by Knox, Abby
“How about we call it the real desserts-slash-I don’t give a fuck table,” I mutter.
“Oh my god, have I told you lately that I love…your sense of humor. I mean, allergies are real, Vince. I have a mini fridge full of EpiPens for my students to prove it.”
“I wasn’t being funny, but OK.” She sets my plate of cookies down on the newly christened IDGAF table and displays it like it’s the Crown Jewels.
I shrug. “Not a big deal.”
She puts a hand on my shoulder again and shakes her head. I have to control the frustrated rumble at the back of my throat; I want to rip off these clothes and feel the warmth of her hand against my bare chest. “No, you’re a genius. These are amazing. And you tried. And you’re here. That’s all that matters. I appreciate you coming, so much, you have no idea. I need…we…er, Greenbridge…needs more parents like you.”
Goddamn. When she looks at me like that, my heart revs hard like a drag racer at a red light. Usually my heart does very little other than warn me to go easy on the chips.
And is she … is she wearing glitter around her eyes? And … in her hair? I can’t believe this fussy school lets her walk around like that. She’s adorable and it’s all I can do to keep from laughing. But I don’t want her to think I’m laughing at her. I feel twenty pounds lighter when she’s around.
She claps her hands together idly. “Well, take a look around and see if anything tickles your fancy. I know you have a sweet tooth, so…”
I can only think of one response to that, but now is not the time to tell her she’s got the only fancy I want to tickle.
When I look around, I see one table piled high with some pretty amazing shit. Baking competition-level shit, like a three-tiered cake shaped like a slightly haphazard stack of books and topped with the Greenbridge logo in gold.
“Nobody told me it was going to be this hoity-toity.”
Jewel shakes her head as she grasps me by the arm and drags me over to the ornate table. “No, this is Mallory’s table. She is the Bake Sale Queen. She’s our juggernaut. Trained at Le Cordon Bleu, has her own bakery in town. Let’s go look; she’s amazing.”
It’s all nice to look at but doesn’t look like anything I’d want to eat. An impossibly shiny layer cake with marbled designs might look impressive, but I don’t want to eat anything covered in icing that reminds me of a brand new bowling ball. Small, square cakes appear to be topped in real gold, which couldn’t possibly be edible. Wafer-thin cookies shaped like Pringles look interesting.
I nod at Mallory and hand over more money than I would like to for some square pastel mini-cakes that Jewel is drooling over. She holds it up to me. “Oh thank you. You didn’t have to…oh, but thank you. Smell that. Madagascar vanilla. And just look at it. Isn’t it gorgeous?”
The dainty cake in her hand does smell pretty good, not that I know the difference between one kind of vanilla and another. The one and only tasty treat in this auditorium that I’m interested in sampling is Jewel and those tempting, full lips of hers.
“Pales in comparison,” I say quietly, yet not giving a fuck who hears me.
Her eyes flutter open. “In comparison to what…the mirror glaze?”
There she goes, pushing me to use more words. I’m going to have to take drastic measures.
So I pull a dirty trick.
“I need to talk to you about Max.”
Finally, I have her attention.
It’s a very dirty trick.
I know. And I truly do not care.
“Oh! OK. Let’s go to my classroom, then.”
She grabs my hand to lead me as if I don’t know the way.
As if I could not find it by her scent and trail of glitter alone.
15
Jewel
I let Vince walk in ahead of me before closing my classroom door and locking it.
As I turn to him, every inch of my skin is throbbing.
He looks exceedingly guilty for a man I’m about to freely let bend me over my desk and put all his quarters into my pinball slot. Yeah, I don’t know what that means either.
His chin is down, but his eyes are looking up at me like he’s expecting me to admonish him. “I don’t need to talk about Max. I wanted to get you alone to kiss you.”
I exhale heavily. I had no idea I was holding in so much air. I feel ten pounds lighter for him having said that.
“I know,” I say, letting my head loll back in exaggerated relief.
“You know?”
