by Kendall Day
“I owe you an apology,” I say.
She nods and folds her arms across her breasts. “Yes. You do. Several. Maybe even dozens.”
“I’m sorry. Times a dozen.”
After a moment’s consideration, she slinks close enough for my nostrils to twitch at her perfume. It drives me mad, taunting me with memories of us together and need for us to be together now. I want to kiss her so badly, but she’s still pissed, with good reason.
She looks up at me. Though her stance is tough and unyielding, her eyes tell a story of vulnerability she doesn’t often share. Now, I feel even guiltier.
Catching her gaze, I lean in to fill her field of vision with my face. I want her to see the remorse in my eyes and hear it in the words I speak. I want her to know I mean them.
“I was wrong to write you off when you were in my class,” I admit. “I dismissed your intelligence and made unfair judgments, and that’s a real shitty thing for an adult who’s supposed to be helping a kid to do.
“These last few days, you’ve shown me that every student—even the Attila Reardons of the world—can learn. Sometimes it just takes a talented, sharp-sighted teacher to spot the magic within them and show them how to draw it out. You’re that teacher, Roxie-with-an-ie Rambling. You’ve got a soul like I’ve never known, and I’m—”
I pause to catch my breath. She’s stolen it from me again.
“I’m honored to have gotten a glimpse of you working your magic firsthand.”
“Thank you,” she whispers. “All I wanted was for you to see things from the perspective of a child who doesn’t have the things you have—who misses the mother that neglected her, the father she never knew, the grandmother who died and left her alone. A little empathy goes a long way, Mr. Slater.”
I nod. “It sure as hell does. I’ll remember that lesson for the rest of my life.”
She takes a step backward, lifts her purse, and pretends to pick through it while watching me through her lashes for a reaction. “Elliott and I are done.”
Holy shit.
My brows lift. “For good?”
“For good. He was cheating on me.”
I knew it!
“With a guy.”
I DOUBLY KNEW IT!
#CanIReadPeopleOrWhat?
“I’m sorry, Roxie,” I say again, but this apology is more for aesthetic value. I’m sorry her feelings were hurt, but I’m not sorry Elliott cheated on her. Not one bit. All the more Roxie for me.
Her fingers skim up my chest and rest on my shoulders. Her closeness makes me quake. I keep seeing her in front of the kids creating magic that I don’t have the power to conjure. I see her on the court, working the ball like it’s as easy as breathing. I see the fire in her eyes, the passion in her heart.
If I can find a way to keep her, I’ll be the luckiest man in Georgia.
“That’s okay,” she says. “There’s this other guy I was kinda dating for a while. I like him better. He’s handsome. Smart. Funny. Almost as good of a basketball player as me. A little bit of an ass, though.”
I swallow hard but hold my gaze steady on hers. “You do date some real losers.”
That shakes a chuckle out of her.
I tentatively palm her hips, praying she won’t push me away. “I got in trouble today for some shit I did with my student teacher,” I confess.
Her eyes cool with a subtle frost of sadness, and she exhales quietly as she looks down.
I grip her chin and tilt her head back up to mine. “But some things are worth getting in trouble for.”
She smiles weakly. “I love me some trouble. As you know.”
“Give me one more chance to make trouble with you, Roxie. This time, I promise I won’t let you down.”
“I’m all out of chances,” she says.
My heart sinks. I knew this might be coming.
“But maybe I can make one more exception. If,” she lifts a finger between us, “you’ll agree to listen before you react from now on.”
I nod eagerly. “I can do that.”
“And accept that there are other points of view beyond yours.”
“Yes.” More nodding.
“And take individual circumstances into consideration before making any hasty decisions.”
“Done,” I say. “Wait, are we talking about us?”
She huffs with irritation. “We’re talking about everything. Us, our students, our fellow teachers. You don’t always know what’s best. It’s fine to have an informed opinion, but forcing it on everyone around you isn’t the most productive way of having your voice heard. How do I drill that into your thick skull?”
