by Liz Crowe
He waited a few beats, watched Kieran pull out onto Main Street, took a deep breath, and went back inside. The place was loud, singing along with someone else. He couldn’t see where the beautiful woman had gone, which was probably for the best. Taking a seat at the bar with his back to the stage seemed like a good idea. He ordered a beer, sipped, and ignored everyone around him.
Chapter Ten
Terry woke slowly, struggling up from somewhere deep and warm and welcoming. A place filled with her—Mariah—her voice, her lips and skin and hair, the way she laughed, the way she trembled and cried out as he’d licked and stroked and pleasured her.
He groaned, and rolled onto his back, the victim of a raging morning hard-on. Instead of tending to it the usual way, he got up and found the shower in his new place, the place he’d christened with her. After about twenty minutes under the hot water, hands propped on the cheap fiberglass sides, he found a sliver of soap and cleaned up.
Kieran had already sent him a message, telling him that their ten o’clock meeting had to get moved to noon at the school. Good thing, Terry thought, since it’s already nine-fifty. He sat in the tiny kitchen, staring out the window, his mind awash with images and sensations from the night before. Memories more overwhelming than any others—which was saying something since he dreamed every night of sand, heat, pain, and his Operator brethren.
Until last night.
He sighed and got up, ran the thin towel over his head and realized he’d left his duffel bag in the bike’s compartment. All he had on him were the clothes from the night before.
Figuring he’d toss them on sans underwear, snag the duffel and run back upstairs to change, he stuck his legs into the jeans. Still distracted, he saw something pink and silky drop to the floor. Smiling, he picked it up, remembering how it had torn so nicely, ripping right in two and accommodating his haste to get at Mariah’s sweet body.
Sap, he thought as he tucked the scrap of fabric into his jeans pocket.
Maybe, he agreed with himself as he whistled his way down the metal steps to the parking lot. Once he was dressed, he shot a text to Kieran asking if he could get into the school ahead of their noon meeting. His motivation to get to the locker room, to check out the condition of the equipment, uniforms and field, had never been higher.
Yesterday, he’d been all about finding work—anything that paid him a bit of money so he could move on with his life. Now, he felt inspired, pushed to do something more, to make a difference. To coach his beloved game and maybe as a bonus make a little cash to buy some stuff with.
As a child of wealth and plenty, he’d never given half a thought to the contents of his fridge, closet, or vacation calendar. It had all been managed for him and his brother by his efficient parents. But the second he’d left it behind, he’d become something like an aesthete. “Stuff” didn’t matter to him anymore. “Experiences,” and “friends” and “adventures” were all he had to his name for the last ten years.
But he did need to get some basics: coffee, bread, milk, bananas, some lunch meat…and condoms. He grinned again, unable to stop himself as he touched his lips, recalling her, eager to find her again.
Stopping halfway back down the steps, he frowned. He’d not gotten her phone number, or address or anything.
Shit.
His world darkened in an instant as fury roiled through him, making his mouth water and the prickling need for a drink slam into his brain. He took the second half of the steps slowly as he yanked his better self to the forefront, jumped on his bike and drove out seeking food—and a way to find Mariah again.
***
After a few restless hours of half-sleeping, half-remembering, Mariah gave up. She put some coffee on then jumped into a shower, wincing when the hot water hit her still sensitive nipples. She felt slow, sluggish even, but yet sated and full. A sensation she’d not felt in so long it was new to her once more. Smiling, she let the water trickle through her hair and leaned her hands against the smooth tile sides of the shower, reliving it, remembering him all over again.
Terry, she thought as she soaped all over, wincing at the pleasant soreness between her legs. Something hit her then, making her yelp and drop the soap.
She’d let the man come inside her without a condom.
Shaking now, she crouched down, eyes squeezed shut, counting backwards from her last period in the ancient way of morning-after women. It had been a week, she determined, just a week, not two. Or maybe that was her damn head, justifying her own stupid, reckless behavior.
