12. Bad Idea – Mar
CHAPTER 12
BAD IDEA
MAR
The last thing I remember is being wrapped up in Sihn like I was prey in a spider’s web. Would he hold me captive until he’s drained me dry of orgasms much like a spider keeps its prey until they have drained them of their blood? He’s gone now. He’s not in bed at least. He’s possibly still in the house, although I don’t hear any commotion.
His house is small, but he told me he owns it. He’s like a real adult, aside from the whole pro-wrestler thing. I’m not looking for anything long-term at the moment, but if I were, would he be able to commit? A guy like Sihn is sure to have girls flaunting all over him, just waiting for their chance. There is a dating pool full of girls who look hot in a bikini on a beach. Arm candy a plenty. I wouldn’t say I’m unattractive in a swimsuit, but I have hips and curves, and I’m so tall. Not your typical beach bunny.
In grade school, a girl referred to me as a monster. I’ve never forgotten that remark. It was picture day, and she said, ‘Monster needs to be in the back row for our class photo.’ No matter how many times I’ve been complimented, I can’t shake feeling like a gigantic monster every time I walk into a room full of petite bombshells. I tower over most people.
All my life I have always tried to look shorter somehow. Pants never seem to be long enough so I wear tight-fitting ones most of the time and look like I’m wearing capri’s, even in the winter. I’ve never owned a pair of heels. Until Sihn, I have been taller than all the other men I’ve dated. It never lasted because they couldn’t take me being the taller person in the relationship.
I roll over in his bed, smelling his scent, and scream into the pillow. I am in way over my head. Starting today I am going to let go of my insecurities and be the best version of myself. A confident version of myself. I’m tall, yes. I’m beautiful, yes. Will I ride this ride—the ride being, Sihn—until my ticket expires? Yes.
Sihn’s muffled voice penetrates through the pillow I have wrapped around my head. “Um, are you okay?”
Holy fuck. I was having a temper-tantrum-meltdown-come-to-reality moment and he saw it! Instead of being mortified, I’m supposed to be confident Mar, I remind myself. I fling the pillow off my head and jump from the bed. My side begins to hurt from getting up so abruptly, but I don’t let that stop me.
Confidently, I say, “I thought you left me alone like I did you at Verdi’s place.” I am even more concerned about falling for him now than I was then when I hightailed it out of there.
“You were screaming…” He’s standing before me with a towel wrapped around his waist and water drips from his hair down on his collarbones and slowly makes its way down his pecs and abdomen. He grasps the closure of his towel at the front with one hand, opening it for me.
I gulp at the sight of him, even though only a few hours earlier he was balls deep inside of me. Somehow him standing in the doorway in nothing but a towel having a conversation with me is arousing. I have got to get it together. “Yeah, mostly because you’re in a spot in your life where I don’t think I fit, but…” I trail off unsure of where I want to go with this conversation. “What time is it?”
“It’s almost five. I have a meeting. It’s kind of a weekly thing. You could come…”
I wave my hands in front of me. “Oh, no….no, no, no. I’ve already been here too long, and I’m sure once I find my phone, it will have several missed calls from my parents.” There isn’t much in the room, but I toss the blanket and sheets around looking for my cellphone.
“You’re really not a bother.” I look up at him like an anxious doe caught in headlights, and he points behind him. “I’m gonna go finish getting ready while you finish with…whatever this is you’re doing.” His lips pull at the side into a panty-dropping smirk.
I huff and flip over the two pillows on his bed. My phone has to be here somewhere.
Before turning the corner down the hall, he says, “I think I heard your phone ringing in the living room. Do you have an actual ringtone? I thought everyone left their phones on silent?”
Horrified that Verdi might have phoned instead of my parents, I say, “Um, yeah. What was the ringtone?”
Using his fingers to make air quotes, he chuckles, “This is your parents’ calling. Honey, please answer the phone so we don’t worry.”
I smile. “I kind of have this thing where I have the people in my life record a voice message, and I use that voice message as their ‘ringtone’.” I shrug, but I’m thankful it wasn’t Verdi’s. Hers is, ‘Bitch, answer your phone unless you’re getting ass, then switch it to a video call so I can watch!’ It’s a joke, she never actually wants to see that, but it sure makes my cheeks pink when I forget to silence my phone in certain places.
When I surface from my thoughts, Sihn is gone from the doorway.
