by Annie Kelly
Now that he’s bound to a chair, though, I think he feels less and less fierce than he used to. It’s my job to prove the opposite—starting with a big dose of red meat to satisfy his inner carnivore.
Dino’s is a dive in every sense of the word—shitty tables, shittier booths, and the best burgers in the entire Baltimore area. People swear by their wings, too, but I’m a burger and fries kind of girl, just like my dad. We both order “The Traditional”—a double cheeseburger with the works—and an extra-large basket of fries to share. While we wait, I sip a Sam Adams and watch Dad’s focus bounce from TV to TV as he keeps tabs on the different games airing. I know he misses coming to sports bars and watching games with friends. I hate that even the simple joys of his life are lost to heart monitors and physical therapy and mandatory blood sugar screenings.
“So, how’s the student teaching, princess?” Dad asks, tugging at the collar of his shirt. “You haven’t said much about it in the last few visits.”
I shrug just as our server plunks down a basket of French fries the size of a shoebox on the table in front of us. I busy myself shaking on some malt vinegar.
“It’s okay,” I finally say. “There’s a lot of grading—if I give them an assignment, the students pretty much won’t do it at all unless they know there’s a benefit to their grade.”
“Got a lot of slackers, do ya?”
“I wouldn’t say that, necessarily—they just don’t want to work any harder than they absolutely have to.”
Dad snags a fry and reaches for the ketchup on the table. I thank the universe for small favors when I see it’s a squeeze bottle. Dad seems pleased with himself when he can squirt his own little puddle and dip right into it. Little victories feel huge lately—for both of us, I guess.
“Well, fancy meeting you here, Miss Hendricks.”
I look up to see Officer Rains towering above me, looking a little less officer and a lot more relaxed. He’s wearing khakis and a T-shirt, along with a baseball cap, and his face is practically unidentifiable with a wide smile spread across it. I realize for the first time that he’s probably not that old—late twenties maybe.
“Wow—hi. I, uh, didn’t expect to see anyone from school here.”
Officer Rains lifts a brow at me. “Well, at a place like Dino’s, I wouldn’t expect to be seeing you here, either.”
“Right.” I gesture between him and Dad. “Um, this is my dad. Dad—Officer Rains works at Franklin with me. He’s the school resource officer.”
Dad reaches out a hand.
“Gary Hendricks,” he says, smiling up at him. “Should I be worried that my daughter is rubbing elbows with a police officer?”
Rains laughs, then shakes his head. “Nah, she’s a good egg. She’s certainly managing to hold her own, sir.”
I feel myself stiffen. I hadn’t told Dad about the altercation with J. D., not to mention the fight in my classroom, or the gun in the hallway. And the last thing I want to do is tell him now.
“Yo, Eric—are we eating or what?” a voice says from behind Rains. I glance back over his shoulder, then suck in a sharp breath.
Smith is standing with his arms crossed over his chest. He isn’t looking at me, but at the police officer in front of me, who is half glaring at him.
“Forgive Smith,” Officer Rains says with a tight smile. “He doesn’t have the best manners.”
Smith snorts a laugh. “Whatever—you’re just mad that I’m the better-looking brother. That, and Mom loves me best.”
Brother?
Smith then lets his gaze travel from Rains to me. His eyes immediately widen and his mouth pops open. Slowly, his expression morphs from shocked to something like pleased.
“Well, Miss Hendricks,” he drawls. “I have to say Dino’s is probably about the last place I’d expect to see my English teacher.”
I give him a tight smile. “Your brother just said the same thing.”
Next to me, Dad is looking back and forth between me and Smith.
“Is this one of your students?” he asks.
I want to groan. Or lie. But I can’t do either. So, I make the introductions instead.
“Smith, this is my father, Gary Hendricks. Dad, Smith is in one of my senior English classes.”
Dad scoots his wheelchair out, then maneuvers himself over to shake Smith’s hand. I see Smith’s eyes flick over the wheelchair, then back up to Dad’s face.
“It’s great to meet you, sir,” he says. He sounds unexpectedly genuine. “Your daughter is one of the best teachers I’ve ever had.”
I sort of blink at him, but Dad is beaming now.
“I have no doubt that’s true, son,” Dad says.
“Right—well, it was great to meet you,” Officer Rains says. “We better put in our burger order before we miss out on the Happy Hour special.”
Smith snorts at his brother.
“Speak for yourself. Only a sadist brings his younger brother to a bar that doesn’t accept his fake ID.”
“And only an idiot talks about his fake ID to his cop brother,” Rains growls.
Smith chuckles at that, then nods at Dad. “Nice to meet you, sir.”
His eyes flick over to me before he turns around. I watch as they walk away, feeling frozen in place. When our burgers arrive moments later, I try to focus on inhaling my food and calming my brain enough to make sense of the facts.
Officer Rains is Smith’s older brother.
Smith is my student.
What starts as a niggling idea begins to evolve into an implosion in my brain.
Could Smith have told Rains about us?
I listen with feigned interest as Dad starts telling me about a new resident at Holly Fields who he thinks is sweet on Wyatt. Really, though, I’m watching Rains and Smith in my periphery—so when Smith pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and heads for the door, I count to sixty before making an excuse to go to the car.
