Chapter 15
15
SHILOH
I showed up at school way too early this morning, just in my desperation to be out of the house. I can’t help feeling like Dom has left his rotting mark on the place, like the scent of what we did last night still festers in my living room. I’ll have to spray Lysol on every cushion within an inch of its life just to feel like I can’t smell him anymore.
As I enter my classroom, the familiar surroundings calm my nerves. This is my domain. My fingers trail along the graffitied table tops as I make my way to my own desk. Various lesson plans scattered across its surface demand my attention, but I have no doubt that focusing on anything other than the memory of Dom’s gloved hands on my skin will be a Herculean effort today.
I grab a red pen and start marking pop quizzes with more force than necessary. The scratching sound fills the quiet room as I lose myself in the task, undoubtedly scoring a little more harshly than I would on a day when my mood was a little brighter. Just as I'm starting to feel somewhat normal again, a knock at the door disturbs my peace.
“Come in,” I call, confused as to why a student or another teacher would knock instead of walking straight in. First period starts soon, I can already hear most of the student body chattering in the halls.
To my surprise, Lloyd from the post office steps in, arms full of an enormous flower arrangement. The bouquet overflows with bright red and fuchsia blooms, in varieties I can’t name. My jaw drops as he places it on my desk, obscuring half my workspace in the process.
“Delivery for Miss Shiloh Wilson,” he announces gleefully, holding out a clipboard. “Sign here, please.”
I scribble my signature absentmindedly, acutely aware of the whispers and giggles erupting from the students who've begun filtering into the classroom. Heat creeps up my neck as I bid Lloyd farewell with a mumbled thanks.
“Ooh, Miss Wilson! Who are those from?” Liz, the most notoriously popular–and very mean–girl from the junior class squeals as she saunters through the door.
“That's none of your business,” I reply evenly, trying my best to keep my tone light while I’m tempted to tell her to fuck right off.
That’s a little dramatic.
I clear my throat, silently urging myself to get a grip. It’s not Liz’s fault my panties are in such a twist. No, that victory lies solely in the hands of the stepbrother I let pull down an entirely different pair last night.
Not thinking about it. I am not thinking about it.
“Um, okay, everyone take your seats as quickly as possible, please. We've got a lot to cover today.”
As the class settles, I try to shove the flowers to the back of my mind. Easier said than done when they’re a looming gargantuan spectacle in the middle of my classroom. They have to be from Dom. Some misguided peace offering, no doubt. What could the note possibly say?
‘Sorry for spilling my load inside you, I’ve realized that’s a pretty weird thing for a stepbrother to do. Let’s forget the whole thing ever happened?’
I shove the arrangement to the corner of my desk, determined not to let him throw me off balance when the day has barely begun. The last thing I want to think about today is the role I played in the whole twisted mess.
The morning flies by in a flurry of Shakespeare quotes and grammar exercises. When the lunch bell rings I find myself alone in the classroom once again, staring at the damn flowers. Curiosity finally gets the better of me, and I pluck out the small envelope nestled among the blooms.
My fingers tremble slightly as I tear it open, bracing myself for whatever snarky message Dom's left for me. But as I unfold the card, I'm met with... nothing . It's completely blank. No name, no message, not even a florist's logo.
A chill runs down my spine. This isn't Dom's style at all. He'd never miss an opportunity to be smug or take credit for fucking with my head. So, who the hell sent these?
I'm still frowning at the empty card when a voice startles me back to reality. “Earth to Shiloh! You coming to lunch or what?”
I look up to see Luke leaning against the doorframe, his massive arms crossed over his chest and one blonde eyebrow raised comically high. “Sorry, yeah, I let myself get distracted. I’m coming now.”
I tuck the card into my pocket and follow him to the teacher's lounge, where the rest of our little group is already gathered. As soon as I sit down, I'm met with knowing grins.
“So,” Ruby leans in. “Spill it immediately. Who's the lucky guy?”
I blink, my mind as blank as that infernal card. “What?”
“Oh, come on,” she giggles. “The flowers? Half the school's talking about it already.”
“Oh, I... I don't know,” I admit, pulling out my sad excuse for a lunch–a slightly squashed peanut butter sandwich I threw together in my haste to leave the house this morning. “There wasn't a card.”
This response elicits a chorus of intrigued “ Ooh ”s from the group. I take a bite of my sandwich to avoid having to say more.
“Maybe you've got yourself a secret admirer,” Luke wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, causing Greyson to punch him playfully in the bicep. “About time, if you ask me. How long has it been since you've been on a date, anyway?”
I nearly choke on my mouthful of sticky bread. If they only knew what–or rather who– I’d done last night. But that thought only makes me feel nauseated. These are my friends. I should be able to tell them anything. And yet, that’s a secret I’ll be taking to my grave.
“I’m not holding out for some mystery man,” I finally manage. “Or any man, for that matter. I'm perfectly happy with my quiet little life here, and my books.”
“Amen to that,” Jemma pipes up. I can always count on her to echo such a sentiment.
The conversation mercifully shifts to other topics, the group clearly sensing my less-than-gleeful outlook on the whole subject. But my mind keeps wandering back, keeping me from fully hearing the conversation. The unanswered questions nag at me the entire lunch hour, until I’m convinced I’m losing my mind all over again.
As the bell signals the start of the next period, I hurriedly gather my things and power walk back to my classroom. As I lecture about the symbolism in " The Great Gatsby, " my eyes keep darting to the gratuitous arrangement. While its cloying scent permeates the room, I can’t help but think of the cloaked figure at Fairchild Manor. If some prankster out there is determined to fuck with me, they’re getting exactly what they want.
