Eighteen (18)

by J. A. Huss

  “How so?”

  “The other class I’m taking just lets me take tests. Can’t I just take tests?”

  “The other teacher in that other class doesn’t give a shit about you.”

  “And you do?”

  “I’m here, right?”

  “He’s there, right?”

  “He didn’t give you a jacket to wear in the rain last night. He didn’t pick you up, take you somewhere dry, and buy you a cab ride home.”

  “No, but that’s not how most teachers behave, Mr.—”

  “Mateo.”

  I just stare at him. What the fuck is his game?

  “Say it,” he says. “Say my name.”

  I swallow down the confusion. “Mateo?”

  He sighs, letting out a long breath of air. And then he leans over the table, grabs my face, and kisses me.

  I am so stunned, I don’t move. But his mouth demands something. Cooperation, or interaction, or submission, I’m not sure.

  But I do kiss him back, I’m very sure of that.

  He fists my hair, making me stand up, and then his lips break free as he walks around the table, keeping hold of my hair while he does it.

  I look over my shoulder, my heart beating fast and my breathing coming out in small gasps. “The door is open,” I whisper, almost in a panic.

  He ignores me, just grabs my breast, pulls me towards him, threads his fingers up my scalp so he can fist my hair again, and takes what he wants. My mouth.

  I give in. I feel helpless. Weightless. Powerless.

  When he breaks the kiss, I feel like I might pass out.

  “Where were you last night?”

  “What?” I ask, taken by surprise.

  “Where were you last night, Shannon? I know you weren’t home.”

  “How do you know that?”

  He leans down to kiss me again, but this time his teeth nip the sensitive skin.

  I let out a small whimper. “The door,” I say, trying to pull away. “Someone will see us!”

  “Everyone leaves at five.” He kisses me again and then pulls back, staring down at me like I’ve done something wrong. “Where were you last night?”

  “At a friend’s house.”

  He pushes me backwards, trying to make me lie back on the desk. It’s slow and not at all harsh. But he makes it clear that I will be bending backwards for him. I give in and let my back rest on the table.

  He unbuckles his belt.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, really in a panic.

  “Fucking you,” he says. And in my head I imagine that he says it mean, or rude, or condescending. But he doesn’t. He says it like it’s already happened.

  “You can’t fuck me.”

  “I can if you don’t stop me.” He grabs my hand and places it over the hard bulge under his jeans, rubbing, moving my fingers back and forth along his shaft. His eyes narrow with pleasure and then he lets go, but I continue.

  “Yeah,” he mumbles, his attention back to the task of setting himself free. And a moment later his cock springs out. Long and thick, the head swollen and the tip ready. He pulls a condom out of his back pocket and rolls it down his shaft.

  I gulp air.

  “Unbutton your jeans, Shannon.”

  I do. I unbutton them. I unzip them before he even asks. And then I lift my hips up so he can drag them down my thighs. He leaves them on, bunched up at my knees, and then he lifts my legs up towards my shoulders, dips his head under and licks my pussy.

  I almost come immediately.

  “Are you a virgin?”

  “No,” I whisper.

  “Good,” he whispers back. “Because I don’t have the patience for that.”

  He sucks on me, teasing my clit, swirling it around in little circles. It’s so intense my hand flies down to his head, almost ready to push him off me.

  But he stops for a moment, and says, “Be still. And don’t come yet.”

  I moan. I don’t know if I can control it. I’ve never had a problem achieving an orgasm, but I swear, I don’t ever remember being so turned on before. It’s the door, I think. The open door. I imagine myself walking by, getting a glimpse of his muscled body taking me this way on a makeshift desk in the middle of a classroom.

  Wetness pools between my legs and he hums, “Mmmmm,” as his tongue does that dance.

  He swipes over my clit and I grab his hair. Handfuls of it in my fists. I don’t know what comes over me except that I’m consumed with need. I push on his head, urging him to go deeper. And then his fingers are there and… and…

  I just explode.