“I’ll be right back,” I say to Dad, patting his shoulder. “I just want to make sure I turned off my headlights.”
I practically sprint outside. It’s gotten surprisingly cold in the last hour, and I rub my arms with both hands as peer out into the dark parking lot. I can’t see Smith, or anything else, for that matter, save a handful of cars.
“So what exactly is a nice girl like you doing in a fucking dive like this?”
Without any street lamps, I still can’t see him all that well, but the glowing orange tip of his cigarette clues me in to where he’s leaning up against the side of the restaurant. I don’t move any closer, but I wrap my arms tighter around myself, as though holding my body together. As though caging my heart deep inside myself.
“My dad loves burgers,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “Dino’s has the best.”
He pauses for a second. I can hear him taking a deep drag, then exhale hard.
“So, your dad’s in a wheelchair,” he says.
“So, Officer Rains is your brother,” I shoot back.
He steps forward then, and I can see him a little better now as my eyes adjust to the light, or lack thereof. For a long moment, the only sound around us is the sparse traffic and the hum of the restaurant’s inner workings.
“Look,” I finally sigh, digging my frozen hands into my pockets. “I have to ask.”
Smith frowns. “Ask what?”
“If your brother knows.”
He blinks at me. “If he knows what?”
I really want to punch him right now. The frustration and fear welling up inside me feels like it’s about to erupt. I don’t understand how Smith can’t see that the stakes are incredibly high here for me. I could lose my potential employment. My livelihood. My future. I don’t have anyone taking care of me—my dad isn’t capable anymore and, let’s face it, Brett was never capable of taking care of anyone but himself.
I can’t lose my career over this. Over him.
But, before I can respond, Smith takes another step toward me and, this time, I can
see his face well enough to know this question irritates him.
“If he knows what?” he repeats, his voice a raspy drawl. I wonder if it’s from smoking or something else.
“Stop being coy, and just tell me. Do I have anything to worry about my job when it comes to your brother?”
The gravel shifts beneath his feet and he wraps one hand hard around my wrist. I gasp at the contact, preparing to wrench myself away from him, but Smith is far stronger and faster than I am. He flicks his cigarette away, then moves forward, steering me until my back is against the restaurant’s exterior wall.
“What do you think I told him?” he asks.
His voice is strained, but dripping with suggestion. He reaches up and drags two fingers along the side of my neck.
“Do you think I told him how your pulse flutters beneath this spot when you’re nervous?”
I swallow hard, then steel my gaze as best as I can.
“Smith . . .”
He ignores me, cocking his head a bit and staring into my eyes. In this light, the color of his irises is far closer to black than blue. I feel a little shiver run over my skin as I watch the muscles in his arms flex and tighten. His lips are moist and full, but he licks them for good measure and I can feel his touch everywhere—even in the places where he really shouldn’t touch me.
“Do you think I told him how, when I kiss beneath your ear, you make the prettiest little whimpers?”
His voice is intoxicating and I want to close my eyes.
“Do you think I told him how you may look angelic, but your tongue can do devilish things in a man’s mouth?”
He leans in so close, I feel his breath against my lips and I have no choice but to breathe it in. To breathe him in.
“Do you think I told him how you have the most beautiful body I’ve ever seen? Or how much I want to taste you?”
He moves a hand from my shoulder to my waist, then lets it coast slowly down toward my thigh.
“How I’m dying to feel how wet you are right now. How I want to slide my cock so deep inside you, you’ll feel me every time you move for a whole week after.”
I can’t help it.
I moan.
I moan in a way I should not be moaning, in a way that makes me want to clamp my hand over my mouth, which I would if Smith didn’t have me effectively pinned against him and the wall.
“Hyacinth,” he murmurs. His breath is coming in quick bursts, and he ducks his head to press his mouth against my collarbone. I feel the bristles of his hair along my jaw, and all I want to do is pull him closer.
“Please.”
The word is out of my mouth before I can stop it, and I don’t even have time to regret it before Smith pulls me harder against him. He slides his hand further up my inner thigh until he reaches the edge of my panties. He toys with the elastic with his fingers and I feel my eyes cross.
“Tell me what you want,” he whispers against my skin. I shake my head.
“I don’t know what I want. I don’t think . . .”
“You think too much,” Smith scolds, but his tone is gentle. Ever so slowly, he lets his fingers slide over the wet silk between my needy flesh and his confident touch.
“Fuck,” Smith mutters, trailing his hand along my dampness before moving my underwear aside. “You’re so wet for me.”
As his fingertips swirl through my wetness, one lands on my clit and makes a steady pulsing rhythm.
“Oh my God,” I whimper.
Smith chuckles at my words, then leans in to press his mouth against mine.
“Let me take you home tonight,” he says.
I swallow, glancing back at the grimy door of Dino’s.
“I need to take my dad back to Holly Fields.”
“After that, then.”
I open my mouth to say no at the exact same time as two of Smith’s fingers breach my tight opening. I literally have to force myself not to cry out.
The truth is that I want him inside me.
The truth is that I want to go home with him.
