Chapter 21
CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE
School was long today, and because it felt so tedious, I cut practice short. The girls whispered and giggled about a sleepover, so I’d like to think I’m giving them more time for fun. Cadence makes a comment about dedication or something else equally ridiculous, but I’m getting good at ignoring her.
While pushing my shopping cart around the EAT O RAMA, my phone rings. I almost don’t reach for it, my anxiety rearing its head at just the sound of the digital ring. I don’t want to talk to my parents. I don’t want to silence a call from them, or find out that Michael has a new number or has found a way around being blocked.
No. Thank. You.
But I can’t shut the world out to avoid pain.
And I definitely don’t want to miss a call from Jake.
I reach in my purse with one hand while tugging down a bag of corn chips from the shelf. Bringing it to my ear without checking the caller ID, I answer. “Hello?”
“Sorry about lunch,” Leah says of our cancelled lunch date today. “I had a meeting with Dr. Lawrence, the superintendent.”
“No big deal,” I assure her, then ask, “How was it?” Plucking a box of Wheat Chex from the shelf, I drop it in the cart, directly over the bag of jumbo marshmallows.
“Your name came up,” she says, all casual as if that isn’t a huge deal to a third-year teacher for the superintendent of the district to even know I exist, much less to mention me by name.
“Oh no,” I worry, white-knuckling the bumper on my shopping cart as my knees grow weak. “He read the article?” I pose it as a question, knowing full well that it’s a statement. The superintendent doesn’t give a shit about JV cheerleading, and I’m new. This is definitely about the article.
“He did, he absolutely did,” she says, tone flat and unwavering. Each second that ticks on that she keeps my fate suspended has my heart rate ticking higher and higher.
“Leah!” I shout. “What?”
I can almost hear her smirk, I swear. “You just earned yourself a spot at the next staff development day. Dr. Lawrence wants you to instruct the other district health teachers on how to teach the curriculum. ”
I scoop my jaw from the floor. “Did you tell him that the reason I wrote that article in the first place was to speak to the copious amounts of hate mail?” Those emails still haunt me, and not because they were so mean but because of how dumb people are. Of course teenagers know about sex. We may as well teach them how to do it safely.
“I did. And I’m telling you, he enjoyed that.” She takes a pause and I use that time to internally freak a little. “Oh god, everyone already semi-hates me. Doing this will only make it worse.”
“So?” she laughs. “Hate is the lovechild of bitterness and jealousy. Let them hate you. You’re thriving.”
Thriving.
I didn’t come here to thrive, I came here to escape all of the bullshit back in Willowdale. But my JV girls know their routine well. The last few practices have gone so well. The students actually really like me, and I think it’s because I don’t pretend that sex is weird or evil. And based on what Lena said to me in the break room last week, I’m starting to wonder if some of the parents are actually grateful. No one wants to talk about genitals and orgasms with their kids, but if I do it and do it well, everyone wins.
That’s what Leah is telling me.
I’m winning right now.
And yet, things with my family have never, ever, not once in my life for even a split second been this bad.
“You’re doing great, Riley.” Her tone is soft enough to make my eyes warm.
“Thanks.” My phone beeps, and I check the screen to see Jake is calling. I reach for the bottle of Taco Bell hot sauce and place it in my cart. “Leah, I gotta go. Thanks for the good news.”
“Of course. Now go get that cowboy di– ”
I end the call before our class lapses… a little more.
“Hey,” I answer, a warm ember of eagerness catching, spreading through my jaw and cheeks. I can’t stop my grin. I love Jake’s voice.
“Hey there,” he greets, heat flaring in my core at the roughness of his timbre. I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that this man, according to Jo Jo, doesn’t date. How? “What are you doing?”
Veering around an end cap featuring Otter Pops and fruit juice, I steer myself toward the booze aisle. “At the EAT O RAMA, grocery shopping. What are you doing?”
He doesn’t bother answering the question. “Jo Jo is at a sleepover tonight.”
“Home alone, huh?” I tease, snatching a bottle of Merlot from the wine shelf.
“No,” he says, “because you’re coming over.”
I stop with thirteen dollars of wine in my hand. “You’re inviting me over?” I don’t know why, but I thought he would slowly start calling more and then invite me over. I hadn’t expected it to happen so soon, then again, he did titty fuck me on the side of the road like an animal last week.
