Chapter 28
“P enis,” I say with a loud, unmistakably confident voice. “Vagina. Breasts. Testicles.”
Everyone in the room either blushes, giggles lightly under their breath, or both.
“Come on,” I cajole. “It’s your turn. Say those four words and say them loud and proud.”
Nothing.
“Y’all, we can’t talk about sex until you’re comfortable with the parts of your anatomy, and I will not allow slang in my classroom. So, let’s do this. Penis. Vagina. Breasts. Testicles. Sing ’em out now.”
More giggles, but then some of the wise-ass boys take this as their moment to shine and start shouting them out.
But since that’s the point of this exercise, for once, I encourage them.
The fact that I’m standing in front of twenty thirteen and fourteen-year-olds yelling out penis and vagina is not a scenario I saw coming when I left David.
But now, I’m gonna be honest with you. I’m so here for it.
“Remember, my room is Vegas. Let’s preach this out so we get all this awkwardness over simple words out of our systems. Then we can get to the good stuff.”
“Like sex?” Justin Thompson asks, his eyes trained right on me. Yeah, the little shit likes to flirt with his much older teacher.
“Like sex,” I reply, staring straight back.
“Do we need a little encouragement?” I grab my phone that’s sitting beside where I’m perched on the front of my desk and unlock it.
I already have the song cued up, so I hit play, making sure the speaker is as loud as it can go.
Salt-N-Pepa’s “Let’s Talk About Sex” blasts through the room.
I hop off my desk, grab the large bag of Hershey Kisses I had hiding behind me, and tear it open. If the awesome ’90s hip-hop beat doesn’t get the kids going, sugar certainly will. So much for wellness.
“Pop Quiz hotshots,” I say, stealing a note from Speed as I walk down the center aisle. “What happens if someone asks a question in this class?”
“We listen and answer respectfully. No making fun of anyone,” Candice, a goody too-shoes if ever there was one, answers.
I toss her a chocolate that she fumbles and has to dive for. “That is correct. Are we going to make recommendations, jokes, or inappropriate comments on things like vibrators, dildos, lubricants, or best techniques for masturbation or sexual positions?”
“Um. No?” Katherine Ford answers it like a question, but I’ll give her credit for being brave enough to answer that one in the first place and toss her a candy.
“That is also correct. If you have specific questions you’d rather not ask aloud, you can drop them in the questions box I have at the front of the room.
I am the only one who will read them and feel free to leave them anonymous if that makes you more comfortable.
I will answer questions I deem appropriate as they come along.
Anything inappropriate will not be answered, so save it if you’re going to use it as a mechanism for being lude.
Nothing embarrasses me and nothing rattles me. ”
“Will you demonstrate sex for us? I’d love that action. Hell, I’ll do it with you. I don’t care if the class watches us.”
I spin back around in Justin’s direction.
Fourteen going on dipshit. “Justin, disrespectful and misogynistic comments like that will land you in prison one day. Note to yourself, women do not like to be harassed or made to feel uncomfortable about their sexual safety or their bodies. Do better or I’ll speak with the headmaster and your mother. ”
I flip back around, not giving him a second’s more attention.
“Back to penis, vagina, breasts, and testicles. Shout it out for me and make sure I can hear you over the song.”
I return to my desk, hopping back up and crossing my legs at the knee.
The kids go at it, screaming at the top of their lungs and thinking they’re just about the funniest things ever.
But the truth, they need to get it out of their systems. I can’t have them snickering or laughing or blushing every damn time I say vagina.
Just as the song cuts out only to start again, the door swings open, and a teacher I don’t know all that well, but who was at Bridget’s miserable dinner party, pops her head in, looking not too pleased with me.
“Everything okay in here?”
“Peachy keen and cherry pie. We’re just working out our sex ed jitters.”
She glances about the room at all the kids and then back at me. “Right. I forgot that was starting today. How much longer are we shouting this for?”
“I think we’re done for now, but I have two other classes today.”
She groans. “This will be a long day.”
