Before You Go

by St. James, Meredith

"Mr. Naughty Professor, meet Princess Pre-game. She was already drinking when I got home. I don't think that fully kicked in for her until we were already here. We got here like thirty minutes ago, and now she's added two shots of tequila to the mix. Contrary to what you seem to think, I don't consider my friends passing out at the bar to be a good night."

  Ivy crossed her arms over the front of her, attitude seeping out of her every pore. It did make me feel somewhat better knowing that she didn't let Laurel get like that on purpose.

  I nudged the drunk woman in my arms. "What?" she grumbled.

  "I think it's time for you to go home."

  "Or we could dance," she countered.

  I nearly jumped out of my skin when her fingers hooked around the waistband of my pants. Luckily, my belt kept her from getting much leverage, which in turn kept her from creating one hell of an embarrassing scene. I tugged her hand away firmly. There was no way in hell I would let things go there with her while she was so clearly out of it.

  The fake boyfriend was still standing there, his eyes zeroing in on the way Laurel was trying to grasp at me. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I think that's my cue to go," he announced.

  "Me too," Ivy agreed. I shot her a helpless look. "Oh, no. You made this mess, you clean it up," she taunted me.

  I was fully prepared to keep protesting, but Ivy darted away without giving me the chance. "Guess it's just me and you, then." I glanced down at Laurel only to find her already staring up at me.

  "Can we dance now?" she asked, her voice soft and low the way it always got when she was trying to talk me into something. It always worked, too.

  "One dance," I conceded. Her eyes lit up. "But then we're going home."

  "Mhm."

  She grabbed fistfuls of my shirt and started trying to pull me across the floor. She wasn't that strong, but I let her lead anyway. She guided me straight to the dance floor. Usually, it was pretty crowded on a weekend, but because of the karaoke event they were hosting more people were interested in singing than dancing. That didn't stop Laurel at all.

  Spinning in my arms, she pressed her back against my front. I thought I knew all the naughty sides to Laurel… that all went out the window when she bent at the waist and ground her ass against me. With a sharp groan, I sunk my fingers into her waist.

  "Fuck, Laurel." I eased her away from me even as my dick protested with a jolt. "You can't do that right now."

  Huge mistake. She whirled on me, her eyes flashing with an anger that wasn't common for her. "What? You don't want to be seen dancing with me in front of your friends?" She gestured wildly in the direction where several of my co-workers were sitting together.

  "I couldn't care less about any of them," I answered truthfully.

  "Whatever."

  It was obvious she didn't believe me. "What do you want from me, Laurel?"

  "Kiss me," she demanded. Her eyes flashed defiantly as if I wouldn't dare do such a thing in front of the people there.

  I yanked her forward, pressing my lips to hers. Her surprise was evident in the way she froze against me at first. No sooner than I started to pull away she seemed to catch her bearings. Her lips met mine with bruising intensity. It was uncannily similar to the alleyway kiss we'd shared weeks earlier. Aside from the fact that this time it was incredibly public.

  Fuck it, I decided.

  Dragging her the rest of the way to me, I kissed her the way she was meant to be kissed. I forced her to slow down and let me worship her the way I wanted. My hands ran over her sides, re-familiarizing me with the natural curves of her body. As our mouths slowed, she whimpered against my lips.

  She pulled her head back, though her body stayed pressed to mine. "Why'd you do that?" She ran her fingers over her swollen lips.

  "You asked me to," I reminded her, not quite understanding her question.

  Her lips parted with a deep yawn. The sight of her slow blinking made me feel more than a little guilty about kissing her. Even though she asked, it was obvious she wasn't in her usual frame of mind. Glancing around, there was no sign of either of her friends.

  "Do you have the keys to your apartment?" I asked.

  She shook her head. "Ivy always carries them." She twisted around to survey the bar. "She was just here a minute ago."

  "Shit," I cursed under my breath. "Here, give me your phone and we can call her."

  Laurel looked down at herself and giggled. "I don't have pockets."

  "Where's your phone, then?"