  I’m not a screamer, I swear, but I scream.

  He laughs, pulls back, pumps his dick a few times, and then enters me. And as rough as it was a few seconds ago, that’s how soft it is now. Long, slow movements. In and out, the friction of his cock spreading me. I just don’t know what to do except lie there and enjoy it.

  He leans over the table and I can smell him. He smells like motorcycle oil, and leather, and sweat, and desire. He smells like me too. He smells like a man.

  “I’m gonna come on that shirt,” he says. “Because it’s not yours.”

  And before I can say no, he does. He pulls out, rips the condom off, and comes all over the t-shirt that isn’t even mine.

  We look at each other for a few seconds and then he lets out a breath and pulls away.

  I swallow down the realization of what we just did as he tucks his dick away and buckles his pants. He combs his hand over his messed-up hair and then looks me in the eye as I lie there on the desk, my legs still spread open before him. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a month.”

  It takes several seconds for that sentence to register. “What?”

  He takes my hand and pulls me up, then hikes my jeans back up my legs. “OK, now that we got that out of the way, we still gotta work. Go clean up and get your ass back here. You have three minutes.”

  “What?”

  “Now, Shannon.”

  Chapter Nine

  My phone dings in my backpack while I’m in the bathroom.

  Sunday: What time?

  Jesus Christ. I managed to stay away from boys for a whole month and then in one day, I’ve got two guys. It’s not my fault, and I should not lead Sunday on, but I need to get out of here. No way I’m staying.

  Shannon: Now.

  Sunday: On my way.

  I can’t even go back in that classroom. I cannot believe I just let Mateo fuck me like that. Slut.

  Two knocks on the door, and then Mateo peeks his head in. “Let’s go.”

  I shake my head at him. “No. My boyfriend is coming to get me.”

  He stares at me. Expressionless. Several seconds flash by. “You do not have a boyfriend.”

  I nod, slowly. “I do. And… and… I don’t care if I fail or if I never graduate. I’m not coming back here. I’m gonna do those science tests at home this weekend and be done with this.”

  He considers this for a moment. His lips purse a little and his eyes briefly fall to the floor, then recover and find mine again. “You should’ve said no if you didn’t want to.”

  “I shouldn’t have had to say no. You’re a fucking teacher.”

  “I’m not really a teacher, Shannon. I’m a private contractor. And you never said no.”

  “I never said yes.”

  “You think I raped you?”

  “No,” I say, swallowing. I don’t really think that. I’m pretty sure girls who come like that aren’t getting raped. But this guy has bad written all over him. “You’ve been watching me? How long? A month, you said? You didn’t even know me until yesterday. So just what the fuck?”

  He rubs his scratchy beard and I have to close my eyes as I imagine how that felt nestled between my legs. “You need a day to process? Fine. But you better be here tomorrow.”

  He turns to leave, but I stop him with, “Or what?”

  He doesn’t turn back. Just lets the door close in his absence.


  I stay in the bathroom for a few more minutes, trying to plan my escape from the building. But it’s dumb. Mateo is gone. Probably walked straight out of the building.

  And he lied. There are people here. A janitor, one class still going. A lady in the office. Jesus Christ. Did any of them hear me? See us?

  I feel a little pool of wetness between my legs at that thought.

  Outside it’s cool and dark, but only because it’s January. I hate the weather here in Southern California. Hate it. I can’t even explain how three hundred and sixty days of sunshine pisses me off. And that rain yesterday just fucked with my head. Made me homesick or something.

  Sunday. He was a good find though.

  Mateo. He was… well, a good fuck, for sure.

  I spot Sunday’s black Acura and walk out into the parking lot to meet him. It’s only then that I realize Mateo is sitting in a white Mustang with double blue racing stripes running down the hood a few rows away. He’s fucking watching me.

  And who drives a car like that? I mean, come on.

  Sunday pulls up and I hurry to the door, pulling it open, slipping inside, and slamming it shut as fast as I can. I want to scream, Drive! But I take a breath and when he looks over and says, “Hey,” I force myself to relax.

