Reckless

by Teagan Kade

  The first pool’s circular, about the size of a small Jacuzzi.

  I kick away a beer bottle as I dip a foot in, and fuck me, it’s actually hot.

  “How is it?” Lacey asks, standing there nervously.

  “What would you know,” I reply, “the hot springs are hot.”

  There’s a sort of natural shelf to sit on, keeping most of my chest above water.

  I watch Lacey step in slowly, careful to avoid showing me her backside. She sits in and reclines back opposite me, visibly relaxing. “Damn. This is kind of nice.”

  She tilts her chin towards the tattoo on my chest. “What’s with the weird gypsy eyes?”

  I look down. “They looked a lot better on the tattoo parlor wall, trust me.”

  “I know how this went down. You were out with your pledge brothers, probably drunk…”

  “You’re half right, but I wasn’t drunk.”

  “So, just stupid then.”

  I look down again. “Girls dig it.”

  “They love the fact your right pec is staring back at them?”

  “Something like that.”

  She spans her arms across the rock behind her. “What about that poor girl you were trying to put through the wall the first night?”

  I laugh aloud at that. “You mean Mrs. Palmer?”

  “Who?”

  I hold up my hand, curling my fingers. “Mrs. Palmer and Pornhub.”

  She starts to get it. “But what about the headboard banging on the wall?”

  I shrug. “What can I say? I get enthusiastic. Besides, you’re the only girl on campus, remember?”

  “What about the receptionist?”

  I gag. “Um, no. Drive Miss Daisy I do not.”

  Lacey’s gaze narrows again, her face framed by the braid above. “So, tell me, what were you looking up, on PornTube or whatever it is.”

  I jerk my head to the side. “Videos featuring a particular type of girl.”

  “Oh?”

  “Blonde, petite, a bit feisty.”

  She shakes her head at me. “Talking about other girls is not going to get you laid.”

  “No?” I smile. “What is?”

  Suddenly, her face bunches up. She shifts on the spot, reaching below the water.

  For a moment, I think she’s going to take off her thong off, really get this party started.

  That was too easy, I’m thinking.

  …Until she pulls something out of the water. She looks at it in her hand.

  I lean closer. “What the hell is that?”

  Her head tilts left and right trying to examine it. “Um, some kind of funny white worm? A Twinkie?”

  “Why does the Twinkie have a string?” I ask.

  It hits us at the same time, Lacey screaming and flinging it from her hand. “Please tell me that was not a tampon I was holding.”

  “That was not a tampon.” I tell her.

  At the same moment, I feel something round and rubbery under my toe.

  Nope.

  Lacey’s out of the water so fast she doesn’t even bother to turn around, her ass on full display as she goes climbing back onto land. I follow her, definitely not keen to find out what other surprises are lurking below.

  “My god. My god. My god,” she mutters, turning around and around on the spot searching for more offending female hygiene products. “Is there anything else on me?”

  I’m cracking up at the ludicrousness of it all. Any chance I did have of getting laid is long gone by now.

  I look her over. “You’re all good.”

  She swipes her towel off the hood of the truck and wraps herself in it. “Where to next? A dumping ground for medical waste? A methadone clinic?”

  I can’t help but laugh. “Come on. It’s just a little bit funny.” I tweeze my fingers together. “Just a bit?”

  “Contracting the plague from this mysterious pool of death?”

  I laugh harder, picking up my towel. “I can tell you one thing. You’re never going to forget this date.

  She’s looking down, examining her feet. “You can say that again. Now, can we please go back to the campus? I’ve got a date with a shower and about twenty bars of soap.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  LACEY

  I am so, so tempted to head next door when I get back from my shower, but I can’t seem to find the courage to make the first move.

  It’s not a good move and you know it.

  Do I, though?

  I haven’t been on a date that bad since, well, forever, but I had fun. I was smiling, enjoying myself in Payton’s company, and that is something I never thought I’d be saying. I should see right through him. Still, I’ve got needs and feelings like any other girl, even if I haven’t done ‘the deed’ yet.