I grin. “You’re wrong. I may not have the teaching thing ironed out as flawlessly as I thought I did, but I know exactly what’s best for Roxie the woman. I’m what you need. But you don’t have to believe my words. I’m gonna prove it,” I say smugly.
She snorts. “Is that right?”
I lean down, my mouth hovering over hers. “That’s right.”
I reluctantly pull away from the overwhelming strength of her gravity and grab the box I’d set on the desk. I hold it up to her with both hands. “Proof.”
She tilts her head to the side, studying me with a curious smile, and accepts the gift. Shakes it gently. Sets it on a desk and checks it out from several angles. Seemingly unsatisfied, she tears the plain red paper off and drops her hands when she sees the label. Tears flood her eyes.
“You didn’t.”
“I did.” I watch her for signs of rejection. All clear.
“Why did you … How did you …”
“I remembered how important your basketball shoes were to you when you were a kid and noticed you still had them.” I shrug. “I thought it was past time for a fresh pair. Those old ones are probably pretty funky by now.”
A strangled choke that sounds like laughter and crying all at once escapes from deep in her throat. She throws herself at me, arms around my neck, kissing me like I’m the last dude on Earth. Her tears stream past our slow-moving lips. I hug her tight to me, carrying her through the emotion like a sturdy ship ready to take on any storm Mother Nature wants to throw at us.
I will be the fortress that keeps her safe. I will give her everything she needs. I will be hers.
“That’s a hell of a way to get me to fall for you, Mr. Slater,” she says breathlessly, rubbing her cheek against my stubble.
“So, it worked?”
She exhales a laugh. “It worked.”
The kissing resumes, and she drags me into the well of her, welcoming me inside the most sacred and tightly guarded place she’s got: her heart.
She’s kept me locked out of here until now, but I have a feeling I just scored a season pass.
Her heart is warm and soft and vulnerable. It’s glittery and sweet and everything that’s good. It’s pure, perfect, unfettered Roxie.
I am one lucky devil.
She breaks the connection between our mouths and blinks away the last round of tears as she stretches her neck up. “Take me home, Mr. Slater?”
I don’t ask which home she means. She’s coming to my place. I’ve decided.
“What would you like to do there?” I ask, knowing exactly what she wants to do. Okay, maybe not knowing. But hoping.
Her lips bump into mine as she says with a throaty purr, “I’m gonna put on these high-tops and ride you like a cavewoman on a T. rex.”
I bust out laughing. “There were no cavewomen or high-tops during the time of the dinosaurs. Now you’re just teasing.”
My hands retreat into my sleeves to make tiny dinosaur arms. I wave them menacingly amid hissing king-of-the-lizards roars. Roxie giggles, tossing her head back as I tickle her armpits and sides with my stubs, yelling, “Feed me, Roxie Rambling! Feed me!”
“You’re a mess. A big, hot, steaming mess,” she says. Her smile blinds me.
“I’ll show you a mess, Miss Rambling.”
“I’m well versed in the art of making messes m
yself. Very thorough.”
“I have a clean bed at home, waiting to be annihilated.”
She swipes her tongue across her lips and an impish gleam filters through her eyes. She wanders over to the blinds, tugging their cords to flip the metal slats closed. “On second thought, why ruin a perfectly good bed when there are all these desks?”
Gulp.
“Why, Miss Rambling, I didn’t fully appreciate the extent of your spirit of adventure until now.” Painfully aroused at the thought of her proposition, I glance around at the room in search of the perfect fuckpost. Finding the front table the team worked on earlier to be about the right height, I corral her toward it. “I like it.”
With a sweeping push of my arm, I shove the papers and books and pencils and other assorted shit off, knocking it all onto the floor.
She lies back on the hip-high surface, resting on her elbows, tugs up her long satiny skirt, and spreads her legs. No underwear. A surge of spit floods my mouth at the sight of her.
I glance to the door.
We could totally get caught.