  “Hey.”

  “Everything OK?”

  “Yeah. Just tired, you know.”

  He nods and looks down at the steering wheel. “Yeah, about that. Do you need somewhere to stay tonight?”

  “Um.” Fuck. I haven’t even had time to think about Jason. “No,” I finally decide. “I should go home. Patch things up.”

  “You sure? Because you can stay at Phil’s. I won’t even bother you there.”

  “No, really. I’m fine. I need to sort shit out. And I haven’t seen my niece in two days. I have to go home and make sure things are…”

  “Things are what?”

  I was gonna say OK. But then I realize what that implies about Jason’s parenting skills. He’s an asshole. I hate his guts. But I’ve never seen him be anything but loving towards Olivia, so it’s not fair to give strangers the impression that he’s not taking care of her.

  “Just cool. You know.”

  “OK,” Sunday says, pulling away from school. I glance at Mateo as we drive by and he stares back, but what’s on his mind escapes me. Because he’s got his no-expression expression on.

  Sunday talks about his day as we drive home. It’s not a long drive, and I do my best to look interested, but holy shit. I just fucked a teacher on a classroom desk. My shirt is wet with his fucking come. And Sunday is acting like we’ve been BFF’s for decades instead of hours.

  “You can pull in the alley,” I tell him, once we get over to the intersection of Broadway and West. “I live at the very end.”

  We have the only apartment with a back patio. It’s dark, and cool, and flanked by tall bushes that partially hide the 5 freeway twenty feet down an embankment. It’s almost like living next to a river with the sound and the wind of the cars whizzing by. I love the patio, and how we got lucky with this apartment, I have no idea. We have two parking spots. The garage and the space that leads up to our patio. There’s a nice tall wooden gate that gives us privacy from the alley, and the patio leads to a glass slider in the living room. It’s pretty much the only thing this apartment has going for it.

  “So,” Sunday says, the car idling in the empty space in front of the patio. “I’ll be right here at seven-thirty.”

  I stop thinking for a moment and just enjoy him. His broad shoulders, his handsome face, his nice smile. He’s hot, for sure. But I enjoy him for more than the way he looks. Lots of guys are handsome. Mateo, for instance, is fuck hot. But Sunday is… interested. In me, I think. Or maybe I’m just making it all up. But he seems interested.

  “OK,” I say back. “Thank you.”

  “Anytime, Daydreams.” And then he winks and grins the grin of a boy who likes a girl.

  I close the door and smile at him as he backs out of the parking space and turns the car around, my insides fluttering in a totally different way than they did back at school with Mateo.

  Have I ever felt this before? I ask myself.

  Felt what?

  Normal.

  Chapter Ten

  Inside the apartment Jason is sleeping on the couch and Olivia is in that little baby swing she loves. She’s wide awake with the remnants of milk on her lips, staring up at me with her big blues, content to listen to the news blaring from the TV.

  “Hey, Olivia,” I whisper as I get her out and hold her close. “Missed you.”

  “Miss me too?” Jason asks.

  I turn and glare at him, but keep my mouth shut as I take Olivia to the kitchen, run the hot water, and then wipe her face with the washcloth he uses to bathe her. She coos at me and even though I really hate her father, I love her a lot. She looks like Jill’s baby photos. My sister might’ve been a loser, but she was beautiful and I hate her for leaving me, for leaving us, and for all the things she will miss because she was stupid.

  “I’m sorry, OK?”

  I say nothing. I have nothing to say.

  That’s not true. I have an entire Wikipedia filled with things I want to say. Things I want to scream at the world. But it’s locked up tight and I’m sure as shit not letting it out in front of Jason.

  Jason walks up behind me and takes Olivia out of my arms. She coos at him too. And why not? He’s her father. She loves him.

  That hurts me for some reason.