“Vince, do you think I haven’t noticed you staring at my mouth—oh!”
My words are cut off by the shocking, forceful seal of his lips over mine. Vince’s mouth is warm, soft, strong, and demanding.
Whoa.
This is…correct. My body relaxes into him. Anticipation melts into rightness. Yes, of course we should be kissing.
His whiskers are surprisingly soft against my cheeks. I’ve never kissed a bearded man before, but I am loving it. His hands pull me in close and then grip me at the small of my back. We are pressed together so firmly, I think he might bend me backward and I would be happy about it. I circle my arms around his neck, but not before my hands caress him all the way up his arms.
“How did I do at the bake sale? You ready for me to feed you on Saturday or do you still need me to man the cash box or something?” he offers, his arms still gripping my waist and holding me close to him.
“Feed me? Oh. Yes. Food. I like food. Not picky. And only the treasurer or I can manage the cash box. It’s all in the by-laws, which is in your handbook…”
And then it happens. A smile. A real one. Broad. Amused. Happy, I dare say. The corners of his eyes go into full-on crinkle mode. His Adam’s apple jumps and I feel a low rumble in his chest. He laughs. Is it a laugh? A chuckle? What is that noise? A chortle? A snicker?
Whatever it is, I like it and I plan on making that happen for him every day.
“He laughs! Oh my god, ladies and gentlemen. He laughs! Come and see the amazing—”
And then he’s all up on my lips again.
Oh my god, I could climb him like a tree and hump him so hard right now. His tongue swipes across the seam of my lips and I open to him, brazenly welcoming him in to tangle with my tongue.
His hands travel up my back, over my bra strap and back down to my hips, where they stay. I would love it if he threw me down and ripped off my bra right now, like a freaking hero in a romance novel.
I feel myself getting hot and sticky, way down deep. I’m so bright and cheery on the outside, but if he only knew how dark, dusty, lonely—and how needy—my pussy is because he is not sliding into third base right now.
16
Vince
As my tongue probes her mouth, her wanton hums are so hot, they make me wonder what’s going on underneath her clothes.
What’s going on under my clothes should be plain and obvious.
Our bodies are fused together with this sultry kiss and she can be in no doubt of how aroused she makes me. My cock is ready to rip through the front of my jeans. My hands on her hips press her frame so tightly to me she’s almost grinding on me. Her fingers comb through my hair, down my neck, over my collarbone. She squeezes my shoulders as she breathes out a sigh into my mouth.
Jewel likes to keep talking in between kisses. “Mm. Have you felt yourself? These shoulders…mmm…are so nice…mmm.”
She enjoys my lips the same way she eats cookies. Savoring every bite. Enthusiastic about every detail. Small moans of pleasure. Fucking pornographic.
She swipes her tongue slowly across my lips and then nips at my cheekbones.
She makes me feel wanted.
An unemployed, pugnacious jerk, and she wants me.
And I’m happy.
But I’ll be a lot happier when I can nail her properly.
“Your ass, can I touch it?” she whispers.
I growl when my cock jerks in response to her saucy mouth. “Yeah…” is all I can manage while I’m kissing m
y way down her neck, down her breastbone. Her hands slip into the back pockets of my jeans and she squeezes.
My breath hitches. Her tits are pushed up so high by her bra that I’ve lost myself in her cleavage and I have to come up for air. I rest my head on her breastbone.
“Vince, I want to feel your beard on my boobs.”
I’ve got her leaned back against her desk. Her hands scramble at the front of her shirt. I cover her hands with one of mine and kiss her slowly, deeply, bringing out a low moan from the back of her throat.
“Slow down, Jewel. You read my mind. And I got this.”
I slide my hand up from her hip and gently tug the fabric covering her breasts. Not all the way, just down to her bra line. I kiss and tenderly play with the soft, silky skin that protrudes out of the lacy bra. Every inch of this woman is obnoxiously delightful. Obnoxious is the wrong word for her, but it fits because every delightful thing about her reminds me that this must be a dream. Or a scam. No woman in her right mind should be this open to a guy like me.
