by Sophie Stern
“Sorry,” I mumble, and hand her a coupon for a free drink. It’ll come out of my pay, but it’s better than having her complain to my supervisor.
“No, no,” she hands it back. “Don’t worry about it, hon. Watching him in that uniform made my day.”
She leaves, and I finish my shift without incident. After work, I head next door to Club Kitten and check in at the front desk.
“No Kasey tonight?” Paige asks me. She teaches level three classes and has short blonde hair. She’s cute and curvy and always has this huge smile on her face. All of the dance instructors do. Well, all of the ones I’ve met. I wonder what it is about dancing that makes everyone feel so relaxed. Maybe it’s the freedom to express ourselves without judgment or perhaps it’s simply the community of friends and likeminded women, but it’s nice.
It’s so different from the rest of the world.
“Not tonight. She’s got a night class.” I shrug. Kasey takes way more classes than me. At our university, once you take 12 credits, anything more than that is the same price. She totally milks it and takes the max amount every semester. She plans to double major, but I’m worried about her. There’s no way this is easy on her. She’s got to be stressed to the max or failing her classes, and I don’t know which.
“Good for her,” Paige says. “I know you guys have to work hard to find time to fit dancing in your schedules, and I’m glad to see you, but I hope she’s doing okay. She hasn’t been around much this week.”
“Hopefully she’ll have some time to come dance after midterms,” I tell Paige. Then I head back to the locker room to change.
Once I’m in my booty shorts and a thin tank top, I head to the dance room. Like the pole room, this one has floor-to-ceiling mirrors. Chairs are lined against one wall for easy use during classes and there are cubbies for shoes.
I grab a yoga mat and find a spot to stand during class, then start doing some stretches while I wait for the other girls to arrive. Slowly, the room begins to fill. Tall girls, short girls, old girls, young girls: we’re all the same. We’ve come to dance class for a common reason. We all want to feel good about ourselves and we all want to get in shape.
Haley bounces into the room right as class is supposed to start and grins.
“Hey everyone! I’m teaching Seductive Stretching today! Thanks for coming out. Let’s get started.”
She hits a button on a remote and music fills the room. We follow along as she leads us through a series of guided stretches and by the time we’re done, I’m sore, sweaty, and sated.
Kasey was right when she said Club Kitten was the place to go to move on with my life. All I can think about is dancing. I’ve lost ten pounds since I started and not only do I feel better, but my clothes fit better. I move more gracefully.
I’m happier.
Little do I know all that’s about to change.
***
When Professor Scranton asks for me to stay after class, I nod glumly, dreading the confrontation. I realize I’m only a freshman in college, but last time I checked, most freshmen weren’t dealing with their mom dating their teacher.
It’s one of those things that isn’t supposed to happen, but sometimes it does. Maybe I’m just bitter because my dad left so long ago that I can’t remember anything about him. Maybe I’m just sad because it’s not fair I have to deal with my mom’s mid-life crisis in the form of argyle sweaters and khakis.
Maybe I’m just bitchy because she found someone and I have no one. The airman from the coffee shop flashes in my mind and I remember him asking for my number. Still, he hasn’t texted me yet and it’s been a few days. If he was going to call me, he would have. I don’t need to think about him anymore.
Students file slowly out of class and I drag my feet gathering my things. Slowly, I shove my notebook in my bag. Slowly, I grab my cell and shove it in my pocket. Slowly, I pick up my pencil.
When I reach the front of the classroom, Professor Scranton is leaning against the side of his desk, impatiently waiting for me.
“Well, you certainly don’t seem to be in a rush to talk to me,” he snaps.
I bite back a reply, instead pasting a plastic smile on my face.
“You wanted to see me?” I ask.
“I thought we should talk,” he says, handing me my latest paper. There’s a big, fat, ugly D scribbled on the front.
I’m shocked.
I poured my heart and soul into that paper. It definitely deserved more than a “D.” My first impulse is to throw the essay back at him and say, “try again,” but I don’t. I need to pass this class in order to take more advanced English courses next year. Since I want to major in English, it’s kind of important.
“A ‘D’?” I manage to ask.
“Your introduction was sloppy,” he says simply. “And your conclusion didn’t make sense based off your main points.”
“Um, okay?” I don’t really know what to say.
“Listen,” he lowers his voice. “I can’t play favorites just because I’m dating your mom. You know that, right?”
“I never asked you for favors, but I think a ‘D’ is a bit harsh.” I shrug, shoving the essay in my bag. Maybe I can retake this class as a summer course. If Scranton won’t pass me, it might be my only option. I can get extra shifts at work or find a second job to pay for the class. Yeah, I wanted to spend the summer messing around with my friends and dancing as much as possible, but if it’s not going to happen, it’s not going to happen.
I take a deep breath.
“If you want to come see me during my office hours, we can discuss a rewrite,” Scranton says. His voice grates on me.
“A rewrite?” I didn’t realize he offered those in his classes.
“You can’t earn higher than a ‘C’ on a rewritten paper, but if you’re willing to revise the entire thing and come up with new sources to back up your arguments, I’d be willing to read it.”