His rough laughter fills the line, and the need between my thighs flares. “Miss Rivers, I have a fourteen year old daughter that does not drive, and she’s gone for the night. I’d love to pretend I don’t have to leap to take advantage of tonight, but I do.” He lowers his voice. “I also smoked a brisket all day, and just took roasted red potatoes from the oven, and home grown green beans are on the stove, sauteing in butter.”
My stomach rumbles, and I don’t know if it’s for the food or the man that cooked it. “When were you thinking?”
“Let’s see,” he says. “The sooner you get here, the more time we have,” he says, quietly and almost insecurely adding, “ together. ”
I steer toward check out, forgoing the last five items on the list. Who needs tampons and deodorant anyway?
“Let me just drop off my groceries and I’ll head over,” I reply, really tempering my tone so as to not sound like being invited over to his house is the best thing that has happened to me in my entire life. That would be desperate. And yet, I become a trail of smoke getting out of the EAT O RAMA.
We end the call and I bag my own groceries, realizing that I am—all internal joking aside—desperate to see Jake. Not just see him but be around him again. My soul comes alive around Jake in ways it never has before and sure, I want to fuck him in all positions and forms possible for a woman to have a man, but its not just sex. There’s a pull between us, a chemistry, an attraction, something. I know it.
At home, I chuck all the bags straight into the fridge, not bothering to unpack the items that are perfectly fine sitting on cupboard shelves. Thank goodness I showered after work, shaving my legs and washing my hair. I was going to make s’mores tonight and binge watch 80s movies, starting with Steel Magnolias —my absolute favorite. I’m even in my most comfy albeit scrubby outfit already, in preparation for all the vegging and comfort tonight was supposed to hold. But now I’m going to Jake’s, so my absolute favorite pair of leggings with a hole in the inner thigh and my old Willowdale High School hoodie will absolutely not cut it.
I consider showing up in my winter coat with nothing underneath, or go Fatal Attraction and wear a dress and nothing else. But I can’t shake the look in Jake’s eyes when he saw my panties in the truck that day, and robbing us both of that moment feels unfair. Panties are a must. More for those strong hands to tear off me .
Ultimately, I decide on a pair of jeans and an off the shoulder blouse. Yes, off the shoulder means I have to wear my dreaded strapless bra which I am totally convinced was designed by a man or the devil, but it’s definitely worth it to complete the casual I definitely didn’t think about what I was going to wear too hard vibe. Wearing my hair down, freshly washed and straightened, I slip into my boots, spritz on some perfume and eagerly head toward the Turner house.
Excitement has me sinking my boot against the gas pedal, thinking of all the things that are going to happen tonight. I get to see more of that gorgeous home, a home that, by the way, looks like it would be owned by a TV producer, being shown off on an episode of Architectural Digest . Not to mention, I get to see more of the home he shares with Jo Jo.
Jo Jo.
Fuck.
It wasn’t easy looking her in the eyes and giving her advice about her crush last week after I’d been on my knees on the side of the road, begging for her dad to use my face like a pussy. I was and still am ashamed of keeping Jake and I private when our dynamic so far has been pure and honest. She’s trusted me, opened up to me about her mom, the reasons the other girls have teased her, and how she feels about all the changes in her life right now. In every conversation, her expression read that what she was sharing was important, and the way she held her gaze said that I was the only one fortunate enough to hear it. That was pretty much confirmed with Jake on the drive home that late afternoon.
I don’t want to hurt her by seeing Jake behind her back.
This really came out of nowhere, I mean, it’s not like she knew that I’d met him and didn’t know it was him and had been pining over him as a fantasy for months. There’s so much that Jo Jo, at her age, just can’t understand about what Jake and I are doing… or, about what’s happening between us.
Still, I don’t like keeping it from her and I don’t want to hurt her. Those two things remain as true and as potent as ever.
But I can’t say no to or deny Jake and what I feel for him.
I choose not to think about Jo Jo anymore about halfway through the drive, because as much as I adore her and really care about her, I like myself, too. And after all the heartache with my parents and Michael, I deserve happiness. You know what else I deserve?
The good dick.