Had she really—really—gone to some stranger’s apartment with him after eyeballing him across a crowded restaurant, then sharing a couple of beers and wordless flirting?
She had indeed. And that man had been worth the risk, and then some.
She sighed and wrenched the water off, cursing when she realized she’d not unpacked enough towels. Dripping and muttering to herself, she traipsed through the bedroom, down the short hall and into the living area. After wrapping in a towel from the dryer, she stopped and took a deep breath.
Calm, girl. Calm yourself. The only reason you’re here is to work, to make a life for your son out of his grandmother’s reach. Not to pick up random, ex-military rednecks and let them fuck you six ways to Sunday.
Unable to stop herself, she smiled and leaned against the kitchen counter, running her fingertips across her collarbones and to the tops of her breasts, pretending it was Terry doing it and that her fingertips were his lips.
Dear God, did I really just now think that?
“Mama!” Cole yelped, emerging from his room rubbing his eyes and clutching his Batman figure.
She grabbed him and held on tight, burying her face into his neck. This was her life. That thing she’d been, the things she’d done and said, and allowed to be done and said without a damn condom—that was a dream, a fantasy, and something she’d be relegating to its appropriate place in her mind, starting right now.
“Mama has to go up to the school. Want to come with me?”
“Piano?” he asked, hopefully, leaning back and patting her cheek. “Mama, why you cry?”
She sniffled and set him down, unaware that she’d been crying until that moment. “Cereal?” she asked, ignoring his question.
He patted her leg. “Don’t cry, Mama.”
“I’m okay, baby,” she said, patting his head and swiping at her face. “Let’s eat then go over to the school. You can play the piano.”
“Piano! Yay!” he yelped before running into the living room and plunking Batman down in front of an amazing Lego construction. He must have made that with Henry, she thought, her face burning hot with the memory of unlocking the condo door and sneaking in, the smell of sex surrounding her like a fog.
As she was about to grab her keys and herd Cole out the door, her phone buzzed with a text. Scrabbling around desperately, praying it was him before recalling they’d only exchanged bodily fluids, not phone numbers, she dropped her coffee mug and purse both.
“Mama,” Cole scolded her in his irritating, half-grown-up way.
“Well now someone must have had themselves a fun night after we left,” Lindee said in a text message with a bunch of thumbs-up and winking face emojis. “Henry said you didn’t get in until after two a.m.”
“Yes,” she replied, mortified all over again. “I’m so sorry about that. I hope it’s alright he stayed that late.”
“Honey you could have stayed out all night for all we care. I’m just jealous. Was it Terry?”
With a groan, she stared at the words, unable to formulate a response that sounded in any way like a grown up woman’s. Figuring that she’d ignore it now, answer later, she took her purse from Cole’s hand, sopped up the coffee spill and guided him out into the hall.
Once she’d parked and set Cole down, she smoothed her rowdy hair back with the mostly useless headband and made a mental note to find an appropriate hairdresser. Hearing her mother in her head, reminding her that there likely was
no such thing in this two-bit, redneck town, she guided Cole past the large lawn where the marching band was practicing, and into the door that, she recalled from her interview, opened into the music and theater hall of the massive high school.
People were roaming around, getting ready for Monday’s start. She smiled at a few, still gripping Cole’s hand so he wouldn’t bolt away from her. Her heart pounded at the sight of the door next to the choir room: “Mariah Bailey,” it said. “Music Instruction.”
She’d been a very late hire, Kieran had said, but she’d been the only one he wanted. Or so he claimed. The pay wasn’t great, but she was on the “beggars” side of that old adage. Besides, she’d lived on less before. And since she was paying such a ridiculous pittance for rent on a really nice condo, her numbers might even allow for a bit of excess every now and then.
The door was unlocked so she pushed it open, gasping at the sight of a huge bouquet of flowers, about a million balloons and a giant sign: “Welcome to Lucasville High Music! Singing Star Mariah Bailey!” Tears stung her eyes again.
