Game On: If I wasn't her student, it would be game on.

by Daiko, SC

  “We’ll find out at the scan next month,” Soph practically preens. “I can’t wait.”

  “Have you had any sickness?” I ask hopefully. I can be such a bitch.

  “None whatsoever,” she smirks.

  “That’s good,” I concede, glancing at my watch and not bothering to hide the fact. “Well, I should get going. There’s marking and lesson prep I need to do for tomorrow.”

  Daddy walks me to the door. He squeezes my arm. “Are you alright, sweetheart?”

  My eyes well up, and I brush away stupid tears. “I’m just tired. I didn’t sleep well last night.”

  “Drive carefully,” he holds me close. “And give us a ring when you’re back to let us know you’re home safe.”

  I decide to go for a run before hitting those damn books. Traffic was light on the way back, and there’ll be time enough to tackle lesson prep later. I change out of my dress and put on my running shorts, a sports bra and a sleeveless t-shirt. I never run in my glasses… they steam up if I do, but as I won’t be reading while running I don’t need them. I’m desperate for exercise and, if I run for long enough, maybe I’ll be able to sleep better tonight, crash out without my thoughts keeping me awake.

  I pound down the path across the park, my mind in a whirl. I’m intensely attracted to Ryan. And it’s wrong. So very wrong. The way his eyes eat me up, whenever he thinks I won’t notice, is driving me insane. In Spanish class, he never looks at me inappropriately; it’s only when I tutor him one-to-one that he lets down his guard. I don’t want to say anything, don’t want to acknowledge what’s happening. That would mean I’d have to face it, and I’m not ready to do that yet.

  Sophie once accused me of being an ostrich, of burying my head in the sand if I have a problem, choosing to ignore rather than deal with it. And she’s right, I suppose. When Paulo dumped me in the middle of the Amazon rainforest, I should have seen it coming, should have confronted him before the shit hit the fan. With hindsight, the signs had been there. He’d been flirting with sexy Hayley, who’d been travelling in the same group as us, for weeks. But I’d turned a blind eye, kidding myself there was nothing wrong. The hurt I suffered has put me off getting involved with anyone else up until now.

  Aled invited me out on Friday night, but I turned him down. He must have thought he was in with a chance after I’d stayed on at the pub to play darts with him. Maybe I should give him that chance? It might cure me of lusting after Ryan…

  Oh, shit! I spot Ryan running on the path up ahead of me, shirtless in gym shorts.

  Turn around, Beth. Go back home!

  I keep screaming the words to myself as my feet draw me closer to him. I’m drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

  He stops and does some stretching, and I catch up. His sculpted v-shaped abs ripple in the sunshine, a dark line of hair travelling down his stomach and disappearing under his waistband. Far from being ‘covered in tats’ like Catrin intimated, he only appears to have what looks like a tribal design covering his massive shoulders and toned arms.

  I give him a wave, and overtake him. But he starts to run next to me, and our footsteps synch. Breathe in, breathe out, don’t speak, don’t look at him, just run. Soon we reach the boundaries of the park, but we keep on running over the bridge across the river. I glance at my Fitbit and note we’ve already run two miles. We keep going, breathing hard and sweating. I stare at the path ahead; we’re running between trees… into the Forest of Dean.

  I keep my eyes down, forcing myself not to look at Ryan, trying not to stare at the rivulets of sweat running down his rock-hard pecs. What would it be like to run my tongue along them and taste his saltiness?

  Get a grip, Beth. Don’t think such dirty thoughts!

  Arms pumping, I push myself to run faster. My legs are turning to jelly, my breathing is becoming ragged and my chest burns. I stumble, my pace slows, and then I stop, slumping forward with my hands on my knees, panting. Ryan has peeled away and has run on. He comes to a halt up ahead and turns around.

  We’ve reached a clearing in the forest and, by unspoken agreement, we both step off the path. I tip my head back, slow my breathing, and lift my t-shirt to wipe the sweat from my burning forehead. Oops, wrong move. Ryan’s eyes are glued to my bare stomach, and he drags in a deep breath.

  “Let’s sit under this tree until we’ve cooled off,” I suggest. “The grass should be dry here.”

