Collide Series Box Set

by J. C. Hannigan

  She sauntered up to me, her hips swaying seductively. I couldn’t help but admire her flawless legs in those ridiculously hot boots.

  “Were you smoking pot?” I asked, forcing my gaze up to her face. I eyed her with suspicion. I’d seen the fogged up windshield of the Jeep, and I knew the colour of marijuana smoke. I had smoked enough of it in University to know what it looked like…and what it smelt like. It clung to her skin underneath the perfume she had put on to cover it up.

  “No, I was just involved in a four-way,” she replied sweetly, laughing at my dumbfounded expression. “Kidding! I wouldn’t do anything like that. And smoking pot is illegal, Mr. Bentley.”

  “So there must have been another reason for the inside of that kid’s car to be hotboxed full of smoke,” I said, smiling back despite myself. I shook my head. It was school policy that we reported any suspicions of drug use…but I just couldn’t picture myself doing that. I wanted my students to believe I had their best interests in mind as a teacher, I didn’t want to create more drama amongst my classes.

  “Maybe I was telling the truth about the foursome,” she said slowly, her voice low. “Maybe it was steam.” I glanced around the parking lot nervously, my Adam’s apple bobbing as I swallowed. My heart rate jump-started in my chest, her words were like an Automated External Defibrillator.

  “I hope that isn’t true,” I said, frowning and looking away. I knew I was blushing. I felt silly, a girl hadn’t made me blush since I was in high school…not like that.

  “You think so little of me already,” she said. She almost sounded hurt. “I prefer to focus all of my attention on one person at a time,” she added suggestively.

  My jaw dropped slightly with shock. All I could do was stare at her, all of the desire and longing I had for her apparent on my face…and in my pants. If her gaze were to drop from the stunned expression my face, she would see the complete affect her words had on me. Her chest was rising and falling quickly with each breath she took, her own words had affected her as well.

  I opened and closed my mouth repeatedly as I desperately tried to think of an appropriate response. There wasn’t a single bloody one I could think of. What I really wanted to do was push her up against the brown bricks of the school and kiss her until I had all of her focus and attention.

  She didn’t wait for me to figure out what to say. She started walking toward the school and casually tossed a look at me over her shoulder, her eyes full of promise and desire.

  “See you later, Teach.”

  She left me standing there with my jaw slack, my heart hammering in my chest, and my cock stiff as fuck.

  * * *

  Over the next few days, I threw myself into work. Harlow’s class wasn’t my only class, I had six other classes full of students. It was easy to distract myself during the day, or while at work, but at night time…I couldn’t help but lay in bed and think about her.

  During the next class session, when Harlow handed her essay to me, I had wanted to immediately read it…just to see what she would say about herself. I forced myself to put it in my briefcase with the rest of the essays and tried to forget about it. That night, I went out for dinner…intent on getting a hot meal while I marked that weeks’ assignments.

  I pulled up to the diner around the corner from my house, and grabbed a corner booth where I wouldn’t be greatly disturbed by anyone. It was kind of lonely, eating every meal alone. I only had one friend in town – Mike Turner. The rest of my friends and family were from the Ottawa area. I hadn’t lived in North Bay for very long, in fact…I had just bought my house six months ago. I wasn’t much of a cook, either. I would either order in or go out for dinner.

  It seemed like a bleak existence, but I was happy…happier than I had been in years.

  Two years prior, I had been engaged to marry my high school sweetheart, then I discovered she was cheating on me with a co-worker. Luckily, I also discovered that I wasn’t truly in love with her. While I had been sad about the whole thing, I was also…relieved. Carla was intense, and she’d long since stopped having fun with me. It took seeing her in that compromising position in our bed with another man for me to realize how much we’d drifted apart.

  After that, I had a bunch of one night stands and moved to North Bay. It had been well over a year since my last one night stand though, and I knew I needed to rectify that soon. I’d been thinking more and more about Harlow lately, and it wasn’t healthy…or right. I was supposed to be an authority figure, someone my students could put their trust in, but I couldn't stop the illicit thoughts Harlow brought to mind.