“Mama, let go’a me. I want a balloon!” She let him go and he started snagging the strings and running around her tiny space—her space. Her office. Her first real job in a field she adored.
“Oh, hi,” a deep voice said, making her turn around after hopefully clearing the evidence of her silly emotional outburst off her face. “Welcome,” Kieran Love said. Mariah grinned at him. Her new boss, a former Division one NCAA and NBA basketball star was the tallest man she’d ever seen, with wavy red hair, huge green eyes and a sweet smile, which he was currently using on her son—who was flailing around with the balloons at the moment.
“Sorry,” she said, attempting to grab him as he dashed by her. “I hope it’s okay I brought him today. It’s…”
“Say no more,” Kieran said, crouching down and getting on Cole’s eye level. The boy stopped, his fist closed around the balloon strings. “Hi there, you must be Cole. I’m Mr. Love.” He held out a hand. Cole looked up at her. She nodded. He took the man’s hand and shook it in his solemn way, in opposition to the way he’d just been running around as if he were high on sugar. “I have a surprise for you,” he said, addressing the boy directly.
Cole blinked, glanced up at her then back at the tall stranger. “I like surprises,” he said softly.
“Do you like to kick soccer balls?”
Cole nodded. Kieran stood and took the boy’s hand. “Cool. My boys are here today too, Frankie and Sean. They’re on the soccer field with the new coach, helping him with some stuff.” He leaned into Mariah. “Or just getting in his way, but I had to bring them so he took them off my hands for a while.”
She smiled, her heart expanding at the concept that she had, indeed, found the perfect place to land, to build her new life, just her and her boy. At that moment, a more recent memory wafted across her brain, making her bite her lip and turn away. Terry’s face filled her mind, the remembered sensation of his lips and hands made every inch of her skin pebble with illicit pleasure.
She stared at the empty bookshelves, forcing herself to think about her next tasks. She had to put together a curriculum in something like two days. Plenty to think about. Lots to do. No room for thoughts of sexy, one-night-stand, hot guy.
“Hey, uh Kieran,” a sickeningly familiar voice hit her ears. She whirled around and saw him, Terry O’Leary, the man featured in her most recent erotic fantasy loop, the man she’d met and dropped her panties for, whose bed she’d vacated not nine hours prior.
He was staring down at Cole, a puzzled look in his face. She stepped to one side, out of his line of sight, irrationally thinking she’d imagined him. What in the hell would he be doing here anyway?
“Hey, Terry,” Kieran said. “I’d like to introduce you to some people. This is Cole.”
“Hi, Cole,” Terry said. The sound of his voice saying her son’s name sent another irrational thrill of pleasure through her. “I’m Terry, the soccer coach.”
Oh fuck. Oh hell. Oh hell no.
He worked here too?
“And this…where’d you go, oh there you are,” Kieran said, motioning for her to move into the space next to him, facing the man she’d let come inside her a few hours after meeting him. Her brain seemed to squeeze shut, not accepting the fact of his presence now. “This is Mariah. Mariah Bailey. You might know her from that singing competition. We got lucky that she wanted to teach instead of be a recording star.”
Mariah blinked fast and stood next to Kieran, holding out her hand. Terry stared at it, then up at her, then at their mutual boss. A few painfully awkward seconds passed in silence. Even Cole stayed quiet as if sensing that would be the best move.
“Hi,” she said, finally lifting her hand higher. “Nice to—”
“We’ve met,” Terry blurted out. “Last night, at the pub.” He took her hand gently, which sent a shock wave through her and made her take a step backwards.
“Oh, right,” Kieran said. “You went back in after I left, then.” His voice rose at the end. Already sensing herself losing her grip on her future—since fraternization between two unmarried teachers or coaches or whatever was likely forbidden, especially since, in a deeply Southern-fried town like this one, if one of the fraternizers was white and the other one was most definitely not—Mariah cleared her throat and lifted her chin.