  We stretch our legs out and lean back against the trunk of the tree, letting the evening air dry our sweaty faces. I’m so damn aware of him it hurts.

  Talk to him, girl. Behave like his teacher.

  “How did rugby go yesterday?” I ask.

  Proudly, he tells me how he substituted for an injured player and about how he was declared ‘man-of-the-match.’

  “That’s brilliant, Ryan. I’m so happy for you.”

  “Thanks, Beth. Can I call you Beth outside of school?”

  Tell him, no. Tell him it would be inappropriate. Bloody tell him you shouldn’t even be with him outside of school.

  “Are you looking forward to the trip to Madrid?” I ask instead.

  “I’m working at the pub so I can pay for it,” he smiles. “Mam hasn’t found a job yet, and I didn’t wanna ask Grandad for the money.”

  “You could apply to the school hardship fund, you know. It’s been set up to help pupils who can’t afford to pay for any extra-curricular activities.”

  He scowls. “Hell, no. I’m not a charity case.”

  “I didn’t mean to offend you.” I swivel my body so I’m facing him. “It will be good to have you with us.” My cheeks burn. “I mean, as a native-speaker.”

  Slowly, he reaches over and brushes a strand of my hair behind my ear. I glance down at his sculpted body and up at his strong jawline. He runs his tongue over his lower lip. Oh God! My eyes lock with his, and his gaze is hungry.

  “You look different without your glasses,” his voice is husky. “Less like a teacher.”

  I can’t think what to say, so I say nothing. I just swallow, hard.

  He’s looking at me like I’m his next meal. “I wanna kiss you.”

  In a heartbeat, he lowers his mouth to mine, and I’m lost to him. Completely and utterly lost. He kisses me softly at first, as if I’ll break. I close my eyes and delicious tingles spread through me as his kiss deepens.

  Christ, what am I doing?

  My eyes fly open and I pull back. “Ryan!”

  “I’m sorry. I just couldn’t help it.” He pauses. “Don’t be mad at me, please.”

  “I’m as much at fault as you are,” I breathe. “Come on, we’d better go back. I’ve got marking and prep to do, and I expect you have homework.”

  “Yes, Miss,” he laughs.

  And I laugh with him.

  Shit, I should have said it must never happen again. Why the hell didn’t I?

  6

  The warm water of the shower splashes down on me; it wets my hair and face and runs into my mouth. I can still taste Beth, her minty breath and sweet soft lips. The thought makes me ache for her, and my balls tighten.

  She went into teacher-mode on our way back to town, ordering me to run on ahead of her. I refused, we argued, and then I compromised by agreeing to run behind her. The sight of her cute little asscheeks in her tight little running shorts has made me hard as fuck.

  I squeeze my cock, one hand against the wall above the bath while I work my length. Pressing my forehead to the tiles, I close my eyes and imagine fucking her while she moans beneath me, her hands gripping my ass as she comes. The image tips me over the edge. Oh, yeah… My hips jerk, and I shoot my load into the bath.

  There’s a knock at the door. “What’s taking you so long, boy?” Grandad calls out. “I need the toilet.”

  I make sure my jizz has washed down the plughole, wrap a towel around my waist, and vacate the room. After putting on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, I sit at the kitchen table with my homework in front of me. Except, I can’t conc
entrate. I’ve got it bad for Beth. Maybe I have an affinity with her because I met her in Ibiza?

  Joder, who am I kidding? I want her... I wanna bury my cock in her, I want her to scream my name while I fuck her senseless, and then I want her to fall asleep by my side and wake up with me in the morning.

  Beth feels something for me, I know she does. If I wasn’t her student it would be game on. Okay, she’s my fucking teacher, but we’re both adults… we could meet in secret and no one would know. I pick up a pen and flip open my PE textbook, preparing to outline the principles of weight training. Except, my mind won’t focus on the task.

  What if I played the long game with Beth? It’s worth a try. Patience isn’t one of my strong points, though.

  The kitchen door swings open. Mam pulls out a chair and sits at the table opposite me. “Did you have a good run?” she asks, smiling.

  “Yeah, great, thanks.” It had its highlights. “Where’s Sara?”

