. It reminds me of Brady on top of me.

  Don’t worry, Julian said.

  I set the lotion down. “Layla hasn’t moved out yet?”

  “Not completely.” He straightens and comes away with bell peppers and mushrooms.

  “Is it smart for me to move in here while she can still come home?”

  He pauses in the middle of pulling out a knife from a block on the counter to look at me. “What exactly are you worried about?”

  I push the lotion over. “You’re a teacher. She knows I’m not a regular girl. She already accused you of sleeping with me. Imagine if she comes home and I’m here? She’ll make it sound like something it’s not.”

  He sets the knife down and braces himself against the counter. He looks so tired and drained when our eyes meet. “I didn’t think of that.”

  I push the lotion away. “We’ll have to be careful. What are you making me for dinner, Mr. Ean? I’m starved.”

  He looks grateful for the subject change. “Portabella burgers. It’s easy,” he defends when I make a face. “And if you’re good I’ll even put extra cheese on it.”

  “I’m always good.”

  He eyes me uncertainly. “Depends on what you think good is.” His phone rings again, but he silences it this time. “Damn woman needs to make up her mind,” he grumbles, pouring oil on the mushrooms.

  “What if she does and it’s you?” I can’t help myself.

  “Kael, right now she could say anything she wants to me. I’m not thinking about her. Is Ruffles okay?”

  “Mhm,” I absentmindedly mumble. Who are you thinking about? I ache to ask. I’m learning I have no filter around Julian. I’ll ask him if I don’t shut up. I need to shut up. “Can I help?”

  “You want to help me cook?” He smiles softly. “Sure. Cut the bell peppers so they fit on the mushrooms. I’ll start grilling them.”

  I roll up my sleeves and wash my hands, picking up the knife to slice through the waxy flesh of the red pepper. The smell of grilling mushrooms fills the kitchen. I lean against the counter and watch him cook them, how his deft fingers apply the blanket of cheese delicately. Julian’s a large man. I’m short—by nature, most are bigger than me—but even if I was average height he’d still be apparent. And for such a tall man he’s so gentle. He could be imposing and loud, a force in the room, and no one would question it. Yet he’s anything but.

  When our meals are ready, he carries our plates to the kitchen table. I bring the chips and a pitcher of water from the fridge. Digging in, I’m surprised by how good it tastes. Mostly I’m starving. A cowboy boot with Ranch on top would probably taste good right now. The mushrooms are meaty, and the peppers burst in my mouth.

  “Do you like it?” He licks some ketchup off his thumb and nods at my burger.

  “Surprisingly.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Eating healthy isn’t always bad.”

  “Do you always eat healthily?”

  “I try. I like to be fit and eating healthy is part of the tradeoff. I have my days, though. I’m a pizza binger. I’ll eat the whole thing if you let me.”

  I imagine him shoving pizza into his mouth uncontrollably and laugh. “Skittles,” I admit. “I’ll bite your arm off for some Skittles.”

  “I’m more of a chocolate kind of guy.” He takes a handful of chips and tosses them back, licking at the dust that coats his lip. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m so tired I could nod off at the table. Someone kept me up all night.” He gives me a playful glare.

  I finish my burger with one last yummy bite. “I know the feeling. I was stuck talking to this jerk last night. He kept trying to get me naked.”

  He smirks, eyes narrowing intently. “I don’t blame him.”

  Did he just …? He did. “You don’t?”

  “No. Why would I blame him for wanting that?” His eyes travel heatedly over my face, tracing my features. “You’re gorgeous, Kaelyn.”

  Holy crap. “You’re tired drunk.”

  “You can’t stand compliments. Have you noticed that? Let’s practice. Kaelyn, I think you’re gorgeous.”

  I blush, having no choice but to look away. Holding eye contact while he so earnestly tells me lies I want so badly to believe is too much. “Julian.”

  “Look at me. It’s just a compliment. It won’t bite.”

  “Stop.”

  “Your eyes are my favorite part. The first time I met you, I couldn’t believe how blue they were. How much pain and fire there was trapped inside of them. When you look at me I sometimes have to remind myself to breathe.”

  I stare at him, stunned into shocked silence, an inability to think around the disbelieving fluttery pit his words have created in my stomach. As I stare, he takes a breath. I giggle breathlessly before I can stop myself and cover my face. “Stop please.”

  “And when you blush I think you can’t get any cuter. But then you look at me like you’re looking at me right now, with your cheeks pink and your lips parted, and I know I’m wrong. You can get cuter. You just did.”

  I can’t take any more. My heart is smashing into my ribs, my thighs are squeezing together, and my body heat is hotter than the freaking sun. “If you keep going my implosion is going to be on your conscience
.”

