by Liv Morris
“Oh… My… God…” My final chorus is a long, drawn-out shout as I explode again.
He falls forward, leaning on an elbow, but his pounding continues as his fingers touch me where I’m detonating. They’re gentle but potent, prolonging my high. Coop sure knows what the hell he’s doing. Fortunate for me.
As I’m descending from some place on the ceiling, he follows me calling my name out as he comes. It’s the sexiest damn thing I’ve ever heard.
Coop collapses on top of me. We’re trying to catch our breaths, as he looks down into my eyes. Honestly, I’m a little nervous at this moment. What does one say in the afterglow of hook-up sex? Thanks? I’m clueless.
“Hi there.” Thankfully, Coop breaks the silence with the first words he spoke to me at Joe’s Bar.
“Hi there,” I reply back but giggle as I do. I find it funny, but oddly comforting. He’s definitely not brushing me off which is a plus in this situation.
Rolling over to his side, Coop breaks our connection. But he wraps an arm around me and draws me to him. His fingers brush the hair away from my face and neck. I gaze up at him and find him smiling at me. He has a content look on his face, one that I helped to place there.
“Millie, that was unreal. God, I don’t want to let you go.”
Wow, I wasn’t expecting that at all. It’s completely unexpected and maybe a little over the top. Does he say that to all the girls that warm his bed? Keep them from regretting their decision to sleep with him? I wish I knew.
“Unreal is an understatement.” That’s the best I can do right now. I’d like to say, “Thanks,” but that seems a bit strange. It’s not like he just passed me the potatoes.
I snuggle closer into him, closing my eyes as his fingers skate over my back. Sweet, light circles…
Chapter 6
I am hot, overheated. My eyes are closed but I know exactly where I am. Coop’s bed, where a plaque should hang saying, “The site of Millie’s first illicit rendezvous.”
I slowly open my eyes and realize why I feel like a furnace is blowing on me. I’m right up against Coop’s body. He’s asleep on his back and I’m tucked into his side, my face plastered to his chest.
We must’ve fallen asleep like this. Both of us. An exhausting round of sex can do that to a person. I’m speaking like an expert here, which is the furthest thing from the truth. But I believe we were both spent.
How do I move without waking him up? I have to get up and go to the bathroom, but don’t want to face him awake yet. The alcohol’s effect on numbing my brain in the decision-making department has left me. I’m facing reality now as well as a naked man. Jeez, what the hell was I thinking? Oh right, I wasn’t. Silly me.
Slowly, I wiggle away from him, stopping every few inches, hopefully making less of a disturbance. He doesn’t move a muscle as I reach the edge of the bed and gingerly scoot off it, my feet now on the floor.
There’s a set of double doors on the wall opposite the bed. I pray it’s his master bath and proceed toward them. When I quietly open them, I see a room straight out of a magazine. A shower for ten, encased in glass with a mosaic tiles on the wall. It’s breathtaking. I’ve decided it’s good to be an athlete.
I tiptoe across the cold tile floor to the toilet, which has its own special little room. Nice and private. After finishing, I stop in front of the mirror over the double sinks. I am completely naked and my hair’s a hornet’s nest. Medusa has nothing on me other than being clothed.
I collapse onto the counter with my head in my hands. It’s decision time for me and like the chicken shit that I am I decide to flee. Get the hell out of his house before he wakes up. I know what you’re likely saying. “He told you he didn’t want to let you go.” Wonderful comment in the moments after our shared bliss, but I didn’t want to face the fact that it was likely just a line, a comeback.
Gathering up all my clothes, I put them back on in record time. I stuff my shredded panties into my pocket. Not the kind of DNA evidence I want to leave on the scene.
Coop is still asleep. He hasn’t stirred at all since I left his bed and looks dead to the world. Seeing him quiet and peaceful is such a contrast to when he was screwing my brains out. I sigh and quietly say goodbye to him.