  “Fancy seeing you here, Mr. Bentley,” the sweet as honey voice purred, stirring me from my thoughts. I stiffened, knowing that it was Harlow from the moment the first word fell from those plump lips. I looked up at her, seeing the flirtatious smile on her breathtaking face. “How did you know I worked here?”

  “I didn’t,” I answered honestly, straightening up. Had I known she worked here, I wouldn’t have come in. I was already having a hard enough time not thinking about her, and I only had to deal with her actual presence once a week, or whenever we passed each other in the halls. I didn’t see how I would be able to get through having her as a waitress without embarrassing the hell out of myself.

  I stole another look at her and instantly regretted it. Her waitressing uniform wasn’t any better for my fantasies than her Catholic school uniform was. It clung to her body in the most delectable ways, making me envious of the material. I wanted to cling to her body like that. Or, in the very least…peel it off her body with my teeth.

  My deviant thoughts no longer took me by surprise. The first day that I had met Harlow, they had kicked into high gear, growing intently every time she said or did something suggestive…which was most of the time, it seemed.

  I tried to tell myself that thinking about her like that was wrong, but my dick really didn’t care how old she was or that I was her teacher. I cared, though, I knew it was wrong.

  “Is it just you eating, or will someone else be joining you? Your girlfriend perhaps?” Harlow was toying with me.

  “Just me, no girlfriend.” I smiled sheepishly, feeling embarrassed by that admission, and angry that I felt embarrassed about it. I ran a hand through my hair, trying not to make eye contact with her. I knew I would get lost in the emerald depths of her irises, and I couldn’t afford to do that.

  “Could I get you anything to start?” she smiled. Yeah, you, I thought almost automatically as I forced myself to look at the menu.

  “Coffee would be good,” my voice sounded strange to me. I couldn’t make eye contact with her.

  “Coming right up, Mr. Bentley,” she said. The way she said my name made my blood heat and my loins ache. I started getting hard. She turned, and my hand shot out to gently grab her arm. I wanted to tug her onto my lap, to taste those sinful lips and touch her tempting hips.

  “You can call me Iain,” I said instead, still holding her arm. I thought it would be better…less sexy…for her to call me by my first name. Then maybe I wouldn’t envision bending her over my desk and flipping her Catholic uniform skirt up over her hips and…I cleared my throat, trying to divert my thoughts. “Here anyway. I’m not at work…and Mr. Bentley makes me feel old.” I added, wincing inwardly. I always thought that people who told others that being addressed formally made them feel ‘old’ were full of shit. It was true, here I was giving that cop out line to a seventeen-year-old.

  Realizing I still had my fingers around her arm, I dropped my hand. I was startled by my own behavior. I hadn’t touched Harlow save for shaking her hand upon meeting her, and touching her now wasn’t helping my case.

  “Okay, Iain.” Hearing her say my first name wasn’t any less distracting than having her call me Mr. Bentley. Apparently, the problem was how she said it…not the name she addressed me by. I still envisioned her dropping to her knees in front of me when she had called me by my first name.

  She disappeared, presumably to
grab my coffee. I quickly busied myself with the menu, focusing on what I should get for dinner in an attempt to stop thinking about Harlow inappropriately. My cock twitched at the mere thought of her name.

  I read the menu, finding nothing that appealed to my hunger. My appetite was craving something that wasn’t in the menu. Something that I couldn’t have, that I shouldn’t want.

  “Thank you,” I said distractedly as she set the mug down in front of me. Don’t look at her. Don’t look at her. Don’t look at her, I thought frantically, trying to heed my own advice.

  “Are you reading mine?” the curiosity in her voice made me look up. She was peering down at the pile of essays beside my right hand. Her essay was on the very top of the pile. Of course it was, I thought. Even subconsciously she was at the front of my mind.

  “Not yet…right now I’m reading the menu,” I said with a smile, my heart warm with humor for her…for her eagerness. A pretty little blush spread across her cheeks. My cock stirred again in response.