  “Let’s see,” he says, tapping his chin. “What else is there? Just you, Kael. You’re all you need to be beautiful. Learn how to take a compliment. I’m going to be giving them out like crazy.”

  I cover his mouth. “I’m in compliment overload. No more.”

  He takes my wrist and gently removes my hand, holding it in his lap. “You’re right. I’m tired. I bet you’re not, though. You probably want to stay up all night and talk.”

  He won’t let my hand go. “So, what were you like as a child? Why is the sky blue?”

  “I knew it.”

  His laugh is deep and loud, hitting my ears just the right way.

  “We can sleep if you want. It’ll be nice not to have to worry for once.”

  My comment makes his smile fall, and the teasing mood between us goes with it. “I’m sorry that happened to you.” He brings my hand to his lips and kisses the back of it. “Is there anything you need?”

  One thing comes to mind, but telling him to burn all of Layla’s things sounds better in my head. “No. I’m fine, really.” My jaw aches, but it’s an ache I’m used to. Plus, Julian has done so much for me tonight. I can’t ask him for more.

  “I wish I’d been there to protect you.”

  I squeeze his fingers. I wish he was too.

  “Let’s talk.” He cradles my hand in his lap, holding on to it tightly. “I can stay up longer.”

  As wired as I am, I can clearly see the exhaustion in his eyes. I want him to rest. “Let’s sleep. I’m tired too.”

  “You sure?” I nod. “You can have my bed. I’ll sleep on the couch until we can get you one for the spare room down the hall.”

  “I’ll have my own room?” My own room in Mr. Ean’s house? I know the idea shouldn’t please me as much as it does. Or comfort me. Or make me hot all over. Or anything, because he’s a teacher, and his ex is still in the picture. And I’m nothing but a nuisance the way I’ve always been.

  “Of course.” He looks at me funny. “Why?”

  “No reason.” I gently pull my hand from his, having no right to hold it.

  “Come. I’ll show you my room.”

  Leaving our dishes, he leads me upstairs. His bedroom’s at the top of the stairs. He pushes his door open and steps inside with me close behind. The setting sun penetrates the cream curtains. Did Layla pick them out? They’re so feminine. So is his bed. It’s decorated in gray and black with purple accents. He walks over to the curtains and closes them, drenching us in darkness before flipping on the light. There are clothes all over the floor, some female, some not. He bends down to pick up a pair of silky pink panties and quickly tosses them into the closet, unable to meet my eyes as he does so.

  I eye the hamper he tossed them in icily.

  He gathers the covers on his bed and pulls them back, patting the space for me. “Bed’s yours. The bathroom’s next to the closet. Do you want to change?”

  For the first time today I look at what I’m wearing. Dark gray sweats and my old gym shirt from freshman year. South Rebel High is scrawled over my breasts in light blue and there’s a stain down the front. I’m not even wearing a bra. I shake my head and stare at my bare toes. “No.”

  “If you need anything I’ll be downstairs.”

  I sit down on his bed. He walks over to his closet and undoes the rest of the button on his shirt. Peeling it back, he drops it on the floor next to all the others. His bare back is to me. I slide my eyes over it greedily. It’s so smooth-looking, and his muscles contour his body like a glove. I want him to turn around. Rather, he pulls a white shirt from his closet and pulls it on, shielding his body from my eyes. He undoes the zipper on his jeans and grabs a pair of pajamas in his fist, and then walks into the bathroom, leaving me there with my jaw in my lap.

  Ignoring my reaction, I tuck myself under his covers and bunch them around my face. I can hear him in the bathroom moving and banging stuff. When he comes out ten minutes later, his dark blue pajamas hang off his hips and the smell of toothpaste trails after him.

  He shuts the lights off and pauses in the doorway. “Goodnight, Kael. Have good dreams.”

  I look at him from the protection of his covers, sad for no reason. “Thank you for today.”

  He nods. “Like I said. Anything for you.”

  “’Night,” I whisper, but he’s already gone, pulling his door closed.

  I listen to his footsteps take the stairs and then nothing. I can’t hear downstairs. I want to. I need to.

  I’m starting to realize I feel better around him. I can’t focus on the things that have gotten a hold of me when he’s near. Though I’m not solving the issues when he’s around, I’m not crumbling under their weight either. I’ve been crumbling under the weight of life for so long my knees have started to buckle. I can no longer take it. People like Bruce have knocked the air out of my lungs, leaving me nothing to breathe but what they’ve given me. I want to learn how to inhale and know I’ve earned every breath.

  I want to be able to stand me.