  “In her bedroom with Nia. They’re playing with some of my makeup.”

  “Whoa! She’s growing up way too fast.” I screw up my face. “Next thing she’ll be into boys.” I think about those fuckwits in her tutor group, and release a deep growl.

  Mam reaches across and pats my hand. “It’s perfectly natural, my love. You can’t hold back time. She’s a good girl, our Sara. I doubt she’ll cause us any worries.”

  “I fucking hope not.”

  “She was always playing with my makeup at home. You just didn’t notice. And please don’t swear in front of me.”

  “Any news from Ibiza?” I chew my lip. “I mean, about you-know-who?”

  “Still on the island. Manuel keeps me informed.”

  Manuel was Mam’s manager in her last job. “If your stalker follows you here, Mam,” I say, “I’ll kill him.”

  “Everyone knows I was originally from Wales, but I never spoke about Wyemouth much, and certainly not to any of the company’s clients,” Mam frowns, and her voice is shaky. “I doubt he’d be crazy enough to risk it.”

  The man is a complete psycho, and he’s obsessed with Mam. If the police had taken the threat seriously, and kept him under surveillance, he might not have tried to rape my mother. Her word against his… the fucker is a big-shot in the community and got away with it. Our only option was to leave.

  “Are you excited about your interview tomorrow?” I ask, changing the subject.

  “Very excited,” Mam smiles. “I really hope I get this job. Much as I love my father, spending day after day cooped up with him in this house has been driving me nuts. And it would be great to start earning some money.”

  “I could give you my pay,” I offer. “It’s no big deal.”

  “And not go to Madrid? No way,” she shakes her head. “I know how much you’re looking forward to it.”

  She’s about to elaborate on the subject, I think, but the door bursts open. Sara and Nia come into the room, their faces plastered with makeup: thick foundation, bright blue eyeshadow, black mascara and red lipstick.

  “Goodness,” Mam exclaims. “You both look so grownup.”

  Ever the diplomat, my mother. I don’t wanna say what I’m thinking, that they look like a couple of tarts. Sara smiles at me, and my heart softens. I open my arms and she comes into them for a brotherly hug.

  Mam’s interview on Monday results in a rejection, a crap start to a crappy week. My maths teacher gives me a hard time about a test I failed, my PE homework isn’t detailed enough, heavy rain turns the rugby pitch into a fucking swamp, and Beth is cold towards me in class.

  I know I shouldn’t have kissed her, know it was too soon, but when I’d pressed my lips to hers it had felt so right. I sit at my desk in the back row next to Josh, and try to catch her eye. She avoids looking at me directly, and I’m fucking jealous of the smiles she gives my classmates.

  On Wednesday, when I turn up for our one-to-one session, I find the classroom door locked. I rattle the doorknob, but it doesn’t turn. A teacher, Beth’s friend, the one who was with her in the pub, comes out of the classroom opposite. “Miss Matthews is in Cardiff today, Ryan. She sent her apologies. She managed to get a place on a last-minute course. Can you pass the word on to your classmates there won’t be a Spanish lesson this afternoon?”

  “Sure,” I say, disappointment sparking a frown.

  Catrin’s eighteenth birthday party on Saturday is being held in Wyemouth’s exclusive golf club. I’ve spent part of my hard-earned cash on a dress suit, which means I’ll have to work extra shifts to have enough money for Madrid. But there was no way I could get out of coming to this event; Josh insisted. Putting two and two together, I think he has the hots for Cat… he can’t stop talking about her. Trouble is, both he and I know she’s fucking crushing on me. I’ve lost count of the number of times she’s asked me to hang out with her. You’d have thought she’d have given up by now…

  Girls have come onto me before. I’m not bragging, but I’m a chick-magnet. Thank fuck rugby has always been an excuse not to get involved with anyone. Achieving my goal of becoming a professional rugby player requires absolute dedication, and, to be honest, I’m not attracted to schoolgirls. I started having sex with older women in the clubs as soon as I turned sixteen and it became legal in my home country; girls my own age don’t turn me on. At all.