  Way to make it sound sexy, Lace.

  I lie on my bed sprawled out on my towel, about to close my eyes and masturbate to the thought of Mr. Cox’s cock when my cell buzzes.

  I reach for it, spotting ‘Mom’ on the caller ID.

  I want to let it go, but I can’t help myself. She’s got some kind of crazy Klingon hold over me.

  “Mom,” I answer, flustered.

  “Honey, have I got you at a bad time? It sounds like you’ve been working out.”

  I wish. “Only a shower, Mom.”

  She jumps straight to the questioning. “You don’t have to shower with the boys, do you? Because surely that violates a state law. Maybe I should have a word to the De—”

  “Mom,” I stop her, “is there a point to this late-night call?”

  “Well, here’s the thing.” Whatever she wants to get out, she’s fumbling around with it. “The postman showed up today. You know Greg from school. Such a nice, young man.”

  Cue eye-rolling. “Yes, Mom.” Greg—suitor number one-hundred-and-one.

  “Well, he delivered a letter from your college there, Pemberton Fire Academy, correct?”

  “And…”

  “It says your first payment is due.”

  I sit up straight.

  Damn it.

  Play dumb. “Oh?”

  “I thought,” continues Mom, “given you’re on a scholarship and all, it must be a mistake. I can call them tomorrow of you like?”

  “No,” I stammer, “no need to call. It’s definitely a mistake. I’ll sort it out. Don’t you worry.”

  “It’s no bother, Pumpkin.”

  I can’t have her calling the Academy and being blasted by the woman in Admin. “I’ve got it, Mom.”

  “Everything okay there?”

  She can read me like an Agatha Christie novel. “You have got to stop with that.”

  “Come home, Lacey,” she says, emphasis on the ‘home.’

  “Mom, please.”

  “Do you really think this is what your father would have wanted?”

  It’s too late for this. “I’ve got to go, Mom. Someone’s calling for me.”

  “Call me in the morning!” she chirps.

  “Love you, Mom.”

  I hang up looking down at my reflection in the screen.

  I see the time. It is late, campus curfew in effect.

  Screw it.

  I stand and start to dress.

  CHAPTER TEN

  PAYTON

  I had a good time Friday night regardless of the clusterfuck it became. It didn’t lead to anything, probably a first, but it was enjoyable all the same.

  We hung out a bit more over the weekend, mostly with the others, but it’s Monday and time for yet another instalment of Bust Your Balls staring Captain J. Jennings.

  Whatever did transpire last night, it’s worn Lacey out. She stands beside me yawning and covering her mouth.

  The Captain’s halfway through a spiel on the finer points of fire-hose evolution when the phone on the wall rings.

  The Captain puts his finger up. “Uno momento, folks.”

  He picks up the receiver, his eyes turning from the wall to me.

  Fuck. What now?

&n
bsp; He places the receiver down. “Cox, you’re wanted in the Dean’s office.”

  The Dean? I didn’t even know this place had one.

  I stand and pass Hernandez, his lips parted in a ‘Boy, you gone done it now’ kind of way.

  Lacey simply yawn-slash-smiles.

  The receptionist ushers me straight in.

  I’ve been in deans’ offices before, but nothing like this. Every square inch of the office walls has a framed picture on it—kids, men, women, even animals.

  The Dean, in a white business shirt, stands there looking them over.

  He turns when he hears me enter. “Mr. Cox, I presume.”

  I stand at attention in front of his desk. I’m wracking my brain trying to work out what the hell I’ve done wrong.

  He continues to stand, his arms crossed. He gestures to the wall beside him. “Do you know who the people in these pictures are, son?”

  “No, sir.”

  He points to one featuring a teenage girl with braces. “Emily Munroe, eighteen, rescued from the family home after a space heater caught fire.” He points to another. “Robert Fulton, or ‘Bobby’ to his friends, sixty-seven, dragged to safety from a burning car wreck.” He runs his hand across the wall. “All of these lives were saved by former students of this very academy, and I’m damn proud of that fact.”