If someone sees us, I’ll be fired. No more chances. No appeals.
But, goddamn, after the day I’ve had, I need that pussy more than my job. I need her, and I’d risk anything to have her, Bracken Middle be damned.
I swallow and unzip my black slacks, dragging out my dick, hard and slavering. She doesn’t even give it a second to feel the wind on its face before she snatches it from my grip and stuffs it inside her hot wetness. Once she’s accommodated all of my length, she wilts into the table, staring up at me behind heavy, pleasure-drunk lids.
Roxie is the most beautiful creature I’ve ever laid eyes on.
I will not lose her again.
I fall onto her, bracing my arms on either side and groan against her neck. “You are one twisted sister. Marry me.” The words escape before I even realize it.
She pants into my ear, curling an arm around my shoulder and clamping her thighs to my hips, bolting me tight against her. Heat swirls between us like a maddening summer breeze, and her amber eyes peer seductively into mine. “Maybe one day.”
Good. She took it as a joke. But “maybe one day” leaves a hell of a lot of doors open. I’ll walk through every single one to get to where I need to be. With her. With us.
Emboldened by the dizzying rawness of the moment, the fear of getting caught by the custodian whose buffing machine can be heard polishing at the end of the hall—or hell, maybe even Dragov if she’s working late—I let go of all the fucks I had to give, and pound them into Roxie in one fell fury of forbidden fornication.
Ah, alliteration, you are a good friend.
Our bodies melt together in deliriously driven desire that bends around our shoulders, forcing us closer and closer, deeper and deeper, until she clenches her arms tight around me, stares fiercely into my soul, and kisses me with desperate passion as her walls tremble around me.
Losing control with a head full of her and a heart full of possibilities, I give in to the passion too. With a final pump of my hips, I trip over the wire and tumble headlong into her, satisfying my ravenous craving for her body on the table where we spent the afternoon with our colleagues refining her unit. Roxie catches my fall, widening her well, accepting every drop I have to give.
She’s my safety net, my home, my forever.
Out of breath, I paw at her cheeks, pressing my lips to hers, thirsty for more.
And in the haze of afterglow, as she hugs me to her like she’ll never let go, I taste something bold and rich, rolling over my tongue like fine wine. I’ve never experienced anything like it, but I soon realize what the flavor is.
It’s life-shaking, lust-braised love.
I lift my head to look into her eyes and see I’m not alone. She’s wearing the same surprised expression as I must be. We stare at each other for several seconds, neither speaking, but both of us blasting our feelings like the afternoon announcements on the intercom above us. I start to pull away, unsure of what to make of the silent admissions we just shared. She holds me in place.
“Own it, Mr. Slater,” she breathes. “Own it, or it’ll own you.”
I kiss her, deep and full, heady and warm.
Love.
Who knew it could happen to a guy like me?
I take Roxie’s advice and own it like the bitch I am.
* * *
ASSESSMENT: Jack Slater used some very wise words that paid off in a big way. EXCEEDS EXPECTATIONS.
Twerk It Like You Mean It
[Rambling]
* * *
LEARNING GOAL: Roxie Rambling will demonstrate graciousness in social situations.
Saturday midafternoon, our bellies full of bagels and coffee, our minds empty after a marathon brainstorming and planning session, the members of Team 6A decompress in the oversized booth at Bob’s Bagels. Slater tosses his arm around me. Everyone here knows about us, so it’s no big deal for them to witness the PDA, but what if someone else notices?
When I search Slater’s face, his stoic smile tells me he doesn’t give a shit who sees what we are. The thought of putting our whatever-this-is on display both elates and terrifies me. It’s too soon to label the whatever-this-is, but I have a sneaking suspicion it might be the one four-letter word I’ve never met, let alone spoken to a guy.
“Can y’all imagine what’ll happen if this thing takes off?” Love says.
“We haven’t even started with the nitty-gritty,” Witcher says, stuffing the leftover half of her bagel into a plastic baggie. That woman is obsessed with bags. She has a bag for everything. Bags inside of bags, even. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves just yet.”
