The Partnership (Extra Credit Book 1)

by Charlotte Penn Clark

  He gets in on the driver’s side and swears when he catches a glimpse of his face in the rearview mirror, but I can tell his swearing from his swearing by now. I settle into his jeep and take advantage of him driving to stare at him all the way into the city. Yum.

  I’ve never reviewed a dance before. I’ve never tried to watch one while thinking critically about it at the same time. I scribble some notes into my playbill but I can’t see what I’m doing in the dark and wonder if it will even be legible later. It takes all my focus.

  I’m aware of Kyle—his arm against mine, his fingers on my shoulder, his breath against my ear—but we don’t talk. Whenever I check to see how he’s doing I find his eyes on me. When the black swan whips out her thirty-two foutées and I gasp at the sheer beauty of it I glance at Kyle to make sure he’s watching, but find his eyes still on me.

  “The stage is over there,” I hiss, elbowing him.

  His voice is a low rumble. “You’re so beautiful.” I shiver and wrench my mind back to the ballet.

  On the way home I’m distracted. I’m thinking about my opening paragraph, wondering how to balance the good and the less good, how to write something productive for the dancers and informative for readers, how to train people in how to look at dance…. Kyle drives while I scribble in a notebook.

  “What did you think, as a total newbie?” I wonder out loud.

  He taps his fingers on the wheel while he thinks about it. I love watching him think. He thinks with his hands, his mouth, his whole body. I shiver again. Maybe I do too. I want to act out my response to the ballet instead of writing it. I want to translate all that motion into words and then I want to translate them back. I toe off my high heels to sketch a figure with one foot.

  “I couldn’t follow the story,” he says finally. “If it weren’t in the program I would never have gotten any of it.”

  I nod and wonder how big a problem that is. “Did it keep you from enjoying the performance?”

  He shook his head. “Nah. I enjoyed it. Because you enjoyed it. I don’t think I would have gotten anything out of it without you there as a….” He frowns, searching for the word.

  “Translator?” I suggest. “Mediator?”

  “No….” He glances at me briefly. “A mirror. You reflected the dance for me. I watched you watch it.”

  I feel a whoosh of exhilaration. With Kyle. With the dance. With Odile/Odette, the white swan/black swan, the symmetrical formations of the corps de ballet…. It’s about mirrors.

  “Yessss!” I start scribbling again as he chuckles.

  When we get back to his dorm room I dump my handbag and high heels on the floor and flop onto the sofa with my notebook. My dress rides up and I shove it back down again.

  “I’ll just be a few minutes while I get this down,” I say, concentrating.

  Kyle says something and I nod without looking up. I think I know what I want to say. It’s about this ballet and all ballets, about how we watch what we don’t fully understand....

  I struggle with the wording and the idea, crossing out sentences and revising as I go along. It’s energizing and something clicks into place: this is how I want to spend my life. Like this: with writing and dancing, in motion and in conversation. With Kyle, the inner voice adds. Finally, I think I have a decent draft and stretch. Which is when I realize I’m alone in the room.

  I sit bolt upright and scramble for my phone…OMG! It’s 1 a.m.! I’ve been writing for almost two hours! I cringe and smack myself in the head.

  “Kyle?” I say softly, rising to look for him. He’s going to be pissed, I think nervously. I dressed up and flirted, dragged him along against his will and then I forgot all about him, leaving him frustrated and neglected! I bite my lip as I peer cautiously into his room, expecting a hailstorm of invective any minute now.

  But he’s stretched out on his bed, fast asleep. I creep closer and see he’s only kicked off his shoes and his jacket. It looks as if he conked out waiting for me…. My guilt doubles and I sit down on the bed, careful not to wake him. Very gently, I unbutton his shirt and pull it loose. He stirs a little and I kiss his cheek, his forehead, his mouth. I feel overwhelmed and I can’t take my eyes off him. Finally, I slip off my dress and lie down next to him in my bra and panties, pressing myself as close to his side as I can. I feel more than hear him sigh and I close my eyes, wondering what I did to deserve him.