  Jason grabs my chin, but it’s not in a mean way. He turns my head to make me acknowledge him. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, looking for evidence of his fist on my face. I looked earlier and it’s hardly even a bruise. It’s mostly yellow and will probably fade in a day or two.

  I look up at Jason and find some semblance of sincerity in those blue eyes of his. I should say sorry as well. That’s what people do during an apology. But I have nothing to be sorry for, so I’m not gonna say it.

  “You can stay here as long as you want, Shan. But I could use some help with Olivia.”

  I nod. “Sure.”

  “I got a job at night. So if you could just watch her when I go out, I’d appreciate it.”

  “OK.”

  He holds Olivia out to me and I take her back, pressing her close to my chest in a hug I need more than she does. “She ate about an hour ago.”

  “What kind of job did you get?”

  “Nothing special.” He walks off down the hall to the bedroom he shares with the baby.

  Jason is a chef at a hotel near Disneyland. He works breakfast and lunch shift now, so I assume he’s picked up another shift at another restaurant. In San Diego he was a hotshot at a locally famous restaurant on the beach in La Jolla. He was probably considered well-off down there. But I’ve heard him complain enough about the daycare bill for Olivia to know that’s not the case now. Kids are fucking expensive.

  When we first moved here I thought it was so he could be near his family. But then he said we were never going to see them. So that sorta sucked. It might’ve been nice to add a few real grown-ups to my life.

  I take the baby back to the living room and put her back in the swing.

  “Can you do laundry tonight?” Jason asks, walking out from the hallway and grabbing his keys from the small table next to the kitchen. “She’s out of t-shirts.”

  “Sure,” I say, glancing down at my own soiled t-shirt.

  “Be back late,” he says. He leaves through the front door and walks by through the kitchen window as he makes his way to the alley where he’s parked.

  I change my clothes and put on shorts and a tank top, then start the laundry. Olivia is asleep in her swing when I come back from loading the washer, and I grab my backpack and pull out the book we were issued in English class today. I try to do all my homework in class because I’m not a homework-at-home kind of girl. But my assignment for English is reading The Good Earth, and I sorta got hooked on it in class. That teac
her makes us read aloud in class. Twelfth fucking grade and we’re reading aloud. I paid no attention to what they were reading and I’m about halfway done.

  But this school, you know? It’s not the best. It’s definitely near the bottom as far as performance goes. And I think that teacher knows that most of those kids will never pick up a book outside of school and this is the only way to get them to read.

  I think I can finish this book tonight and have that report written tomorrow in class, so English is a non-issue for the next couple weeks.

  My phone buzzes in my backpack, so I reach over and look at the message.

  Unknown number: I’m at your door.

  I look up at the front door, but then a knock on the slider to my right makes me jump. Mateo is standing on the back patio.

  “What the fuck?”

  “Let me in,” he says. I can’t hear him so much as read his lips.

  “No, get out of here.” I glance over at Olivia to make sure he didn’t wake her.

  “Then come outside.”

  The door isn’t locked, I know that for sure. So he could come in if he wanted to. But he doesn’t. He waits.

  “Shannon,” he says. “Come. Out. Side.”

  I get up and walk over to the slider. His eyes track up and down my body, taking in my bare legs and shoulders. “What do you want?”

  “Just to talk,” he says.

  I open the slider a few inches. “I don’t want to talk, Mateo.” As soon as I say his name, he smiles and Jesus Christ, that flutter is back. I actually get wet for his smile. “I’m busy watching my niece,” I say, trying to cover my reaction.

  “I need to know if you wanted it or not.”

  “What?”

  “Did you want it, Shannon? Because if you didn’t, I’m fucking sorry, OK?”

  I stare at him. He’s got no jacket on even though it’s chilly out, and I can see all his tattoos in the light that filters through the bushes alongside the freeway. He’s very tall and I’m not, but I’m standing on the ledge of the slider, so I’m about up to his chin right now. He leans forward, pressing his hands on either side of the glass and doorjamb, so that I’m between his arms. I can’t help but look at the shadows that form on the curve of his muscles.