“Yes,” she said, looking brightly up at Kieran with what she prayed was an innocent expression. He was looking at Terry, one side of his lips raised in a bit of a smirk. “We had a beer together. So, I can keep Cole in here with me…” Her voice trailed off as she became desperate for the two men to get the hell out of her space so she could think—or draw a full breath.
“No, no, I was about to bring him out to you, Terry. Are my two spawn behaving themselves?”
“Yeah…um…sure, I mean. Okay.” Terry kept looking at her, his crystal blue eyes twinkling. “Listen, uh, Kieran, can I clarify something right up front?”
She shook her head, an involuntary movement but a violent one, whipping her hair around her burning hot face as she shot him a pleading look.
“Sure thing, Terry,” Kieran said, an amused lilt to his voice.
“It’s okay if teachers, uh, date one another here, right?”
“Yes,” he said, glancing at her. She’d managed to work herself all the way back to the desk and gripped it behind her as she watched the two men banter in what felt like a practiced way. “You’re both adults. Be sensible, though. It is a small town. Gossip is every resident’s middle name.” He smiled at her, then turned back to Terry. “I’d suggest that if you wish to impress my new music instructor any further, you take her son outside to play so she can get some work done.”
Mariah heard a squeaking sound come from her throat—a weak attempt at protest. Terry grinned at her which made her knees feel a little jelly-like. Then he crouched down and addressed Cole. “Do you like to kick soccer balls?”
“Yes!” the boy piped up, launching himself at Terry in a way that surprised her. “Soccer!”
Terry looked just as surprised at the sudden physical attention, but stood, holding her son in one arm with little effort. “Great,” he said, looking at her. “I’ll bring him back once I’ve worn him out, Mariah,” he said caressing the syllables of her name like a lover.
Like her lover.
Oh dear Lord. This cannot be happening.
She nodded, still incapable of speech. The two of them left, Cole running his mouth a mile a minute about the pool, his new friend Henry, how he liked to play the piano, did Terry like to play the piano?
She slumped against the desk. Kieran turned to face her, hands tucked in his jeans pockets, a smile on his face.
“I’ve known Terry O’Leary since we were crawling around in church nursery school together,” he said. “He’s a good guy. If a little misdirected lately. He had a bit of a tough run once he got to college.”
She sucked in a breath. “It’s not…what you th
ink,” she ended, lamely.
“Oh, I don’t think anything,” Kieran said, grabbing a balloon that floated between them. “I’m just letting you know that Terry could be a very good, or a very bad thing for you. But I’m sure you would be a great thing for him. I’ll let you decide. In the meantime, tell my admin what you need to get set up. All the sheet music and whatnot are in there.” He waved in the direction of the choir room. “You’ve got a bunch of new stuff here.” He gestured at two boxes from the office supply store. “I’m so glad to have you here, Mariah,” he said.
“Thanks,” she said, her voice croaky.
He shot her a jaunty salute then headed down the hall, calling out to someone else and leaving her to her roiling, tumultuous thoughts.
Chapter Eleven
“So help me,” Terry muttered under his breath as he glared down at his phone screen—his distressingly blank phone screen. “What is it with her?” He trained his gaze back out on the field. “Hey, Jackson, what did I tell you about marking up?” He refocused on his job, letting his aggravation with Mariah’s ongoing refusal to see him slide for the moment. “Stop, stop, stop, already,” he barked, before he remembered he had a whistle, which he blew. Loudly.
The field full of teenaged boys stopped, many of them gassed, hand on hips, wringing with sweat. With a snort of disgust, he called them in close, then demonstrated the defensive move yet again the—marking a player. Making sure that offensive player did not get past you to score a goal.
Basic stuff.
But Kieran hadn’t been kidding about the abysmal state of the soccer program at Lucasville High. He’d had to go way back to basics with this crew, many of whom were off-season football or basketball players looking for an outlet or an excuse to stay fit.
When he’d figured that out, he’d made them run, and run…and run some more. There was no more overall fit an athlete than a soccer player—at least one who takes the sport seriously. Running was what soccer players did, for forty-five minutes a half with no breaks unless someone got hurt.