  I wake up disoriented and squinting into the sunlight. I’m hot and uncomfortable and…alone. Oh shit. I snap to attention, panicking. Kyle’s furious. He left. It’s over. I drove him away! I…I catch myself. Jesus! Is this what Kyle goes through all the time? My heart goes out to him—again. I run a hand through my tangled hair, then stretch out like a cat.

  “Kyle?” I call out carefully. After all, I’m still in his room. If he wanted me gone wouldn’t he have woken me up and kicked me out? I shift impatiently, wondering where he’s gone and wishing he were here to rub up against….

  How could I have forgotten to have sex with him last night? I missed my daily quota and now I’m horny as hell because he’s trained me to want it all the time, damn him! I bite my lip in frustration and squeeze my legs together.

  Which is when he appears in the doorway, damp and newly showered and wearing only a towel. My fairy godmother couldn’t have done a better job at making all my wishes come true.

  As long as he’s not furious at me…. Our eyes meet and I wait for the outburst. He leans against the doorframe and looks me over but his expression gives nothing away.

  “I’m so sorry!” I start and he prowls closer until he’s standing at the bottom of the bed eyeing me, which makes me nervous. And turns me on.

  “You should be,” he says very quietly and I’m having a hard time reading him, except for his arousal. I know he’s turned on too. I stretch my arms out over my head experimentally and wriggle a little, watching him. Yeah, he’s turned on. And that turns me on even more. But I wait for him.

  “Damn, I like it when you owe me,” he says, almost to himself. I’m having a hard time holding still under his gaze now, and my eyes drift over his smooth hard muscles. He raises an eyebrow and I pout.

  “How can I make it up to you?” I lower my lashes and look up again. I let one hand rest lightly on my stomach while the other lingers over the front clasp of my bra. He loves my breasts. I don’t know why. They seem pretty average to me, neither too big nor too small, but they really work for him and that really works for me. But if I unsnap the clasp this game will be over, and we’re just starting.

  Kyle looks so tense I wonder if I’m pushing too much. Then he swallows and leans in to reach for my ankles, dragging them apart. Now he’s got a clear view of the silk panties that match my push up bra. And no, that wasn’t very comfortable to sleep in. But it’s worth it now.

  “You remember what you promised to show me, Lani?” His voice is hoarse. I remember and nod, then whimper. I trail one hand over my breasts, my nipples already hard through the bra, and the other over the silk of my panties. I arch my back and hold his gaze.

  “Like this?” I say, biting my lip in an effort to slow down. I’m so hot now and I want to come so bad. But this is for Kyle too.

  He drags in a deep breath. “Yeah—just like that. Show me how you took care of yourself all those nights we went home alone.“

  God, it’s hard to go slow! I watch Kyle as I tease myself and it becomes hard to tell whose pleasure is whose or who is turning on whom. His hands clench and unclench into fists as if he’s struggling with himself—and he’s hard and straining under the towel.

  “I want to watch you too,” I murmur, licking my lower lip. I’ve never done anything like this before and I’m not sure. Too much? Apparently not because that towel drops instantly and I suck in a breath.

  “Clothes off,” he growls at me. And I wonder again if he’s mad at me, but I’m too far gone to care right now. First things first—I’ve got to come because I’m losing my mind. I tear off my bra and pa
nties and then we’re both panting and racing each other to the finish line, mumbling incoherently. His hot gaze lingers on my breasts and I flush, palming them.

  “Just like that. God, that’s so hot.” His eyes jerk back to my face and catch me watching his hand, my mouth parted. He groans and drops to his knees on the bed between my legs. I arch my hips and he edges closer, watching my fingers.

  “So close—“ I gasp, arching some more.

  “Yeah—“ He groans again. And he’s close too. I know him. I know his body, his pleasure. That thought pushes me over the edge and I moan, crashing into the pleasure storm, wracked with it. I’m not sure if I say his name out loud but he’s saying mine over and over again as he falls forward onto my body, shaking. I hold onto him like he’s the only stable thing in a splintering universe.

  “Does that mean you’re not mad at me?” I whisper a few minutes later, when we’ve caught our breath. I should find some tissues and clean us up, but I’m not ready to move. I’m barely ready to speak, but anxiety prods me.