  I’m not sure of the angle here. “It seems like a fine tradition, sir.”

  He sits and shifts in his chair, sliding across a sheet of paper. “I’ve got your preliminary scores here, Mr. Cox.” He looks down the list. “Physical aptitude—exceptional. Situational awareness—exceptional. But when I come to the end here at to written scores, things take a very different direction.”

  Damn. “I’ll try harder, sir.”

  The Dean leans back. “I understand you were on a football scholarship at Brown.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “The Bears,” he smiles. “I heard you were a superstar, fast-tracking to the NFL, yes?”

  I nod in the affirmative.

  “What happened?”

  He’s getting to the pointy end of it now. “I felt it was time to move on, sir.”

  He slides another sheet of paper across the desk. “Your initial induction report. It says here you were found guilty of taking performance-enhancing drugs, and given Brown’s no-tolerance policy on…”

  “It was a misunderstanding,” I cut in.

  The Dean shakes his head. “No, son. I don’t believe it was. You didn’t make mention of it on your induction paperwork, but we knew. We knew and let you in anyway. Do you want to know why?”

  It’s a rhetorical question.

  “It’s because I understand the need for second chances, Mr. Cox. Believe you me, I was a wild child once upon a time. I banged this gorgeous brunette right on the Dean’s desk,” he continues, knocking his own twice. “Can you believe that? Boy was she a moaner. Of course, the college kicked me right out on my ass after that, but I found redemption in the family that is the US Firefighters Association. It’s a brotherhood, but mark my words when I say we don’t let anyone put on the black-and-gold. You have to earn it. Am I making sense here, son?”

  I’m surprised at how informal he is. “Yes, sir.”

  He picks up the original paper. “Long story short, pick up your grades. You can be the next American Ninja out there in the gym, but if you don’t have the mental aptitude to back it up, you’re about as useful to us a chocolate teapot.”

  “Yes, sir,” I repeat. “I’ll try harder, sir.”

  “Good. Dismissed.”

  Lacey’s waiting for me outside during the morning break. “Well, what was that all about?”

  I take her arm and pull us into a corner away from the main thoroughfare. I could lie here, make up some extravagant excuse, but Lacey deserves the truth. I can’t look into those eyes and be deceitful. “I’m slipping.”

  She looks confused. “I don’t understand. You’re killing it out there.”

  “Not when it comes to the written work. I just can’t get my head around it.”

  “But you went to an Ivy League college.”

  “On a sports scholarship,” I finish.

  She takes a moment to think it over. “So, I’ll help you.”

  I laugh. “You will help me?”

  “Sure,” she replies, but I’m naturally wary, letting my head drop towards my shoulder. “What’s in it for you, partner?”

  “What? I can’t just help someone out, goodness of my heart, etcetera?”

  “In my experience, nothing comes for free.”

  “You’re helping me over the claustrophobia thing, aren’t you?”

  “I am.”

  “So, let me even the score by helping you out with the written work. You’re not going to pass if you don’t get it down, and I am not going to pass if I don’t get over you-know-what.” She extends her hand. “Like you just said, we’re partners.”

  But I want to be so much more than that, and this would mean more time alone with her, late-night study sessions… The possibilities stream wildly into my head. I shake on it. “You’ve got a deal, Miracle.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Not you too. It doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue.”

  I know something that would. “Hey, that was a miracle in my books. You’re lucky they don’t call you Jesus.”

  She laughs. “If I could turn water into wine, you think I’d be here? Come on. We’ve got some serious book-bashing to do.”

  *

  Studying with Lacey hardly feels like studying at all. We sit side by side in the campus library. We’re sitting so close, in fact, I can feel the warmth radiating from her body, smell the sweet perfume of it. I can make out the distinct bands of color in her hair, admire the fullness of her lips… I steal these sideways glances like a schoolboy hot on teacher, but I’m not the only one. More than once I catch her eyes peeling away from the coursework to study my arms or chest.