And if it’s not Dom, what the fuck did I do to deserve two psychos on my ass?
I catch a few students exchanging curious glances and have to resist the urge to snap at them that I’m totally fucking fine . I force myself to focus on Fitzgerald's prose, on the green light at the end of Daisy's dock–on anything but those damn flowers.
By the time the final bell rings, I'm mentally and emotionally exhausted. I slump into my chair as the last student files out, rubbing my temples to ward off an impending headache. The bouquet still mocks me from its perch, the vibrant colors a stark contrast to my stormy mood.
With a sigh, I start packing up my things. As much as I'd love to leave the arrangement here and deal with it tomorrow, I know the rumors would only run wild if it looked like I was rejecting the gift. Reluctantly, I gather the vase in my arms, casting one last glance around the classroom before flicking off the lights. I’m certain they’d look much better decorating the inside of my trash can.
The cool evening air hits my flushed face as I step into the parking lot, a welcome relief after a day in a stuffy classroom filled with nosy teenagers. My arms already ache from carrying the flowers this far, and I can't wait to be rid of them and sit back with a much-needed glass of wine. Despite what Dom may think, I don’t have an alcohol problem. But I do seem to have a problem with unwanted attention.
I fumble for my keys, barely managing to juggle the vase and my book-laden bag. Finally, I manage to unlock the car and chuck the flowers on the passenger seat. With a sigh of relief, I slide behind the wheel, ready to put this place in my rearview.
I turn the key in the ignition. Nothing happens. Frowning, I try again. The engine sputters weakly but refuses to turn over. "Come on, you piece of junk," I mutter, giving it one more attempt. Still nothing.
Frustration bubbles up inside me as I pop the hood and climb out of the car.
Could things really get any worse?
I stare at the engine, quickly realizing I have no clue what I'm supposed to be looking at. Looking around for any kind of small miracle, I find the parking lot is deserted. Because, of course, this would happen to me on the day I’m the last to leave.
“Shit,” I curse under my breath, slamming the hood shut. I lean against the car, pulling out my phone to call for reinforcements. Greyson's number is at the top of my favorites list, and I tap it impatiently.
It rings once, twice, then goes to voicemail. “Hey, it's Greyson. Leave a message.”
“Hey man, are you busy? My car won't start, and I'm stuck at school. Call me back ASAP, please!”
I end the call and immediately dial my dad’s number next. It rings and rings, but still, no one picks up. I leave another desperate message, the slight crack in my voice betraying my growing frustration.
As I lower the phone again, the reality of my situation sinks in. I'm alone in an empty parking lot, with a useless car and a very long walk home. I silently curse myself for not buying a house closer to the high school. The sun is setting, casting long shadows across the asphalt, and an involuntary shiver wracks my spine.
I glance back down at my phone screen, thumb still hovering over the contacts list. There's one more person I could call, but the thought makes my stomach churn. Asking Dom for help would feel like admitting defeat, like proving him right about me wanting him around.
I pace back and forth for a few minutes, weighing my options. I could wait here and hope someone shows up, but there’s no way of knowing if that could happen before the morning. I could try walking, but it's miles to my house and the sunlight is rapidly disappearing.
“Fuck it,” I mutter, hitting Dom's number before I can remind myself of all the reasons it’s a terrible idea.
A shock to absolutely no one, he’s the person who picks up on the second ring. “Well, this is a surprise… Miss me already?”
His taunting tone immediately sets my teeth on edge. “Don't flatter yourself,” I snap. “Look, I wouldn't be calling if I had any other choice. My car won't start, and I'm stuck at school. Can you...can you come pick me up?”
There's a long pause, and I can practically hear his smug smile. "Now why would I want to do that? Will there be a goodnight kiss in it for me?"
I close my eyes, swallowing my pride along with a not-so-healthy dose of acidic shame. “Please, Dom. I've had a really long day, and I just want to go home.”
Another pause. “Fine. I'll be there in ten minutes. Try not to freeze to death before I arrive.”
The line goes dead before I can respond. I shove my phone back in my bag and wrap my arms tightly around myself, relief and dread swirling in my stomach.
The next ten minutes feel like an eternity. I pace the parking lot, checking the time obsessively. I think about the flowers, still sitting discarded in my useless car. Dom didn’t mention them on the phone. If he had sent them, surely, he would be demanding my simpering gratitude.
The conversation from lunch keeps replaying in my head. A secret admirer? If only my friends knew the truth–that the only man occupying my thoughts right now is my insufferable stepbrother who just happens to have given me the best orgasm of my life.
As the sky darkens to a deep indigo, headlights appear at the entrance to the parking lot. My heart rate picks up as Dom's sleek black car pulls up beside me, the engine purring smoothly before he cuts it off.
He steps out, looking annoyingly put-together as usual in a crisp white shirt and dark slacks. His eyes rake over me slowly, taking in my disheveled appearance. “Rough day, Teach?"
I bite back a scathing retort, no doubt he’d love to see me riled again so soon. “Can we just go? I'd like to salvage what's left of my evening.”
He holds up his hands in mock surrender. “By all means. Your chariot awaits.”
I hesitate for a moment, staring at the car. Getting in feels like crossing a line, like opening myself up to whatever game Dom's playing. But as a biting wind whips through the parking lot, I realize I don't have much choice.