  She squinted as she tried to come up with an answer. "Oh! I gave it to—" Her mouth slammed shut.

  "Ivy has it, doesn't she?" I asked.

  A whole string of curse words worked its way through my mind as Laurel nodded. Ivy made it clear her night wasn't over yet, which made it safe to assume she wouldn't be back at the apartment until much later. I could take her to my house, I decided on a whim. It wasn't like there were many other choices. She could sleep it off in my bed, and in the morning I could take her home when her roommate would actually be there.

  Fine. It would be fine.

  Laurel

  After months of being dressed by Ivy, I was pleased that she deemed me fit to choose my own clothes. The usual routine was that I put together an outfit for myself, which Ivy promptly checked and reconstructed. Sometimes she decided the shoes or accessories weren't right, sometimes she scrapped whole outfits. That morning, Ivy's hands clapped together excitedly as she informed me there was nothing she wanted to change.

  As I stood outside the building of North Kelley High School, wearing clothes I picked myself made me feel invincible. Far more than any pantsuit ever did. My dress was striped navy blue and white, and I paired a light pink sweater over it. I felt feminine and powerful, a potent combination.

  I needed the strength that came from it as I watched Isaac cross the street towards me.

  After Friday night, I felt thoroughly embarrassed of myself. Saturday morning, I managed to sneak out of his house before he ever woke up. It was a pathetic thing to do, but I hadn't been prepared to face him after my disastrous night. The worst part was I only got drunk enough to be stupid, not drunk enough to forget everything that happened.

  "Good morning," I greeted Isaac as soon as he stepped within hearing distance.

  His lips tugged up into a smile. "Morning." He peered at the brick building behind me. "So, you got my email, I presume?"

  "And I was incredibly impressed. How'd you manage to get so much information so quickly?"

  Not only did he manage to get the names of the students Kelley University was most interested in, he also got information about their class schedule and test scores. I didn't necessarily need any of that, but it did give me some good information about how to market Kelley to them as the school they should choose.

  "Will you think less of me if I admit I'm pretty sure Drew slept with a girl that works in that office just to get the info?"

  I pretended to think about it. "I like to think of it as you being resourceful. Just, in this case, the resource was your incorrigible nephew."

  We shared a laugh that quickly descended into silence. I stared at him, finding myself all too aware of how handsome he was. He returned the stare, his eyes soft on mine. We stared at each other like that, smiling like idiots, for a full minute. "We should go in," I said.

  "Yeah."

  The world around us was quiet except for the normal sounds of the outdoors. That made the echo of his footsteps seem so much louder as he erased the distance between us. He continued to stare. So did I. He finally got close enough where I was forced to tilt my head back to keep looking at him.

  "I want to kiss you again, Laurel," he whispered, his eyes dropping down to my mouth.

  Out of pure instinct, my tongue darted out to wet my upper lip. "I'd let you," I admitted. The admission hurt me down to my core, but I couldn't ignore the desire he stirred up in me.

  He brushed his lips lightly against mine, only resting for a quick peck. The only thin
g the chaste kiss achieved was making me want more. Maybe that was the goal, I realized as he put a gentle hand on my back and guided me towards the front doors of the building. I wanted to ask what he was thinking, what we were doing, and why. The questions all jumbled in my head, and ultimately I swallowed them down. The handsome man next to me had rejected me once, I didn't want to give him the chance to do it again.

  I forced myself to kick into work mode. "Okay, so when I called this morning they said to come now because it's the tail of one senior art class and then we can stay to catch the start of another. The assistant principal I talked to asked us to try to limit our time to about an hour. They have a fire drill later or something and they want us to be gone by then."

  "I looked over the info sheet you sent. Anything else you want me to do or mention?"

  "Just don't be super professory."

  "Professory? Did you really just make up a word?" His hand slid slightly lower on my back, distracting me. "Don't worry, I know I'm not here as a professor, I'm here as your—"

  "Hi, are y'all the guests from Kelley University?" A short woman in a long dress stood in the open doorway, looking at us expectantly. Her voice was southern and sweet.