  “Mmm,” Kyle mumbles against my shoulder. I swat him.

  “Hey! Pay attention to me!”

  He lifts his head and smirks. “Didn’t I just do that?” He sinks back into my neck.

  “Hmmph!” I snort. I have to admit that he does pay attention to me really really well. I run my nails over his scalp, stroking and thinking, stroking and thinking.

  Kyle turns his head and whispers in my ear. “I’m not mad at you.”

  I relax, but don’t respond and we stay like that for a while.

  “You okay?”

  I turn my head and his eyes are dark dark blue, but calm. I nod.

  “Embarrassed?”

  “Should I be?”

  “No. Definitely not.” He runs a finger along my lower lip. “You amaze me.” I can see him thinking and wait for more. “We amaze me.”

  I break into a big smile because I know what he means. “Yeah. We amaze me too.”

  He smiles back, but then rolls away and sighs. “We gotta talk though.” He’s tense again.

  “Uh oh.” I sit up to look for clothes to pull on as armor, but there’s only my discarded dress so I scoot under the sheet instead, tucking it primly under my arms.

  “Okay, I’m ready,” I say, folding my hands in my lap. “Is it about last night? I’m so sorry I….”

  “You kidding me? Anything you love so much is good with me. And you gotta write, Lani.” He quiets and I bathe in that glow for a moment. He pulls one of my hands into his big one and threads our fingers together, then studies them.

  “What are we going to do?”

  And it’s out there in the open. I sift through options and they all suck, but I say them out loud anyway.

  “Walk away?”

  He snorts.

  “Pull back and make this light and easy? See ya when I see ya?”

  His eyes meet mine. “No can do.”

  I swallow and nod. “Dive in and take on a summer apart and then a year long distance? Till I graduate. Talk on the phone and text and see each other every few months for fuckfests…?”

  It’s too depressing for words. We hardly know anything for certain except that he’ll have little control over his time or location. Talk about accepting uncertainty….

  “That’s gonna suck. Except for the fuckfest part.” He sighs as the reality sinks in. He pulls his hand from mine and shoves his arms behind his head, staring at the ceiling.

  “Something’s come up.” His voice sounds weird. I roll toward him and prop myself up so I can see his face, even though he might be trying to avoid me.

  “Yeah?”

  He’s agitated, and I realize he’s been extra shifty all week, keeping our conversations on me. Pay attention to me, I had said…but why wasn’t I paying attention to him? I want to kick myself, but instead I kick him with my bare foot. “Tell me.”

  When he starts he’s clearly reluctant. “Sergeant Ruiz called me into his office a few days ago. Said he had my final grades and they were good. Even comp. I did much better than just passing.“ He pauses.

  I light up from the inside. “I knew it! That’s awesome, Kyle!” I squeal. I throw myself against him and press kisses all over his face. He looks abashed and cracks his adorable crooked smile.

  “Yeah, well…thanks,” he mumbles between my kisses..

  “So?” I prompt, still hovering over him. His eyes are sliding away again.

  “Umm. He said I showed an aptitude for science. Yada yada yada. And he asked if I’d be interested in the post-bac pre-med program, then applying for a military services scholarship to med school.” This came out in one long exhale.

  I frown, peering at him. “What do you mean? Become a doctor?” He nods, looking tense. “Huh. Well, do you want to become a doctor?” I can’t figure out why he’s so weirded out by this.

  “A doctor? Come on, Lani—“

  And I start to get it. “What’s the matter? And back up a minute. I didn’t ask if you could be a doctor or if you deserved to be a doctor, but if you wanted to be a doctor. Like is it something that sounds fun, rewarding, yada yada yada? If it doesn’t then that’s the end of story, right?”

  He shifts uneasily. “I don’t know! How would I know that? I mean, I’ve never imagined being a doctor!”

  I cock my head. “Why not? You love the EMT work.”

  He exhales loudly. “That’s different. I’m out in the field, running around and doing stuff with my hands. Not stuck in more classrooms, reading and taking notes, you know? Doctors have to be really smart and studious and calm, not hyper and impatient.” He catches himself. “I mean, I’m smart, but you know….”