I pull the shirt off he gave me to sleep in and toss it in a hamper near his door. Quickly, I dress back in the outfit I arrived in eight hours ago. We slept for six, or at least I slept for six, of them. I’m unsure if he slept at all. He’s probably like some sort of half-man half-creature who doesn’t need sleep.
I find him in his living room slipping on a pair of shoes as the nightly news plays muted on the screen. He has subtitles turned on. I haven’t taken him for the news-watching type in the little time I’ve known him. Or the subtitle using type.
He takes in my change in appearance while I take in his. He now has on a pair of cargo shorts and a faded shirt that has a logo on it for POW!—he’s covering up all the needed things. “Why’d you take my shirt off? I know the band is shitty, but you’re fucking hot in it.” He stands and moves his hand down his chest as if to dust off lint from his shirt.
“If I showed up back home with a shirt three sizes too big, my parents would have questions that I’m not ready to answer yet.” No way am I telling them that I am currently casually sleeping with a pro-wrestler who used to like the band BUSH.
“And why’s that?” he asks as if it’s a casual thing to be asking. Like he thinks I’m being absurd. There is no way he wants whatever it is we’re doing to be a thing .
“Mostly, because I don’t know what we’re doing. It’s fun and I’m okay with that. We don’t have to name it. And I’m not going to act like in the past I wouldn’t have made the guy name it, but I don’t want to mess up this good thing we have going by demanding things I don’t even know I want. Society says as women we should always be looking for our mate. Settle down. Get married. Have kids. I’m fine with spending time with you for now if that’s something you also want?”
He simply replies, “It is.”
I inch closer to the door. “Well, I, just, um, message me the next time you’re free.”
“But of course.” He leans down and kisses my temple. It’s sweet. I turn and exit his house.
Monday mornings suck. I think for everyone. Tomorrow the online class I’m teaching begins, and I’m a bundle of nerves. In-person teaching was a dud, but what if online teaching is a dud too? What will I do? What else can I possibly do with a master’s in teaching?
Something inside of me, probably the nerves, tells me I should check my email.
Inside, I find several junk emails and one from my new boss, Gertrude Millhouse. In a not-so-nice email tone, she orders me to upload my syllabus, which makes sense, but she also requests that I upload all my assignments for the entire course. The entire course?!
This is a complete and total horrible idea.
In the nicest way I can, I remind Gertrude Millhouse, who must be increasing in age, that her demands are a bad idea.
One, allowing fifteen-year-olds access to everything from day one will only increase the chance that they cheat by using free online sources. Two, there will be no reason for them to engage in the entire six-week summer course when they can complete them all now or procrastinate. Three, the reason they are enrolled in a summer course is because they failed the original course. Last, it gives students enough time to not only do their own work but to charge money to do other’s work and make it different enough that I can’t confirm plagiarism.
This is a bad idea, and I also only have the work ready for this first week. I had planned to use this entire week to get myself together.
I have doubts that Gertrude will see it my way, so even though I had planned to spend my day helping at Coffey Cafe, I’ll be spending my day creating a week’s worth of assignments in mere hours.
The hours fly by, and thankfully my parents would rather I excel outside of their coffee shop. They encouraged me to do whatever I needed to do to secure this job, even though it would only be temporary. I neglected to tell them that. I don’t want them to worry that their only daughter isn’t going to be able to make it on her own in life.
When I can barely keep my eyes open, I submit the syllabus along with all assignments aside from the final. Gertrude is likely asleep and won’t receive my email until the morning.
I haven’t checked my phone in what feels like all day. I left it on silent and shoved it under my pillow so it couldn’t distract me. There’s a new message from Mom that was sent way earlier in the day telling me she hopes I complete what I need to. Then another from her asking if I’d like to go out to eat with her and Dad at the local buffet place. They’d have gone and been back already by now, but I don’t like buffets anyway.
A missed call and voicemail from Verdi. I listen to the voicemail. “Girl, missed you at the cafe today. Sihn was in and asked about you. I told him you had a meeting with your hot new boss! You can thank me later. Love ya!”
Thank her later… She has lost her mind. Gertrude is very much a woman, or at least I think. If she is a man, she’s old and not anyone I’d be interested in.
While I’m contemplating ending my friendship with Verdi, a message comes through from Sihn.
Sihn: Friday night. After my match. My place. Eat beforehand because all I wanna eat is you.
This guy knows how to make a girl’s panties wet.