  "Yes, ma'am," Isaac answered for us.

  I was too busy studying him again. What was he going to say? He was there as my… friend? Helper? Boyfriend? I mentally drew a big 'X' through that last option in my mind. I couldn't think about him in those terms or I would be screwed.

  Focus.

  "It's nice to meet you, I'm Laurel." I stepped forward to introduce myself and offer her my hand. She barely noticed me, her eyes sparkling as she blatantly admired Isaac. Even though she looked old enough to be his grandmother, I felt a spike of jealousy when she kept his hand for a beat too long.

  "I'm Agnes, I'm the senior counselor here. David, who you talked to, was going to a meeting at the school board, so he asked me to show the two of you where you'll be."

  I thanked her as she motioned us into the building. We stopped briefly at the front office for visitors badges before Agnes spirited us away to the second floor. The inside of the building made me think of my own traditional high school. It was like stepping back in time to before I arrived at Kelley. The feeling that rolled through me wasn't exactly pleasant.

  Being the only daughter of the local sheriff didn't make me all too popular with my classmates. It didn't help that I was raised to be competitive, fighting to be top of the class even at the expense of making friends. I graduated valedictorian, but I didn't walk away from my high school experience with much else.

  Isaac's hand nudged me, breaking me from my woeful recollections. He lifted an eyebrow, probably questioning what caused me to fall so silent. More than likely, he was worried it was his fault because of what happened outside. I smiled, shrugged, and rolled my eyes. The combination of all three was a little much, but I didn't want to try to explain my thoughts while our escort was busy giving us a rundown of the school's history.

  "And he we are," Agnes announced proudly. "This is Ms. Bell whose class you'll be visiting. She won the national Bronze Apple Award for teaching last year."

  The woman seemed so proud that I didn't dare mention I already knew all about Ms. Bell and the incredible work she'd done while at North Kelley. She was much of the reason I was so interested in the program.

  "Thank you for showing us around," I heard Isaac say to Agnes as I took the liberty of entering the classroom.

  The classroom left me absolutely awe-struck. It was so much better than even the pictures had promised. One of the problems I noted in Razor Hall was that the classrooms were too orderly. It couldn't be easy to focus on creating when you were worried about how much mess you would need to clean up afterward. The North Kelley classroom bore no such problem. From the paint-splattered floor to the half-finished sculptures cluttering up the far wall, everything screamed inspiration.

  "Hi," a clipped tone greeted.

  I turned to Ms. Bell, recognizing the woman immediately from my research. "I'm Laurel Barrett, here from Kelley University."

  "Uh-huh. Look, the next time you want to come dig around my classroom, just ask. Having the principal telling me to expect visitors I know nothing about is bullshit. This is my classroom."

  "I…" I found myself at a loss for words. In all my prep, I never considered the woman might not want us there.

  Isaac's hand landed on my shoulder. "Ms. Bell, right? Isaac Gilmore, I'm also here from Kelley. I hope you'll excuse us. Obviously, we don't know the etiquette for this sort of thing. We just want a chance to meet with some of your students."

  "Why?" Ms. Bell asked, narrowing her eyes though I did notice her shoulders relaxed slightly.

  I picked up where Isaac left off. "Kelley's art program is in trouble." I went with blunt, sensing the teacher would respect that.

  "I'm working with the university to try to turn things around. Part of that means not turning away talent at the door because of where it's coming from. North Kelley students are coming to Kelley at a much higher rater than Heritage Prep students. Unfortunately, the art program isn't benefiting because your best art students are choosing to go elsewhere. I want to change that."

  Ms. Bell's posture changed. She still seemed wary, but I took it as a sign that she was willing to hear us out.

  "We're doing a fundraiser the first weekend in October. It'll be an art gallery showcasing a lot of the new style of work we're moving towards. Edgier. More raw. We want to feature some of your students as well, show them what Kelley could do for them moving forward."