  “Nope, I have no idea what you’re trying so hard and inarticulately to communicate, Kyle.” I wrinkle my nose. “So you think you’re smart, but not the right kind of smart etc etc? But clearly the sergeant thinks you are so that’s beside the point now. The point—I repeat—is whether you are interested in the work and I still haven’t pried that out of you.”

  He glares at me. “I don’t know, goddammit! And I don’t know how to figure that out!”

  I touch his arm, then start to stroke it, drawn by his warmth. “Okay. Let’s look at this, step by step. What’s that post-whatever program you mentioned?”

  He looks at me and his expression is desperate, yearning, confused. “Post-bac pre-med program. They have one here. It’s for students who didn’t do all the prep for med school to catch up before they apply. I did the bio major but I’d have to catch up with two pre-med courses I didn’t take, study for the MCATs, apply to med schools….”

  A bubble starts growing in my chest and I feel it lifting me up. “You mean--?” I whisper.

  He nods, shakily. “I’d be here another year,” he whispers back. We stare at each other and bat this invisible ball back and forth between us—filled with joy and relief and hope and…oh my God!

  “Kyle!” I say breathlessly, trying to rein in my feelings. “How are you going to decide?” I wail.

  In a flash I see his dilemma as if it were my own. How can he possibly consider this huge, important decision clearly when it affects whether we’ll be together?

  I groan and lean my forehead against his, needing more contact. “I don’t know whether to jump and down and squeal or sag to the floor….”

  His arms come around me. “Exactly.”

  “You can’t just—”

  “ I know! This is serious.” He pauses. “But we’re serious too.”

  My heart nearly bursts. He’s so fair, so tough, so caring, so honest—tears start welling and I blink my eyes to clear them.

  “Don’t!” The word whooshes out of him. “Don’t!”

  I struggle to get a hold of myself. I have to be as fair, as tough, as caring, as honest… God help me!

  “I won’t! I’m fine. It’s all good, Kyle!” I smile widely though my brain is still trying to see around corners. “I mean, where’s the downside? You’ll figure out what you want a
nd the last thing I’d want to do is influence you.” I really mean that but it still comes out sounding lame.

  “I already know who I want and you’re gonna influence me, Lani,” he grinds out. “Despite your best intentions. Or my best efforts. I just…I don’t even know where to start.” He sounds so helpless and it makes me ache.

  “What’s the commitment if you take the military scholarship to med school?” I ask nervously. I know there’s more he’s not telling me.

  “Seven more years. At least.” This is so quiet I’m not sure I’ve heard correctly.

  “What?” I’m stunned.

  “One year of service for every year of med school” he repeats. “That’s four years, then internship, residency, field work….”

  I’m still processing this. “Oh, Kyle, you can’t do that.” I’m blinking back tears again. “You can’t. Not….” I take a deep breath. “Not for me. Don’t even think about it. Don’t hold it out as a hope. Just squash it right now!” It’s too much. Too much to put on me, on him, on this new thing we have.

  In a sudden motion Kyle has me flipped onto my back and now he’s hovering over me, kissing my face and smoothing my hair.

  “I know. I get it. It can’t be for you, but how can it not be for you? It’s not about you, but it’s all about you. It’s just so fucking complicated.”

  I feel too much, swamped with love for him. Yes, love. No pressure, right? I struggle to disentangle Kyle’s needs from my needs because all these decisions about our futures are so serious and important and life-changing and….

  Is this what it’s like to be a grown up? Because it sucks. And this should all be good news! I don’t know what to say any more so I just wrap my arms around his shoulders and hold on tight, clinging to him desperately. Because he’s here now.

  17

  Kyle

  It’s not fucking fair. That’s what I think as I slam doors and stomp around for the next few days. I should be gloating that I’m done with college. I should be enjoying every precious minute with Lani. And instead I’ve been handed what will probably end up being the most important decision of my life, one that requires a huge commitment, and all I can do is brood and obsess about it. And I had to talk to Lani about it, but I hate dragging her into this. Although she’s already deep in it…. And so it goes, fucking circles upon circles with no decision in sight.