“Oh my god…I’ve never felt a beard on my boobs before. It’s really lovely. Mmm.” Her hands are all over my hair, face and beard. I might explode any minute.
“Fucking hell. Listening to you talk like that is gonna make me grow too big for my drawers.”
She sighs and runs her hands up and down my neck. “Are you gonna take me for a ride on your Nimbus, right here on my desk?”
“The fuck—”
She giggles. “Never mind.”
I have to quiet that mouth before I nut inside my jeans. Kissing her doesn’t exactly calm down my cock, but at least she’s not talking dirty at me. Her hands keep moving as our lips tango. The moment her hand drifts down my stomach and comes to rest on my aching bulge, some asshole knocks on the door.
Both of us curse repeatedly as we jerk away from each other. Well, Jewel doesn’t exactly curse. Her muttering “son of a biscuit eater” while she hikes her shirt back into place and smooths her hair doesn’t qualify as cursing, but it does qualify as totally fuckin’ adorable.
“Come over tonight. I can get a sitter for Max. I—” I am so damn angry that we’re being interrupted I have to resolve this immediately.
“It’s a Monday night, are you crazy?”
“And?”
“And I’m a teacher! All I’m going to do tonight is lesson plans and work on my GT certification,” she huffs.
I growl in frustration. “Fine. Saturday night. My place. Dinner.”
Granted, she will agree to anything to get me to leave, as the person who knocked is now trying the locked doorknob.
Turns out it’s one of the other kindergarten teachers, who has been managing a game night with the students while their parents work the bake sale. Max is with her.
He sees me and asks, “Why was the door locked? I want to go home.”
I turn and point at Jewel as Max drags me out into the hallway. “Saturday.”
Max drags me down the hall, asking me, “Why do you have glitter in your beard?”
Later that night, I look up the meaning of GT in a search engine. Evidently, Jewel is studying to receive certification for Gifted and Talented instruction.
While I’m fiddling around online—we don’t need to call it stalking—I get an email alert from Barry. The message is titled “Interesting” and it’s a follow-up to our conversation about Jewel. He’s attached a file of some kind. Within the body of the message he’s written, “You might want to read this.”
My cursor hovers over the tiny paper clip then moves over the trash icon. Which will it be?
I weigh the possibilities. I click delete and the email disappears. Whatever I need to find out about Jewel, I’ll let her tell me. And then, of course, I go creeping on her social media photos again, but none of it compares to the real memory of her asking me to rub my beard on her beautiful tits.
But how could any of that be real?
17
Jewel
Vince’s house is the embodiment of Vince.
Practical. Spartan. No clutter. No knick knacks. No art on the walls except for some posters with timelines about the evolution of the Ford Mustang. Not a single finger painting masterpiece by Max anywhere.
I dig through my messenger bag. “Wow, it’s a good thing I brought this.” I pull out one of Max’s sketches from school and magnetize it to the bare white fridge.
“There, that brightens the place up a bit!”
I can feel Vince’s hot, stoic gaze on me. “Sure does,” he agrees.
I turn to him, and he’s staring. My cheeks feel flushed. “I…um…I like your place.” My eyes have to look away. The way I feel when he looks at me like that…it’s almost too much.
“Thanks,” he replies, and I can’t tell if he’s staring at me hungrily or angrily.
“So, what cereal do we have on tap tonight, Cap’n?”
He smirks. “I took the liberty of ordering in.”
I walk over to the breakfast nook where the table is spread with about seven takeout boxes. “But what will you eat?”
He stifles a smile. “I wasn’t sure what you like, so I got some pad Thai, seaweed salad, dragon noodles, scorpion chicken.”
I nod and repeat the word “Yes” after everything he says. “I love all of it. I’ll take it all.”
He helps me take off my jacket and pulls out my chair for me.
Vince has a moderate skill with chopsticks and doesn’t subject me to watching him eat Thai food with a fork. I get it, some people can’t get the hang of it. But a man who tries—nothing is sexier.
