17. Adair
17
ADAIR
E ven by Jack’s usually grumpy standards, he’s in one hell of a mood when he comes in. After slamming the door behind him, he shucks off his jacket and pulls his boots off like he’s angry with them.
“Hey,” I say, embarrassed at the way my voice falters. I guess it doesn’t matter when he storms upstairs without a word. “Good talk, then,” I mutter after him, quietly enough that he won’t hear.
I’m disappointed. I wanted to ask him how he liked the pictures I sent him, maybe tease him a little bit. His messages to me tapered off a little before lunchtime. I wanted to ask if he got so turned on looking at pictures of my violated ass that he had to find someplace private to rub one out.
I’m also still wearing it. Since he didn’t tell me to take it out, I figured better safe than sorry. I shift uncomfortably, suddenly more conscious of the invasion than I have been in hours.
I try to go back to the drawing I was working on, but I’m distracted. I keep one ear on Jack moving around upstairs. It sounds like he’s changing, but nearly every slam or thump makes me flinch. I’m not worried, exactly. But I’ve never seen Jack in a mood quite this bad, so I’m not sure what to expect when he stomps back downstairs.
“Um, I was just going to heat up the beef stew when you got in,” I say to his back as he heads towards the kitchen without acknowledging me.
He opens the fridge with an audible sigh, mumbling something I can’t make out into its depths before reemerging with a beer and slamming the door closed. After using the edge of a knife to pop the cap off the bottle, he glances up. Meeting my eyes with a scowl, he takes in my raised eyebrows before stalking into the living room. Jack sometimes has a beer or two with dinner, especially if he’s grilling, but I’ve never seen him crack one after work and down it by itself.
I break eye contact first as he flops into the opposite corner of the sofa. He doesn’t look at me again until after he tips the bottle up and takes a long pull.
“Bad day?” I ask, a little tentatively.
He scowls at me and tips the bottle back again without answering right away. “Fucking field trip,” he snaps.
My brain shifts into work mode. I treat him the way I would a cranky, pre-caffeinated customer. “I’m sorry. That sucks,” I say, praying he’ll elaborate.
He blows out a hard exhale and drains his beer. I’m sure my eyes are wide —I’ve never seen him like this. I don’t know what to do except stay in work mode.
“Do you want me to get you another one?”
He shakes his head. “Not going to help. Lord knows I’ll have enough of a fucking headache tomorrow with the little bastards.”
Tomorrow . This gives me something to work with. “Ugh, tomorrow? Really? That sounds, um, sudden.”
He scowls again. I worry until I realize he’s agreeing with me. “Literally nobody else there tomorrow who can handle it. I’d catch shit six ways from Sunday if I made the intern do it —and he’d probably fuck it up anyway —and everybody else capable, competent and qualified isn’t in.”
“Damn. So this just got sprung on you?”
He lets out another long, harsh sigh. “Yup. So tomorrow morning, I’m going to be inundated with forty-something eight, nine, ten —how fucking old are fourth-graders, anyway?”
“Um, I think nine, give or take. So, yeah, you’re right. What do you have to do, or teach them, or whatever?”
“What do you think?” he snarls. “Same shit as when you went there on field trips as a kid.”
I don’t know how to respond to that, so I tell him again I’m sorry this got dumped on him and leave him to scowl into his beer. Jack still doesn’t trust me to actually cook , but I’ve been gaining kitchen privileges slowly. I probably didn’t help myself when I scorched the bottom of a pot because I forgot I was boiling water for eggs. Jack was pretty pissed-off about that one.
I heat up the rest of the beef stew he made the other day. When it starts to smell good, he stirs and brings his glower over to the kitchen island, dropping his weight heavily onto one of the stools. I mimic him, plunking down opposite him.
My eyes fly wide and I yelp. I’d forgotten about that damn plug again. I hop back up like I’m on fire, a hand to my backside.
Jack looks puzzled for a moment before he figures it out. The scowl on his face breaks, and he laughs. Yeah, it’s at my expense, but at this point, I’ll take it.
I shrug and give him a crooked smile. “Forgot I still had it in.”
He smirks. “Don’t tell me I need to upgrade to a bigger one already.” He contemplates me for a moment until a wicked smile curls his lips. “Did you really forget you had it inside you?”
I feel my face flush. “Um, yeah. A couple of times today, actually. At first, it felt really obvious —like, I was practically sure people could see it —” This makes Jack snicker. “But as the day went on, except for you texting me and telling me to send you pictures, it sort of… I don’t know. It stopped feeling weird.”
He shakes his head slowly as he looks at me, his expression still amused. A thought occurs to me. “Ohh… is that why I didn’t hear from you much in the second half of the day? Because you were dealing with that field trip shit?”
His brows drop, and my heart goes with it. “Goddamn it. Just when I’d put it out of my mind,” he mutters.
When we go to bed, Jack doesn’t fuck me, but he makes me pull the plug out of my ass while he watches. When it’s at its widest point, stretching me uncomfortably, he makes me hold it there so he can see me squirm.
He’s still grumbling when his head hits the pillow. There’s a small, bitchy part of me that would love to be a fly on the wall in the nature center tomorrow when Jack has to babysit a bunch of fourth-graders.