Tell me about it.
She shuts the door behind her, and I return to the class.
Sex ed is supposed to last for over a month.
I think this will be the longest month of my life.
Still, it will take a natural disaster tearing the school from its foundation to dampen my good mood.
Because while we’re talking about sex in here, I’m getting all the action in the form of my hot neighbor.
Hot, furniture-breaking sex. Stolen kisses and ass spanks.
Public orgasms. Crazy, dirty, bondage sex.
Cuddling and kissing and sweet lovemaking sex.
All the sex, all the different ways. He snuck over again last night—though he told me Stella caught him Monday night and knows all about us—and we screwed like the few hours of separation were a few too many.
We couldn’t keep our hands off each other and when it was over, he kissed my lips, told me I was beautiful and that he hated to go and wished he could stay.
I swooned.
His damn sated, goofy, remorseful smile had me swooning.
I feel like a teenager. Sneaking around. Keeping secrets. It’s a dangerous thrill I can’t help but crave more of.
I’m a smitten sex kitten riding reverse cowgirl on a sex train headed for fucked station.
It’s why I’m not allowing myself to think too deeply on anything or I’d end up talking myself out of it and what good would that do me?
I figure at this point I’ve been hurting for the better part of three years.
What’s a little more hurt if that’s what this amounts to in the end?
Only this time, I don’t think it will end like that. I think we’re headed for something a whole lot bigger and better. Fingers crossed.
I hit stop on my phone before the song keeps going and lock it. But not before I pull the pathetic move of checking for new texts. None. Not that I should expect any. The man is at work saving lives. Yep, full-blown teenager again.
“Welcome to sex ed in case you missed what your wellness class has been transformed into for the next month. Despite us fooling around”—I point around the room with a stern finger at the kids who start to laugh—“no pun intended. This is a serious class with some important information that no joke can hopefully keep you from making life-altering mistakes.”
“Like what? Babies?” Candi Foster asks.
“That’s one.” I toss her a chocolate. “But how about STIs or sexually transmitted infections? They can be a gift that keeps on giving if you get the wrong one or it goes untreated. And unfortunately, you can be infected with one and have no knowledge of it, passing it along to other partners.”
I get a lot of sickened looks and scrunched noses.
“See what I mean? And none of this is limited to heterosexual sex, so regardless of who you’re into, safe sex is universal.
” That little nugget is for Stella, who is sitting in the back corner of the room, quiet as a church mouse—likely because she knows what I’m doing with her father, so that makes this a touch awkward—though I’d never call her out or even glance in her direction.
As far as I know, Stella has still not come out to her classmates.
Just her family, her best friend/cousin of sorts, Layla, and me.
Then again, I highly doubt she’s the only LGBTG+ person in this class and definitely not in this school.
“Have you ever had sex?” Dalton Royce, Justin’s BFF, questions with a knowing grin. He thinks he’s tripping me up. So young. So foolish.
“Yes,” I reply. “I was married for three and a half years.”
“So he’s the only guy you’ve been with?” he presses.
“My sex life is absolutely none of your business and far from pertinent to your learning.”
“My mom says women who have multiple sex partners are sluts.”
I turn my attention away from Dalton, over to Mercedes Smart, who’s glaring at me as if she thinks I’m a slut.
Likely because she has a crush on Dalton and Justin and every other cute boy in this school.
She’s also the head bitchy girl who likes to harass Stella for being flat-chested and ‘socially weird’ as she calls her.
You can imagine how much I like this girl.
“The word slut is not only derogatory and shaming, but it also sets women’s equality back.
Men are not typically called such harsh words when their sex lives are thrown under the microscope.
Degrading a woman in such a way, or any way, is among the worst offenses you can do, and it is not something I will tolerate in my classroom or anywhere.
If I ever hear cruel or intentionally hurtful language being used by anyone about someone else, whether in this classroom or anywhere on school grounds, it’s an automatic detention. ”
I glare, raising a pointed eyebrow at her, and she sits back in her seat, visibly jarred by that.