  “Well then, have you decided what you want?” she demanded. I could tell she was fighting to regain composure.

  I thought about how I wanted to make her blush again. I thought about how hard my cock was, all because she was simply standing in front of me. I thought about how inappropriate and sick that was.

  “Oh, no, actually,” I said quickly, my eyes scanning the menu quickly. I felt like an idiot, and I fiercely hoped that she didn’t pick up on my awkward behavior.

  “Might I suggest tonight’s special? Spaghetti and meatballs with garlic bread?” she asked. I blinked at her. She could probably suggest a steaming pile of shit for dinner, and I would still say yes to that voice. Anything sounded good coming from her sinful mouth.

  “That sounds good,” I nodded. She wrote it down and disappeared, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the pile of essays.

  I glanced at her essay again. I could tell by her behavior that she was eager for me to read it…and I doubted it was because she enjoyed doing homework assignments. I picked up the papers stapled together, and started to read it.

  Harlow’s words intrigued me and pulled me into the essay. She wrote about her parents, about how they had met and how her dad had died. She described the mischief she used to get into, and about her tattoos and where they were located. I had to clear my throat as I read her description of the one that ran up the length of her ribcage and cupped under her breast. She wrote about her ex-boyfriend, the supposed artist of the tattoos, and her best friend…and how she died.

  Reading it completely gutted me. This beautiful girl had encountered so much tragedy in her short life, and yet…she wrote so worldly, as if she had depths of knowledge that I couldn’t even begin to comprehend. She articulated her thoughts with so much skill and ease, that I completely forgot that I was reading an essay written by a twelfth grader. A student that I taught. Each word flowed magically to the next, the haunting, heartbreaking depth of it tying me to her in unbreakable, indescribable ways.

  “Mr. Bentley, I mean Iain…can I offer you some dessert? Maybe cherry pie?” Harlow asked, appearing next to me and interrupting my fourth read through of her essay. I looked up at her, my jaw slack with shock. “The cherry pie is our best-selling pie…”

  The images in my head were definitely inappropriate, and they definitely made me harden again.

  “No, thank you, another coffee would be good though,” I managed. My shirt collar felt tight around my neck, and I loosened it when she disappeared to grab the coffee pot. When she returned, she asked me if I had finished my dinner. When I nodded, she left the bill. I forced myself to move on to the next essay. Five read-throughs of one was more than enough.

  I lost track of time while I read, only realizing my folly when I looked up to see the diner completely empty and Harlow slowly approaching me. Her hips swung tauntingly with each step, and her fragrance wafted over to me when she came to a stop. She smelt of jasmine and roses.

  “Do you mind if I ring you in now so I could shut down my till?” she asked.

  “Oh, sure,” I blinked, dazzled by her sudden presence. My body seemed overtly aware of the fact that we were alone. I dug my wallet out of my back pocket and pulled out a twenty. My meal came to $14.99 with tax. “Keep the change,” I said, hurriedly shoving the papers back into my briefcase.

  I left as fast as I could without full on running. I hurried to my car, needing to get away from the diner before I went back in and did what I really wanted to do…spread Harlow Jones across the table, and find out if she tasted as good as I imagined she would.

  * * *

  The following Monday morning, I purposely looked everywhere in the room but at Harlow. I fought a constant war with myself, she was like a magnet, drawing my gaze to her.

  At the end of class, I started to hand back their essays.

  “Most of you need to work on your paragraph structure, grammar, and spelling. But I was pleasantly surprised by a few of you. A few of you have a great talent for writing, and I’m eager to see what else you present to me throughout the year,” I said, pausing in front of Harlow’s desk. I handed her the essay, watching as her eyes glanced down at the penned A at the top right corner and the post-it note where I had scrawled See me after class.