The conversation flows freely over dinner and he makes me laugh without trying. But I feel like I need to dig deeper. After all, he’s had his lips all over me and if tonight goes well, he could be putting lots of other bits all over me too.
“OK. Three questions. Wanna play?” I ask.
“Sure.”
I put down my chopsticks and sit back in my chair. “Where have you been, where are you going and what have you learned? You go first. Where have you been?”
Vince takes a bite of chicken and thinks for a minute as he chews. “I’m not that interesting,” he says. “You go first.”
I don’t want to make the conversation this heady yet, but if he is going to insist I go first, I don’t have a choice. I only have one story to tell.
“Well, I’ve been living under the shadow of my mother’s passing for many years. She was murdered when I was eight years old. My father was convicted of manslaughter. They called it a “crime of passion,” which I didn’t understand until I was older. I have come to terms with all of it, but my older sister has not. She did not continue with counseling after the initial sessions we went to together. But that is her journey and I have to honor it.
“Me…I would not say I have forgiven my father, but I accept the reality that hurt people hurt people. He was a product of abuse, and I’ve let go of the hatred for my own mental health. And I have some peace knowing that she… she never saw it coming.
“And that’s where I’ve been.” I don’t tell him my father is getting out soon. I don’t tell him her birthday is fast approaching, the most difficult day of the year. I don’t want to weigh Vince down with my baggage, or involve him in a confrontation. Instead, I plaster on a brave face and fire back. “What about you, Vince?”
He doesn’t reply right away. Instead, he sets down his chopsticks and simply stares at me for a long moment. Mulling. I get it. It’s a lot for people to take. His stare is warm, not his usual angry or annoyed, and it’s filling in the empty places where my heart is cracked. He’s really listening. He sees me.
Just when I think I’ve turned him to stone with my harrowing tale, he blinks several times and reaches across the table. He squeezes my shoulder and then caresses my arm all the way down before wrapping my hand in both of his.
“I’m so sorry.” Genuine concern wrinkles his forehead.
“Thank you,” I say with a slow blink and a nod that I
give when people offer their sincere condolences.
“And I’m pissed on your behalf. You’re a beautiful person who doesn’t deserve to go through that,” he continues. His brows knit together and it feels as though he might never take his eyes off me.
If anybody else stared at me the way Vince does, I would feel self-conscious. Instead, this feels like a blanket. Kind of like the special heavy blanket I bought for my classroom to help a few of my students who struggle with anxiety and sensory input. It keeps them calm, focused and feeling secure. In the same way, Vince is a special heavy blanket for my soul.
“Thank you,” I say again, this time a whisper.
“And where are you going, beautiful Jewel?”
Oh, the sparks that fly all over my skin, down into my bones when he says that. Beautiful Jewel. I have to keep from swooning.
I smile. “Well, I’m going to keep teaching kindergarten for now. But I’m working toward my Gifted and Talented certification because it’s an exciting field to me. And I see myself, eventually, with lots of kids of my own, in a big house, with a mess of paint and glitter and glue everywhere.”
Vince’s eyes are smiling while he keeps eating. “And what have you learned?”
“That I can’t make everything fun. That even if I get bored or uncomfortable, or it hurts, it doesn’t mean it’s not worth doing. “
He nods solemnly. “I like that.”
“OK, now you. Where have you been?”
Vince leans back in his chair. “Interviewing kids in child abuse cases. It’s important work but it got to be too much for me. I like helping kids in trouble, but damn. This world is crazy. And now I’m without a job. Go me.”
I put my hands up. “I’m going to stop you right there. You are without a job because of a very good reason.”
He shrugs and continues. “And where am I going? I’m messing with the idea of starting my own private investigation business. I’ve already taken the classes and have my license. I’ve got connections in law enforcement. I could do it, but I don’t have office space. And also in my future, I see us going into that room in there,” he says, pointing down the hall to his bedroom, “and watching Mary Poppins.”