“Now that we’ve gotten formalities out of the way, let’s get started.”
The bell rings twenty-five minutes later, and I nearly fist pump in the air and woot out a cheer.
Yet another thing I can high-five myself for getting through in my first year as a teacher.
And I think I did a good job with it too.
Stella throws me a small smile on her way out, and I take that as a win too.
The rest of the day is a variation of the same.
Only now I have a better grasp on what to expect, so it goes smoother than the first class did.
And when the final bell sounds and everyone packs up their things, I sag in relief, settling behind my desk, content to grade some essays before going home, opening some wine, snagging a hot romance book, and taking a bath with it.
But two hours later when I get home, I find something waiting for me. Something that has my breath audibly catching and my hand covering my mouth, trying to stifle the sound.
Sitting on my front porch by the door is a giant bouquet of flowers in a pretty glass vase with a white envelope leaning against it.
I make quick work of unlocking my door, setting my stuff down, and then returning for the heavy flowers.
It’s loaded with sunflowers and orange roses and white hydrangea and deep purple orchids and calla lilies.
It’s the most beautiful arrangement I’ve ever seen, and I spend a moment staring at them, breathing their fragrance in before I go for the card.
It’s an actual card, not just one of those generic things the florist sticks in.
A thick, plastic card slips out, landing on my counter when I open the main card, and I find myself gasping once more because it’s a gift card to a very high-end kitchen supply store.
Something to brighten your day and make you smile.
Love,
Landon
I pant out a breath. Then another. He put this all together himself. Wrote the card himself too and then had it delivered. Just to brighten my day and make me smile. I can’t remember the last time someone did something like that for me. Made me feel this… special to them.
I pick up my phone, debating if I should call him or not. It’s only a little after five, and I don’t know if he’s at work still or driving home, so I decide on a text.
Thank you. This was the best surprise to come home to. My smile is uncontainable.
He replies almost immediately. Open your door and show me.
My brows pinch in as I read over his text only to jump six feet in the air when I hear a knock on the door. He’s here. Gripping my phone tighter, I squeak out a girlish squeal, only to just as quickly rein in my over-exuberance. It’s not easy. It’s a damn chore.
I’m a total slut for him. No shaming there. I wear that title proudly.
The man makes my heart thunder, my belly flutter, and my mind turn to goo.
I skip—way too quickly, might I add—to the door and fling it open wide.
Landon is wearing his glasses, dark slacks, and a pale blue button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His green eyes are sparkling, so much lighter than I think I’ve seen them.
“I snuck over here first before going home when I saw you reach your door. You like the flowers?” he asks, smirking at me, his gaze devouring.
“I love the flowers.” I lean into the doorjamb, putting us only inches apart.
“I thought about getting them from Stella’s greenhouse but was afraid of her wrath if I pillaged her flowers.”
And I’m in love. All over again and again. He was going to pick the flowers for me himself?
“You didn’t have to do all this. The gift card. It’s too much.”
His whole body dips in until it presses against mine, barely inside my door. His lip captures my bottom one. “I would have gotten you more, but I think it might have scared you.”
“Are you falling in love with me, Landon Fritz?”
It’s meant to be a joke. Something light, to ease the coiling tension that’s burning low in my belly, threatening to consume me.
But he doesn’t take it that way. And when I realize this, realize he’s not denying it or pulling away or running back to his house, but rubbing his nose against mine with an achingly wonderful and slightly nervous grin on his lips, I thread my fingers through his hair and close the inches between us, kissing him hard, with a passion I’m tired of fighting.
I don’t care that he’s my student’s father. I don’t care that he’s my former asshole neighbor. I don’t care that I only left my husband not even eight short months ago or that I should stay away from him because I worry about my family getting their greedy meat hooks into him.
I just care about how he makes me feel , and right now, I’d rather die than give this up.
This perfect man. This perfect moment.
That is until the perfect moment bursts, and everything instantly goes to hell.