  "I assume you have a list of students to look at already." She didn't phrase it as a question so I didn't answer it as one. She clicked her tongue. "Well, I need to add one to your list. Zack Powell. He's in my next class."

  I nodded, fully prepared to agree to anything that kept her from kicking us out before we even got started. "Yeah, we can definitely talk to him and see what he's got."

  After all, starting from nothing meant we didn't really have anything to lose.

  Isaac

  Laurel was still busy admiring art pieces from the first class when the second one started to wander in. Ms. Bell not-so-discreetly gestured to one of the students as he trickled in early. Zack Powell, I presumed. Checking again to see if Laurel would disentangle herself, I saw she was still too invested in the sketchbook she was looking at to even realize there was a class change. I approached the kid myself.

  "Zack?" I asked, just to be sure.

  His forehead wrinkled as he glanced up at me. He nodded slowly. "That's me." He looked defensive like he didn't trust me talking to him.

  "I'm Isaac," I told him. I offered him my hand the same way I would any adult I was meeting for the first time. Teaching young people long ago taught me that being the first to show respect could go a long way. He shook my hand, his grip surprisingly steady.

  It didn't surprise me to know the Kelley admissions counselors had overlooked Zack. He was a huge kid, much broader than me. In fact, he rivaled most of the football players that had taken my classes over the years. Nothing about him really screamed artist if you only looked at the surface. There were signs, though. Clay seemed to be caked under his fingernails. Faded paint splatters dotted his worn black t-shirt.

  "I was hoping you might feel comfortable letting me and my friend look at some of your artwork. Ms. Bell tells us you're incredibly talented."

  He turned to scan the room, his eyes landing on Laurel pretty quickly. He let out a low whistle. "A friend, huh? Wish I had friends who looked like that." The sincerity in his eyes kept me from snapping at him. Besides that, I couldn't fault him for noticing how attractive Laurel was. Not when she was glowing as she studied the work in front of her.

  "Okay, here's the thing, my friend over there—Laurel—she's way out of my league."

  "Obviously." He nodded. Smart kid.

  "I'm trying to impress her by helping her with this project. She's doing an art show at the universi
ty in October. We heard you're one of the best. Think you could help me out?"

  Zack leaned over to reach into his backpack, drawing out a binder that he laid on the desk. "All my shit's in here." He glanced up. "Uh… sorry, I mean my stuff."

  "Shit's fine," I reassured him, shrugging off the curse word. It wasn't really my job to be the morality police. Besides, Ms. Bell was clear that he wasn't the friendliest kid. Policing his language wouldn't make him any more trusting of me, either.

  "Can I?" I pointed to the binder, waiting for Zack's nod before I flipped open the front cover.

  Whatever I was expecting, it wasn't what faced me. A protective plastic sleeve showcased the equivalent of a scrapbook page. Only in that scenario, it was a scrapbook of photos of Zack's work. I realized it was no wonder he kept everything cataloged that way as I flipped through page after page of pictures of large sculptural pieces. As I moved further through the binder,

  "Where do you keep all of this?" I asked.

  He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Ms. Bell stores a lot of it for me. Some of it we keep in the art department's storage pod. That's just behind the building."

  "Is that a binder? Impressive." We both glanced up to Laurel standing over us.

  Zack appeared to have no qualms about ripping the binder out of my hands to give it to Laurel. Not that I blamed him. If I was in his shoes, I would probably have done the same thing. I watched emotions play over Laurel's face as she flipped the photos. I could tell when she particularly liked a piece because of the way her lips pursed.

  Laurel looked at Zack with her eyes filled with hope. "Would you consider letting us show some of these at our art fundraiser?"

  Zack, quite possibly the best wingman to ever grace me with his presence, answered, "Oh, yeah. Isaac here actually already talked me into it."

  "Is that right?"

  Her gaze shifted over to me as she regarded me warmly. I felt a little ridiculous seeking out her approval, but it felt good to have it. Zack's art was easily the best out of all the work we'd seen. There were several others who would definitely hold their own, but his moody pieces stood out. The kid felt his art, and it showed.