  I have no doubt there is something between us now, but I can’t handle this like I regularly would, playing up the alpha. No, Lacey requires thought, a higher understanding.

  The words start to blur together as I read down a list of apparatus, the soft-breasted distraction beside me not helping.

  Lacey’s finger slides up the page. “These ones are just repeats of the ones below, so it’s simple, really.”

  “Simple for you, perhaps,” I reply.

  She pokes me in side of my head. “Come on. It’s not all beer and brawn up there, is it?”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  She leans over to close the textbook, the side of her cleavage inadvertently brushing up against my arm. It’s the slightest of touches, but we both feel it like an electric shot—a shot that fires directly down to my crotch, my cock stiffening against the underside of the table.

  She clears her throat, looking away from me nervously. “Why don’t we call it a night?”

  “Well, well, my two favorite people.”

  We both turn to find Hernandez standing there. “You guys coming to Dante’s?” he asks.

  I’m about to turn him down, but it’s Lacey who speaks up first. “As long as vodka shots aren’t part of the equation, we’re in.”

  Hernandez knocks on the table. “Whatever you say, Miracle. See you guys over there?”

  “You will,” Lacey.

  “You’re speaking for the both of us now, are you?” I ask her.

  She smiles back, collecting the books. “I suppose I am.”

  We grab our jackets and head over after dinner. I want to take Lacey’s hand. It seemed so natural on our date. With any other girl, I would. I’d do it and ask forgiveness later, but I don’t know. I’m cautious for some reason, held back.

  Because you don’t want to fuck it up, big boy. That’s why.

  And I’m awfully good at fucking things up.

  Dante’s is going off. I swear the whole damn campus is in here tonight. It’s standing room only.

  Hernan
dez pushes through the throng to a table at the back, the others already seated and drinking merrily given the collection of glasses.

  Everyone’s gathered around Jackson’s cell, a YouTube clip of a large building fire playing. Jackson’s eyes are glowing from the screen. “Look at the speed of the thing. It’s fucking beautiful.”

  “Beautiful?” one of the others questions. “You’re messed up, King.”

  “Hey,” he replies, “the better you understand the enemy you’re facing, the better equipped you are to take it down.”

  I’m starting to think fire ain’t the enemy at all to Jackson. I’m starting to think he’s getting his rocks off in the burn room.

  “What the fuck is that racket?” I question. Someone’s singing Mr. Brightside. The ‘I never’ part at the end sounding like the poor bastard just sat on his nuts.

  Hernandez takes a seat, offering Lacey and I a beer each. “It’s karaoke night.”

  “I love karaoke!” shouts Lacey.

  I look at her sideways. “You do?” I hadn’t pegged her for an extrovert.

  “We should sing something,” she suggests.

  I point between us. “You and I?”

  “No, the beer you’re holding,” she teases. “Yes, us.”

  Hernandez is laughing his ass off. “Oh, this is going to be good.”

  The others are starting to egg me on. I’m many things.

  A competent singer is not one of them.

  Before I know it, I’m being pulled by Lacey’s hand towards the single pallet that’s doubling as the stage in the middle of the bar. The security guy’s doubling as the DJ.

  Mr. Brightside comes to end—thank god.

  The Dwayne Johnson lookalike scowls when he sees me coming up to the booth. I haven’t been in his good books since the initial tussle with Ryan. It looks like he’s swapping security duty for disc jockey duty tonight. “What’ll it be?” He looks me over. “Eye of the Tiger?”

  “Living on a Prayer,” blabs Lacey, and I sure as shit want to put in a formal protest, but her hand is still in mine and it’s hot and perfect and I’ll agree to damn near anything right now if it means getting closer to her.

  Security guy hands us mics and nods to the ‘stage’ (read: a wooden pallet), loading up the music.

  Here we fucking go.

  The crowd’s rowdy. They cheer when they see us stepping up and the ‘wah wah whoa whoa’ of the vocoded guitar riff kicking in.