This paper is worth 10% of my total grade and a “C” isn’t much better than a “D.” Still, it won’t hurt to try, and the way Scranton is looking at me, I have a feeling he’s not really giving me much of a choice.
“Of course,” I say, trying not to sound glum. “A rewrite sounds great.”
“Perfect. I’ll be in my office from 3:30 to 5:00 this afternoon.”
“See you then.”
I turn and leave the room, trying not to cry as I make my way out of the classroom. I worked really, really hard on that essay and there’s no way it deserved the grade he gave me. Still, I need to look at things positively, right?
This gives me a chance to work on my writing skills and that’s what I want: I want to be a writer.
Even if Scranton doesn’t see my potential, I see it.
Ignoring the way he makes me feel, I grab some food on campus and mess around on my phone until it’s time to meet Scranton. When I head into his office, I’m not shocked to see my mother hurrying out, looking disheveled.
Gross.
Was she here for a nooner? Really?
I slip back around the corner and luckily, she heads in the opposite direction and doesn’t see me. Good. The last thing I want to do is deal with her drama. My mom did her best raising me as a single mother, but sometimes I wish she hadn’t dated so much while I was a teenager. My mom is really insecure and tends to go from guy-to-guy and relationship-to-relationship.
I’m not more upset about her and Scranton because I know it’s not going to last the semester. My biggest concern, sadly, is that they’ll break up right before finals and he’ll take out his frustration on my grade.
I knock at the door to his office and Scranton opens it quickly. He seems surprised to see me. Did he think I was Mom again?
“Oh, it’s, uh, you.”
I nod, looking pointedly at the large clock on the wall.
“3:30, right?”
“Yes, uh, that’s right. Come on in.”
The room smells like sex and moldy books. Gross. How is Scranton still
teaching here? I know it’s nearly impossible to fire professors, but come on, now. I manage to find my way to a chair amongst the clutter of books, papers, and trinkets scattered throughout his office. I hope this isn’t where he and my mother just… I shudder at the thought and push it from my head.
“So, my paper,” I yank it from my bag. “What pointers do you have?”
***
“He said what?” Kasey shrieks when I get home and tell her about my day.
“He said it’s crap. He said I’ll never be a writer. Oh, and he said I have to choose a new topic and start from scratch.”
“That’s not how a rewrite works!” Kasey protests, and I shrug.
“I went to my advisor and he told me to shove it. It’s not like I’m being forced to do the rewrite. I just don’t want to be stuck with a ‘D’ in the class.”
“You won’t be. He’ll grade on a curve. I’ve had him before. He always grades on a curve.” Kasey seems certain. She’s a sophomore, so she knows a little more when it comes to the professors.
“I just don’t want to deal with him.”
“Or your mom.”
“That, too.” I get up from the couch and grab a bag of carrots from the fridge. I pour a little portion of dressing into a bowl and come back over. Kasey reaches for a carrot and dips it in the salad dressing.
“Mmm,” she groans, crunching on it. “I don’t know why people don’t like vegetables.”
I resist the urge to slap her.
“Let’s just be honest. It’s not like they taste like cookies.”
We’re both trying to be healthier, though. Kasey wants to compete in the Darling Dancers competition that Club Kitten is sponsoring at the end of the year. It’s not until November and right now it’s mid-February, so she’s got plenty of time to prepare.
The competition showcases the talents of girls at every level. She thinks I should try out for the level one talent showcase. Try-outs will be intense, though, I don’t know if I’m ready. I don’t know if I have what it takes. I think I’m as good as some of the other girls, but I don’t know if I’d want to dance in front of a group of people.
Dancing in front of my friends is one thing, but a crowd of people?
I’m not so sure about that.
The competition takes place at one of the local dance clubs. They’ll clear the club out, add some removable poles, and let the dancers do their thing. I watched a video online from last year’s performance and it was insanely amazing. I know it’s important to start planning your moves early so you’ll have months upon months to perfect your routine, but still…
I don’t know if I’m cut out for performing.
“I have to go to work,” Kasey says, pushing the carrots away. She hops up, grabs her keys, and wiggles her fingers. “See you later, cutie.”
Once she’s gone, I walk around the house for half an hour doing nothing. I’m stuck. I’m bored. I’m in such a rut that I don’t know how to get out. Dancing makes me happy, but not much else does these days. Maybe I should try out for the Darling Dancers performance.
Maybe that would make me smile.
Finally, it’s time for work, so I take off, ready to make coffee for the thirsty people of Whiskee, Colorado.
Duty calls.
Chapter 3
Cooper
I can’t stop thinking about the coffee shop girl.
It’s so stupid.
She’s the cutest damn thing I’ve ever seen and all I want to do is call her, kiss her, and make her promise to be mine.
But I can’t do that.
It’s not fair to either one of us. I thought I’d be at Forrest AFB for awhile. When I got stationed here, I thought I’d have a few years here, at least. Three years is more than enough time to meet a girl, have some adventures, and maybe settle down. It’s definitely enough time to get to know someone. It’s definitely enough time to date Bailey.
Only, the day after I asked for Bailey’s number, the Air Force threw a huge wrench in my plans.