I find my purse back in the main room of his house, a little brown spot sitting on the white carpet in front of his fireplace. It was dropped when I realized Coop was Mr. Football.
I look up at his jersey one more time. If he was a normal guy, more in my league, I would likely stay around and see what happens. But he’s light years and a few million dollars away from unemployed me.
Checking my phone, I scroll through the alerts on my screen and see scores of missed texts and calls from Priscilla. She’s likely phoned Joe by now. Sent out the National Guard. I text her quickly saying I’m okay which is a big, fat lie. I’m not okay; I’m a mess all around.
I make my way outside his front door safely then sit on his entrance steps and lace back up my sandals. I start my way down his driveway and break into a slight run. Trying to remember which direction we came from in his car does me no good. Between the alcohol and being awed by his subdivision, I have no clue.
Gambling, I turn left when I reach the street in front of his house. I start running again and glance down a side street as I approach it. The entrance gate appears down at its end. Bingo! I head straight toward it praying that someone drives up to the gate soon and it swings open. When I’m only a few feet away, a car pulls up behind me and the gates move. I slip out of them and I’m free.
However, I also have no idea where I am. An unenviable predicament to be in for sure. Who uses GPS to find their way home after a one-afternoon stand? Me, that’s who. Pathetic.
But I need to get the hell out of here. The booze has worn off and I’m not feeling too proud of myself. Out of sight (even though he was such a pretty one) hopefully means out of mind.
As I’m walking down the sidewalk I input Priscilla’s address and a map appears which will hopefully direct me back to her apartment building. The screen shows that I’m really not too far away. It’s an easy walk, so I hoof it to her house, the map and its little blue GPS dot leading my way.
Once I’m back at Priscilla’s, I take a long, hot shower, almost to the point of scalding. I don’t believe I want to wash away my experience with Coop, at least not totally, but I do.
Would I have slept with him if I were completely sober? Probably not. But I wasn’t rip-roaring, forget my morals drunk either. I think I was more intoxicated with him. He was beautiful. Found me attractive, hot even. And there was some crazy chemistry floating between us. A girl can only take so much. It’s the resisting part that I failed at and I’m likely just another woman who’s fallen under his same spell. Bewitched.
I made it through the rest of the week and weekend thanks to Priscilla. She arrived back in Atlanta earlier than planned. I think she worried I was in a “hide the knives mood.” I wasn’t that bad, but I was definitely down.
Likely unemployed still and trying to process my liaison with Coop had left me in a tizzy. So Priscilla smothered me in chocolate—ice cream, brownies, and candies. You name it, we ate it. Add a lot of, “You’ll find the right guy,” and “He’s not good enough to shine your shoes,” talk and I headed back to Augusta feeling a bit better.
That’s where I find myself now, driving down the highway on the outskirts of my hometown, remnants of me left behind in a posh gated community in Atlanta.
It’s time for me to put Coop and our time together out of my mind. Erase it from my memory. Instead, I’ll focus on what’s next—facing my parents with their twenty million questions about how my interview went. I avoided conversations with them about it over the last few days, telling them via text that it went all right and I’d give them the run down when I got home.
Well, now’s the time as I see my mother’s car sitting in the driveway. I collect my bags, head inside, and try to prepare myself for her grilling. She means well
, but I think she’s ready for me to truly leave the nest, get out on my own. You know how much I want that too. It’s my constant hope.
Chapter 7
Another Wednesday rolls around. It’s been a week since my disastrous interview and I haven’t heard squat, not even a peep after writing a thank you note and emailing Mr. Reynolds. Not a good sign at all.
I’m scouring the Internet for new teaching postings when my phone rings. It’s an Atlanta number and I’m thinking Mr. Reynolds or his assistant, Mrs. Peterson, is calling to tell me the bad news.
“Hello,” I answer with absolutely no enthusiasm in my voice.
“Is this Ms. Montgomery?” Yep, it’s Mr. Reynolds. Here we go…
“Yes, this is she.” Southern manners die hard.