“I’ll make you feel so good, baby,” Smith is murmuring in my ear. He moves his fingers in an even faster rhythm, and I can feel my body involuntarily grinding down against his hand.
“I can’t wait to see your body spread out in front of me,” he whispers. “You’ll be wet and ready and throbbing and begging me to fuck you. But I won’t do it—not until I get my mouth on that hot pussy.”
He grazes my earlobe with his teeth, and I shiver at the slight pinch of pain when he bites lightly.
“I bet you like it hard and deep, don’t you, baby? I bet you want me to make you scream. Tell me how you like it—how we should start.”
He thrusts his fingers deeper and my legs almost collapse beneath me.
“You want to start pressed up against the wall?” He asks, his voice a low growl. “Or how about with you splayed across my kitchen table, your pussy poised right at one edge so I can fuck you while I’m still standing up?”
“God, yes,” I practically moan. I’m running out of words that aren’t expletives or basic animal grunts.
Smith chuckles deeply, then in one swift movement, spins me around so that my belly and breasts are flattened against the exterior wall. Before I can make a sound, he’s yanked my underwear down my legs and shoved his hand back between them, adding a third finger to where there were only two before.
“Maybe you’ll like it from behind,” he says, filling my wet channel over and over with the thrilling pulse and stretch of his thick fingers. “Maybe you’ll like it when I bend you over and hold you down.”
Oh holy fuck. Yes. I’ll do it. I’ll go home with him.
I open my mouth to say as much when a car swoops into the parking lot of Dino’s, its headlights piercing the night and our cover of darkness. Immediately, I jump and Smith curses under his breath, but it seems to be a bright, gravel-spitting wake-up call that I desperately needed.
I bat at Smith’s hands, then reach up and push him away by his shoulders. He meets my gaze, confused at first. When he finally backs away from me, he scrubs a hand over his hair and shakes his head. I can feel every part of my body trembling as Smith stares less at me and more through me.
“Smith?”
He focuses on me then, and his eyes are almost sorrowful.
“I better get back inside.”
And, without another word, he turns and heads for the restaurant door.
I watch from my shadowy position as the new customers get out of their car and head inside. Then, I wait for my legs to resolidify and for my heart to stop pounding so hard that it might actually be visible to others. When I’m finally capable of rational thoughts, I smooth a hand over my shirt and skirt, making sure they’re still in place. I feel a little numb and I know I can’t blame the cold. I want to be outraged and indignant, but mostly I’m still on fire.
Ever since the meeting in Mr. Weathersby’s office, every encounter I’ve had with Smith has seemed wrong. And, in the best and worst possible way, they’re all feeling way, way too right.
Chapter Ten
Security Breach
The rest of the week is surprisingly uneventful.
The rest of the week is disappointingly uneventful.
Both of these sentences are true, but I’m really trying my damnedest to only believe one of them.
After our run-in at Dino’s, Smith gives me a wide berth. I don’t know whether I’m grateful or offended, but I decide that, no matter how I feel, it’s for the best. I have four weeks left now, and I just need to make it through the rest of the year without turning it into a cluster-fuck of massive proportions. Other than Smith and everything that comes along with him, I think I’m in a safe place to pull through without incident.
However, just because Smith stays away from me doesn’t mean I don’t see him at all. In fact, it’s sort of like he’s made it his mission to be out of my reach but in my perpetual line of sight. When I leave school, and even sometimes when I get
there, he’s usually with Kent and Lyle and his other cronies¸ which annoys me to no end. These guys barely attend school and are known for nothing positive. The girls who run around with them, girls like the infamous Cherry, are more likely to get pregnant than become prom queen.
Look, I’m not saying they are bad people—they’re rough around the edges and they’ve been dealt shitty cards over and over again. I get that.
But Smith? He’s only a month or so out from getting his credits and getting out of this school. It would be an unbelievable display of asshattery if he fucked all that up. Now that I know that Officer Rains is his older brother, however, I’m starting to wonder if maybe that’s why Smith is surrounding himself with the less-that-successful student population. Maybe it’s just to piss him off. Family dynamics are always complex, right?
And, so, this is how I spend my time—speculating about Smith. I speculate and I theorize and I hate myself for it.
But that doesn’t stop me from doing it.
Constantly.
Even after the weekend, I feel like I’m too distracted by him to focus—so much so that I end up sleeping through my alarm on Monday morning. I manage to get dressed in about 2.5 seconds and I make it to school with a good five minutes to spare, but I still feel totally discombobulated. It’s like I missed the bus in high school or something. I’m still smoothing down my bedhead hair when the bell rings for first period.
“Good morning,” I sort of grumble to the class.
I dig my copy of Shakespeare’s sonnets out of a desk drawer, then look up. A few students are grinning at me and couple are whispering. I zero in on Smith’s perpetual smirk and sort of scowl. I’m so not in the mood for this today.
“Am I missing something?” I ask to no one in particular.
Selena, a perpetual gum chewer and chatty Cathy, points at my skirt.
“Static cling, Miss Hendricks. Unless you’re trying to show us your—what did Shakespeare call it? Your ‘chaste treasure’?”