  Chapter Five

  Eventually, my eyes close and my brain silence’s enough to find sleep. It’s fitful; I awake countless times, rolling over in Julian’s bed to fall restlessly back to sleep.

  Nightmares assault me. I’m falling as Bruce comes for me. Screaming as I flounder naked on the bathroom floor. At one point my voice is gone and I’m terrified, but the door bangs off the wall and instead of it being Mandy, it’s Nessa. Bruce and Nessa grin, coming for me …

  I bolt upright in bed, sweat dripping down my temples. The smell of my fear surrounds me. I sag back and pull in a breath.

  The sun is creeping in through the curtains, lighting the shadows in Julian’s room. I try with all my might not to inhale his scent. It’s all over the bed. In his pillow, in the sheets, and all over his blankets. Which means it all over me. I imagine him lying beside me in his boxers talking to me on the phone. I’m not disappointed.

  There’s footsteps in the hall. His bedroom door opens carefully. When he finds I’m already awake, he smiles.

  “Morning,” he greets, his hair messy and eyes puffy.

  My stomach flips over when I hear his voice. It’s deep and gravely, scraped raw from sleeping. It’s kind of sexy. I make sure to clear my throat. “Morning.”

  “How’d you sleep?”

  “Good,” I lie.

  He pursues his lips. I wasn’t used to lying; no one cared about my truths.

  “I need a shower. Stay in bed.” He disappears into his bathroom.

  A moment later, I hear the pipes whine as the shower comes on. I roll onto my back and attempt with all my might not to imagine him naked. He’s a teacher, I needlessly remind myself. But he’s naked in there, and for the first time in my life, I might want to know what a man looks like instead of only Brady. He’s entered a part of my thoughts that make everything about him unflattering. The years spent wanting him, the ones where I thought I had him, all make me nauseous.

  Rage moves through me. I disregarded my self-respect for a boy who only wanted what was between my legs. He’s probably between Nessa’s right now. Does he pound into her, or does he do it slow? The way he did the night I lost my virginity to him? Heat creeps over my skin. I roll over in bed, burying my face in Julian’s pillow.

  The person I’m mad at most is myself. Thoughts bombard me. Brady freshman year, Brady under the peaches, my tears, and my self-disgust—I am stuck. The smell of peaches burns my nose.

  “What’s wrong?”

  I yelp, popping my head out to find Julian standing there in only his towel.

  He’s drying his hair with another towel, but his face is clear, staring at me in question. My mouth goes dry. His body is flawless. Water trails down his abs, over the six hard ripples there. There’s a dark trail of hair leading down and disappearing into his towel. His biceps are corded in muscle and his chest looks as hard as I know it feels. I’ve never seen a man. I’ve never seen a body like this. I’ve never wanted to touch
someone so badly in my life. I want to run my hands all over him, skim my fingers over his dampened abs, and touch the hair that points south. His towel hangs low on his hips, tied right in the middle. I want his towel gone.

  A rush of heat overtakes my body. I lie down and stare up at the ceiling. “Nothing.”

  He laughs quietly as he moves into his closet. What’s so funny?

  The heat in my body won’t go away. I fan myself, but it’s not on the outside. It’s on the inside. This is like nothing I’ve ever felt before. Brady left me breathless, but he never doused me in lust and set me on fire.

  When Julian comes out, he’s dressed in a pair of faded jeans and a dark blue shirt. His hair is damp and messy.

  “You want to take a shower?”

  I recall my last shower and cringe. “Yes, if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course I don’t mind. I’ll bring your bag up. Go on and get in.”

  I kick his covers away. I feel oddly uneasy. I can’t tell if it’s because of the last few days or something else. I imagine it’s the last few days. Brady and Bruce have left my head twisted. And Julian’s V’s were dripping water.

  I enter his bathroom as he leaves the room. I don’t like it when he’s not close. I close his bathroom door, but leave it open a little, and take it in. It’s as feminine as his bedroom. Deep red and brown shower curtain and red and brown bathroom rugs. Even the soap dish matches.

  After peeling off my clothes, I step into the shower. Layla’s soaps are all still here. Even her razor. The sight of it bothers me past any other thought. She’s not even gone yet. I grab angrilly for her shampoo and knock her shaving cream over, scrubbing my scalp roughly. I wash my face hard, getting soap in my eye. My elbow is smarting from Bruce’s attack, and it hurts when I reach around to wash my back.

  I’m losing it.

  I’m as clean as I can get, but I stay in the shower. When’s the last time I showered and not had to worry about the creep down the hall?

  When I finally turn the water off and emerge from the shower, my bag is in the bathroom and there’s a fresh towel on top. I wrap myself inside and sift through my belongings for an outfit. I miss my parka.