“Ms. Montgomery, This is Mr. Reynolds. I’m sorry that it has taken me a week to get back in touch with you. But we have finally come to a decision.” I hold my breath, preparing for the worst. “And I’d like to offer you the position of art teacher at Peachtree High School.”
After hearing those words, I’m transported somewhere else. Another planet? Jupiter or Mars perhaps? His offer is totally unexpected.
“Wait,” I bring myself back down to planet Earth. “You’re offering the position to me?”
“Absolutely. We are very excited to have you here with us a Peachtree. As a matter of fact, I need you to come back to Atlanta as soon as possible. If you decide to take the position that is.”
Decide to take the position? You’ve got to be kidding me; of course I’ll take it. Sweet Mr. Reynolds doesn’t have a clue how my last shred of hope was long gone, likely sailing on a boat to the Bahamas.
“I’d love to teach at Peachtree. And getting back quickly to Atlanta isn’t a problem at all. When do you need me?”
“I’m so pleased that you can join our faculty here. And I hate to ask this of you on such short notice, but something you said in the interview has me thinking.”
He pauses and I wonder what the hell he’s leading into. I made up a lot of things in the interview and the thought is making my palms start to sweat. You know that old saying, “Chickens coming home to roost.”
“I remember you talking about bringing athletes and artists together.” At least this part in the interview was true. “Well, one of our parents was chairing a fundraiser for the football team. However, her mother has taken ill. Sudden thing. And we need your help.” He stops, waiting for my response. And being eager and excited, I jump right on it.
“Of course! I’d be glad to help in any way that I can.”
“Thank you. I was hoping you‘d say that. It’s a Casino Night. Off-site too. No students. We have a new football coach here who’s also going to be helping. Just got off the phone with him.”
I’d like you both to be the master of ceremonies at the event then divide the proceeds amongst the art department and the football boosters. Everyone’s on board with the idea here. You two will be the face of the event.”
“Wow, I think this is a great idea. When do you need me there?” The wheels in my brain are already starting to churn with ideas of what I can have art students do with a little extra money.
“The event is this Saturday. Short notice I know, but if you could possibly drive to Atlanta tonight and meet with me in the morning. The football coach is coming in at nine.”
“I can definitely be there. No problem at all.” Thank God, Priscilla is in Atlanta right now.
“Great. I think you and this new coach will get a long fine. He’s rather a big star around here. Maybe you’ve heard of him, Andrew Cooper?”
That’s right, the one and only Andrew Cooper. Better known as Coop. I don’t really remember the rest of my conversation with Mr. Reynolds. I have the important things down, though. I got the teaching job. I need to be at Peachtree tomorrow morning. And lastly, Coop is the new football coach.
Kill me now!
When I’m a little more coherent and stop shaking, I give Priscilla a call. She needs to talk me down off the ledge here. I’m perched atop a thirty-story building fearing that I’m going to be pushed to my death.
“Hey, Millie. I’ve been waiting for your call.”
“You have?”
“Yes, I have some inside sources remember. I teach at Peachtree.” She’s laughing, but I’m still dying.
“Right, well I got the job.” My voice is flat.
“I know. I found out the other woman they interviewed was leaving her position due to personal misconduct. Or more commonly know as having an affair with a married teacher.”
“I knew there had to be a reason I got the job over her.”
“What’s wrong with you, Millie?” She seems concerned. “I thought you’d be going crazy.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it’s the new football coach that was hired today at Peachtree. Andrew Cooper. Ring any bells?”
“No shit.” She seems shocked too. “How did you find that out before me?”
“Mr. Reynolds informed me that Coop and I are needed to work together on a fundraiser this weekend for the football booster program. A casino night. We’re headlining the event.”
“This is bad on so many levels. What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. But I feel sick at the thought of seeing Coop again let alone working with him on something. It’s turned my dream of getting this job into a nightmare.”