  My heart was racing frantically in my chest as I made my way back to the front of the classroom. “Next Monday, I’ll be assigning another essay topic. But the majority of you need to read over how to structure a proper paragraph,” I said, leaning against my desk. The class laughed without humor, and I smirked. “If you don’t, I’ll know by the end of next week. This will count for 5 percent of your final mark,” I added, enjoying the groans of complaint.

  High school definitely wasn’t all that different now from when I went. Kids still hated getting assignments and doing the work. They were mostly focused on their social lives.

  The bell rang, cutting off the rest of their complaints. I walked around the length of my desk and sat down, watching Harlow out of the corner of my eye as she slowly packed up her things. The other students were all rushing, grabbing their things and quickly fleeing the classroom to meet up with each other in the hallways and exchange bits of gossip with one another, but one other student lingered with Harlow. Riley.

  “Harlow! What are you doing this Saturday night?” Riley asked, leaning forward in his desk. He stopped when his lips were very near Harlow’s ear. I disliked the way he lewdly looked at her, as if he couldn’t wait to get her alone.

  “That depends…it’s forever away. What’s going on?” I heard Harlow respond.

  “Party at my place, tell Jake. He knows where it is. Starts at 9.” Riley said. I glanced up quickly, frowning.

  “Is this party going to be a ‘my parents are home and in the basement’ party, or is it going to be a party?” she asked, looking at Riley skeptically. Jealousy twisted in my gut as I pictured Harlow with someone else…with him.

  “Do you even need to ask?” Riley said as he stood up. “Hope to see you there,” he added before walking off, leaving Harlow and I completely alone.

  She glanced over to my desk. I was leaning back in my chair slightly, my arms crossed. The frown still on my face from my jealous reaction.

  She picked up her bag and stood up, walking over to me. I kept my eyes on her the whole time.

  “Well, you couldn’t have hated it that much. You did give me an A,” she uttered, her lips curving up into a reluctant smile as she arched a thin eyebrow at me. I smiled.

  “That’s not why I asked to see you,” I leaned forward, trying to keep my tone gentle but remain authoritative.

  “Why did you ask to see me?” she asked, her lips parting slightly as she waited for me to answer. It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her the whole truth; I asked you to stay after class because I want to be around you. I want to touch you, I want to make you blush.

  I cleared my throat, focusing on the other reason why I wanted to see her after class. Harlow was an incredible wri
ter. She had a rare, raw talent and I wanted to tell her that. I didn’t think seeing the “A” on her assignment articulated that point effectively.

  “I wanted to tell you that you write beautifully and articulately. You have a real talent and I’m looking forward to reading more of your work,” I answered, my words sincere. I lifted my eyes and met her gaze, holding it. She was transfixed. “Have you thought about a career in writing?”

  She seemed startled by my compliments, as if she wasn’t accustomed to hearing good things about her. The shocked expression on her face made me ache. I wanted to make her see her worth, realize her potential. “Thank you…” she trailed off, speechless. She stared at me for a moment longer before continuing. “Yes, I’ve thought about becoming a writer…maybe someday.”

  “No problem, you’d be very good at it.” I said. She smiled, finally looking away from me. “I also wanted to tell you that I’m sorry about the passing of your friend. That couldn’t have been easy for you. If you need anything at all, please don’t hesitate. Unfortunately, I know a thing or two about losing a friend…” I had lost one of my best friends in high school. He’d gotten behind the wheel of a car while drunk, and ended up crashing into a hydro-line and killing himself.

  She looked back at me with a guarded expression. It melted away, leaving intrigue and curiosity in its place. “It sucked, but that’s life. You live and you die. The ones you leave behind get to feel…left behind,” she shrugged.

  I nodded thoughtfully, repressing another sad smile. “That’s true, but…like I said…I’m here.” And I want to be there…in more ways than one, I thought. I mentally shook myself. I couldn’t think like that, I couldn’t feel like that. But I did.

  “I’m fine…If that’s all?”

  “One more thing…” I said, my heart increasing again. I knew I was skating on thin ice. I knew I was playing with fire, but I couldn’t seem to help myself. “Those tattoos…they sound…very interesting.”