While Witcher’s right, I don’t want to downplay our students’ accomplishments. They’ve already demonstrated their eagerness to make this video happen. Even Attila, Quentin, and a few of the other less driven kids have thrown themselves into the work, and it’s only been a couple days.
“I think once we get the ball rolling on the new stuff, things are gonna fly,” Love says. “So many of our kids need to feel good about themselves, and this will give them the perfect confidence boost. Roxie, you’re making us proud. Bracken Middle won’t be the butt of any more jokes after they see this video.”
“Hear, hear,” I say, lifting my cup of sweet tea.
We all tap the butt-ends of our drinks.
“Maybe the Dragonlady will ease up a little too,” Vino says. I’m pretty sure she slipped some vodka into her drink from a flask in her purse.
Everyone moans at the mention of the principal.
Slater laughs. “You call her the Dragonlady too? Shit, I thought I was the only one.”
Witcher turns to him and slaps the table. “Are you kidding? She came in my room last week for an observation and made a comment about the learning environment being ‘cluttered.’” She makes air quotes. “What in the twat is that supposed to mean?”
Vino, mid-sip on her vodka and Coke, nearly chokes. Love’s eyes bug out. Slater turns to me, looking like he’s about to totally lose his shit laughing. Mrs. Witcher must’ve heard one of the students say that word. She’s pretty old-fashioned. No way she’d have said it if she knew what it meant. Still, it’s funny coming from her.
“Rosemary,” Love says carefully, “it’s fine for you to use ‘twat’ in front of us, but please don’t ever say it in front of the kids at school.”
Witcher quirks her head with a puzzled expression. “Why not?”
“In the parlance of today’s youth, it might be mistaken for ‘vagina.’”
Witcher’s ghostly white cheeks turn bright red, and the color spreads all the way to the tip of her witchy nose. “Lawd ’a’ mercy. I’m glad y’all told me.”
A round of laughter bubbles up from the table, as the remainder of whatever ice existed among us breaks and drifts away on a current of camaraderie.
“I just want to thank you all for the help,” I say. “What started out as a fun little project has bloss
omed into a massive undertaking. Whatever happens, I’m proud of what we’ve come up with.”
Slater nudges me with his shoulder. “It was all you, baby. It would never have gotten this big without you behind it.”
He called me “baby.” Sploosh.
After the scene on the table in his room last night and several more hours of practice in his bed at home afterward, I’m convinced I’ve caught a sexually transmitted disease. A real bad one. Worse than crabs. It dug its claws into me and hasn’t let up. I feel hot all over. My nipples ache, and the fever between my legs is unquenchable.
Goddamn it.
Love is more than just a four-letter word. It’s a life-threatening plague that refuses to die, no matter how much alcohol you drown it with or how much fire you try to kill it with. The devastating effects of the disease intensify with every look he gives me, every brush of his hand on mine, every pass of his tongue over his lips.
I warned myself not to, but I did it anyway. I fell for Mr. Slater.
I’m gonna splat in a big, bad way when I hit the ground—
He grins down at me from under a mess of bedhead that I claim full responsibility for.
—unless he catches me first.
The arm around my shoulder tightens.
Safe.
Rescued by Slater again. What can I say? The man is good.
Love picks at her muffin and stuffs a piece in her mouth. “I had fun today. Maybe we could do it again sometime, minus the work.”
Slater nods and his smile widens. “Staff development.”
“I know you do that with your eighth-grade buddies every Friday,” Love says.
Slater pauses and then shrugs. “There’s no reason you guys can’t come. If you want to.”
Love’s eyes soften. “It’s sweet of you to offer.”
“Is there liquor involved?” Vino asks.
Slater and I exchange glances. “Hell, yes,” he says.
“I’ll be there,” Vino replies.
“New group, new tradition,” Slater remarks. He faces me. “Anything else we need to do here?”