I’m deploying.
Not in six months or in a year. No, that would be too convenient. Nope, I’m deploying at the end of next month and I have no idea how long I’ll be gone for. It could be weeks or it could be months. I won’t have regular access to a computer or a phone. I won’t even be able to tell anyone where I’m going. I’ll just be gone.
And that’s the life of an airman.
I try not to think too much about it. This is what I signed up for, after all. Still, it irks me that I can’t honestly pursue something with her right now. She just seems so damn perfect.
“Dude,” James’ voice brings me back to the present. “You need to calm down. You’re salivating.”
I don’t bother saying anything back. He’s right. I talked his ear off about the cute coffee shop girl and he told me to text her, but I didn’t.
I couldn’t.
Not after that news.
She deserves better than me.
“I’m thirsty,” I finally say. We’re sitting at our desks, but our shift ended half an hour ago. We’re just waiting on one more person from the next shift to arrive before we’re clear to leave, and I see her heading toward us.
“Hampton’s here,” he says, jerking his head in her direction. “Why don’t we get a cup of coffee?”
“Did I miss the party?” Airman Hampton says, hurrying into the office. Neither one of us says anything. She’s perpetually late and it’s annoying as hell. She glances at the clock, then back at us and shrugs. “Sorry,” she mumbles.
Jason and I get up and grab our stuff, then head outside. We take my car and head over to Drinks on Me. Even if I can’t ask her out, even if it wouldn’t be fair, I want to see Bailey. I want to talk to her. I want to have a cup of coffee and tell her how damn cool I think she is.
“Why do you like this place so much, anyway?” He asks as we pull into the parking lot. “I mean, I know your dream girl works here, but what else?”
I don’t say a word as we get out of the car and he looks around the parking lot. Drinks on Me is right ahead of us, and to the left is a two-story brick building with “Club Kitten” scrawled on the front in black cursive.
“What the hell?” He asks, staring at it. A couple of young women wearing tank tops and leggings are walking out of the building laughing. “Is that a strip club? Next to a coffee shop?”
“Don’t be stupid. It’s a pole dancing club. It’s not the same thing.”
“How is it not the same thing?” He asks as we walk into the coffee shop.
“Strippers do it for money. Pole dancers pay to do it,” the woman of my dreams answers his question when we step inside. The shop is completely empty, save for us.
“Well, hello,” Jason says with a smile, and I punch him in the arm.
“Hey, stranger,” I swagger up to the counter.
“Mocha?” She asks, ringing it up. She bites her bottom lip, but doesn’t make eye contact.
“And a scone,” I say, handing her my money. My hands linger on hers for just a moment, and then she does it.
Then she looks at me.
And she stops biting her bottom lip.
And she smiles.
“You’re friendly today,” she murmurs, but doesn’t move her hand. I don’t move mine either. We’re at some sort of weird touching stand-off where neither one of us wants to move first.
“Fuck her or I’m going to,” Jason suddenly stage whispers next to me, and Bailey drops the money on the counter. Her mouth forms a tiny “o” and she looks shocked. Fucking airmen. We don’t think twice about the type of language we use while we’re hanging out. I always forget it’s different around civilians. Things aren’t as crass in the real world as they are in ours.
“Sorry about my friend,” I say, cringing.
“Don’t be,” she says, to my surprise. “I was kind of thinking the same thing.”
“What?” I manage to squeeze out.
She leans across the counter, reach
es for my shirt, and pulls me close to her.
“I was thinking I wish you would fuck me or let your friend do it,” she says. Her lips are so close to mine I can smell her cherry lip gloss.
“What time do you get off work?” I ask.
“Eleven.”
“Meet me outside.”
“Fine.”
She releases me then and smiles. It’s a satisfied, smug, full-of-herself smile and I love it. My heart is racing a million beats per minute, but I love it.
What the hell just happened here?
Seriously, if this isn’t love, I don’t know what is. I’ve been with a few girls before, but none of them were anything like her. None of them were so forward, so blunt, so honest about what they wanted.
I can’t help but wonder what’s going to happen when she gets off work. Part of me thinks there’s no way in hell she’s serious, but there’s something mischievous in her eyes and I want to find out what.
We wait for our coffee in silence, then Jason and I take our drinks and leave.
“Um, so I guess you should take me back to my car,” he offers helpfully.
I just laugh.
“Yeah. I guess I should.”
***
I’m leaning against my car smoking when she comes out.
“Those are bad for you,” Bailey plucks the cigarette from my hand and tosses it to the ground. Before I can protest, she pushes me against the car and presses her lips to mine.
Oh, fuck yeah. It’s on.
For someone who’s being completely aggressive, she kisses me softly, almost tentatively. Suddenly, I get the feeling she doesn’t have a lot of sexual experience, but we’re going to change all of that.
I flip us so her back is against the car and I’m the one kissing her, and Bailey moans.
“Are you always this excitable, spitfire?” I ask.
She giggles. She fucking giggles in the middle of the kiss and it’s the best damn sound I’ve ever heard.
“You might say it’s been a crazy week,” she whispers, and I kiss her more.