“It’s unbelievable. What are the odds?” Priscilla knows me better than to ask that question.
“Me and Murphy have been friends all my life.” That’s Murphy’s Law in case there was a question.
“Funny, Millie,” she retorts.
“If it’s okay, I’m heading to Atlanta tonight. Mr. Reynolds wants me in his office at nine tomorrow morning.”
“Wow, that’s quick. But I don’t have any big plans tonight, so come on in. I think I’ll run by the liquor store too. We may need a few drinks to help us strategize for tomorrow.”
“Thanks so much. I need to go tell my parents what’s up. And pack for a few days. Is it okay if I stay with you until Sunday?”
“Sure. No problem.”
“I’ll text you when I’m leaving for Atlanta.”
“Okay. And keep your chin up. Somehow you’ll get through this.”
“I hope you’re right. Talk to you later.”
I end the conversation and prepare for telling my parents. I have to muster up some excitement or they may not believe that I was offered the job. Time for a Meryl Streep worthy Academy Award performance.
Chapter 8
My stomach is tied in knots. My nerves are completely shot. I hardly slept a wink last night just tossed and turned, worried and fretted about seeing Coop again today. I pull into the parking lot of Peachtree High School at 8:45 a.m. The lot’s practically empty since school’s not in session. But I see a familiar car. An expensive sports car. Damn, it’s Coop’s sweet ride, which means he’s here already.
You know what really stinks? I should be thrilled about this job. Bouncing off the ceiling and walls with excitement. Instead, my palms are clammy and I feel like I’m going to throw up.
I walk the long sidewalk that leads to the doors of the building. Each step brings me closer to a fate I never dreamed of—facing my first and only sexual regret; even if it is only a partial one.
Sheryl Crow’s song, “My Favorite Mistake” keeps playing in my brain, a tribute to my misery. But I have to admit it’s true. Deep down inside I know I’d probably succumb to Coop again. He was just so damn perfect in his lovemaking. I’ve tried to forget what his hands, mouth and everything else felt like that day. But it’s no use. The more I try, the more I remember. Ruined, I’m completely ruined.
Once inside the building, I smooth down the cotton material of my sensible dress. Priscilla dressed me this morning, styled my hair and applied my makeup. My mind was too scattered to make decisions or concentrate. She chose a respectable appearance for me, not quite schoolmarm but close.
Mr. Reynolds probably used the name, Amelia Montgomery when he spoke of me and Coop only knows me as Millie.
I clasp my hands together as I enter the office, worried that their shaking might be visible.
I spot Mrs. Peterson in the distance. Her head down as she shuffles through some papers. I start walking toward her. My movement must have been detected as she looks up and smiles at me. God, how I needed to see her warm smiling face right now. It’s comforting.
“Hello, Ms. Montgomery,” she sweetly greets me. “Congratulations on your new position here. We’re super happy to have you.”
“Thank you. I am so happy too.” I try to muster up some enthusiasm, but it’s just not there.
“Mr. Reynolds is in his office with Andrew Cooper. He’s a real looker. Single, I’ve heard too.” She winks at me and I want to sink into the floor. I’m tempted to turn and run out the door. “Let me open the door to his office for you.”
I follow her a few steps to the principal’s office and the space where Coop awaits. My knees are weak, hardly holding me up.
As she pushes the door open, and I peek in around her. Mr. Reynolds reacts to her at the door and rises from his chair behind his desk. Coop sits in front of him in the exact seat I sat in during my interview. I gingerly take a couple steps toward the desk as Coop turns his head and pivots his body my direction. Our eyes meet across the space. There’s only a few feet between us.
It takes him a second to register who I am, like he’s trying to place me. His brows are pinched in concentration. But the second he figures out that it’s me, Millie, the girl he screwed last Wednesday, I know it. His jaw drops. His eyes widen in shock. His hair might even be standing on end. It’s like a bolt of electricity ran through him and he jolts straight up to his feet.