  Gravel crunches under our shoes as Josh and I walk up the long driveway that leads to the clubhouse entrance. BMWs, Audis, and other expensive cars are lined up in the parking lot to the side. We step through the front door and are directed to a reception room. There’s a disco on, loud pop music blaring, and almost everyone from the senior two years at Wyemouth High is gyrating to the beat.

  “Let’s get a drink,” Josh heads for the bar. “Free booze. What more could you want?”

  After checking our IDs, the bartender pours us each a beer. “Cheers, dickhead,” Josh takes a swig.

  “Up yours, douchebag,” I laugh.

  “There’s the birthday girl,” Josh points towards Cat, dancing with a group of friends in the middle of the room. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

  I nudge him. “You’re hot for her, aren’t you?”

  “Like I’d stand a chance…”

  “Go up to her, show some interest, give her a sense you wanna take things to the next level.”

  “How the fuck do I do that?” he asks, his voice filled with angst.

  “Speak to her.”

  He shoots me a confused glance. “What should I say?”

  “Something about her appearance, but be subtle or you’ll come across as a weirdo. Instead of ‘Damn, you look hot,’ just say, ‘Blue is a great colour. It really brings out your eyes.’”

  He puts down his glass and squares his shoulders. “Ok, no harm in trying.”

  “Good call,” I smile.

  I watch him saunter over to the group of girls. They peel away as he approaches Catrin. He bends his gangly frame and whispers in her ear. She smiles at him and says something back. Then they leave the dancefloor and come up to the bar.

  “Hiya, Ryan,” Cat dimples. “Josh told me you like my eyes.” She flutters her lashes. “Thank you.”

  Shit!!

  Catrin’s friend, Eleri, joins us and orders mojitos for the two of them. “We’re both finally legal to drink,” she giggles, clinking glasses with us. “I turned eighteen last week.”

  They knock back their cocktails and gyrate their way onto the dance floor.

  I nudge Josh. “Joder, hombre. What the fuck did you say to her?”

  “Fuck, man, I’m sorry,” he says. “I got tongue-tied and it came out all wrong.”

  I hold up my hands. How can I be mad at him? He’s a dickhead, but he’s the only friend I’ve made since coming here.

  “Guess you’d better just focus on rugby,” I laugh.

  Josh groans. “Yeah, girls are too fucking complicated.”

  After a buffet supper and more alcohol, I’m in a mellow mood. Catrin and Eleri persuade Josh and me to jo
in them on the dance floor. It’s harmless enough, no body contact. At least not at first. But Cat grabs me and pulls me against her, rubbing her nubile body against mine.

  Time to get outta here.

  I meet Josh’s eye, and catch the pain in his expression. Jesus Christ!

  7

  Shepherding thirty youngsters on and off the Madrid metro is no joke. We left Wyemouth early this morning to fly from Bristol airport. We’re in the Spanish capitol now, heading for a flamenco dance class in Chamartín… a spacious residential area on a direct route from Plaza de Sol, the station nearest our hotel.

  It’s rush-hour and the underground train carriage is packed. I divided the kids into three groups, each led by a teacher, and we’re supposed to meet up at our destination. God, I hope no one gets lost. One thing I’ve learnt about Wyemouth kids is they aren’t at all streetwise. Goes with the territory of living in a small country town, I suppose.

  The boys are with Aled, and they’ve jumped onto the first carriage. Ryan is in the group, which is good as Aled’s Spanish is practically non-existent. It gives me confidence to know there’s a native-speaker if anything should go wrong. Having Ryan on the trip has been great, so far. He’s never been to Madrid before, and seems to be as excited as the rest of the kids. And he is a kid, I remind myself… even if he looks like an adult, and hot enough to set my knickers on fire.

  Meg’s group are in the one behind ours, I think. I’m standing next to Catrin, pushed up against the doors it’s so crowded. I’d warned them all about the pickpockets that frequent this city, but Catrin must have thought I was exaggerating. Her shoulder bag is open, inviting any thief in the vicinity to pinch her purse. I catch her eye. “Keep your bag in front of you.”

  Too late, when we get off the train at Chamartín, we find her money has been stolen.

  “I wanted to buy a pair of flamenco dance shoes,” she wails, tears running down her cheeks.