Chapter 5
Natalie
Nat: What's up prez? Anything wild go down last night that I missed out on??
Candace: Definitely not, the girls and I were in bed by nine.
Nat: Boring! :) Next time you have to come out with me. The band was amazing!
Candace: I’ve actually never been to a concert.
Nat: You’ve never been to a concert!?! We are so popping that cherry!
Nat: Blink-182 coming next month…but you seem more like a Coldplay or Death Cab fan.
Candace: No idea what any of that means, but it sounds fun.
Nat: Hey what’s your favorite donut?
Candace: I don’t eat a lot of sweets, but I guess glazed.
The next morning, my phone’s plastered to my face as I try to wake up. The Prez was smart for calling it an early night. This hangover is so strong it feels like my teeth rotted inside my brain.
“This place is fucking rank.” Megan–my sister from another mister–sneers as she strolls in without knocking. Her oversized black shirt hangs off her like it belongs to someone else, it’s clearly laundry day.
“Don’t look at me. We agreed we wouldn’t smoke here, and you promised you’d take care of the trash.” We had a lengthy conversation before moving in, that we’d stay on top of the chores, unlike the last apartment that we basically left condemned.
“Who are you texting this early? Did you hook up with someone last night?” Her sticky fingers grab hold of the book I have on the floor, flipping through its pages.
“You were with me the whole time, dumbass. No, I didn’t hook up with anyone but myself, seeing as I still haven’t found my lucky vibrator.” I side-eye her suspiciously.
Shrugging, she turns around and leaves with the book, slamming the door behind her. “Best friends share everything!” Her voice echoes from the other side.
“The fuck they do! We’re not sharing dildos, you sick fuck!” I shout back at her.
Rolling out of bed, I tie my hair up in a giant bun and head for the shower, hoping to sweat out the alcohol before educating the young minds of today.
When I pull up to the school–in my correct spot this time– I notice Candace’s white minivan is already here.
Damn, does that woman ever go home? She might as well get a job here.
Grabbing the donuts and my iced coffee, I head inside.
My classroom is a couple of doors down from where we meet, so on my way, I peek inside, noting she’s alone.
“I got you a present.” I do a double-take, making sure Avon representative Betty isn’t hiding in the shadows. “There’s a donut shop literally across from my building. My credit card’s about to be used and abused.”
My pulse rises when I see she’s on the ground, huddled over a poster. The navy dress she’s sporting hangs low, exposing lace from her bra and the smallest bit of cleavage. She’s way out of my league and, as far as I know, straight, but there’s no harm in looking, right?
She stands up and brushes off any debris, then reaches for the donut. “Thank you. That was so sweet, you didn’t have to do that.”
Our fingers graze as I hand her the sticky pastry. Our fingers graze as I hand her the sticky pastry, and I notice how soft her hands are. The smell of vanilla and coconut fills the air, and if it didn’t make me a creep, I’d take a big sniff, in hopes it’d stayed in my nostrils all day.
Her pink, glossy lips part as she takes a small bite, and my stomach plummets.
Her pouty lips are sticky from the glaze, with a few remnants of dough leftover.
Before she can get to it, I reach over and wipe the corner of her mouth.
She stares up at me with jaw-dropping hazel eyes, rings of yellow, mixed with green, creating a one-of-a-kind color that I can’t stop admiring.
Like always, her makeup is light, highlighting her naturally beautiful features.
Her wide smile brings me back to reality, just in time to notice my hand on her fucking mouth. I back away and turn towards the door at a comically slow pace.
“Thank you for the donut, I’ll see you later,” she calls, but the door closes before I have a chance to reply.
Remember when I said I was only going to look?
Well, about that. Licking the glaze off my finger may be inappropriate or gross if you’re a germaphobe, but I needed to taste her.
Expecting me to go wash my hands or ignore the fact that her lip gloss is literally on the tip of my finger is like asking a child not to stick their hand in an open cookie jar.
You’re an idiot if you think I’m not gonna lick the hell out of my finger right now.
What is wrong with me? Maybe that vibrator’s been missing longer than I remember, and all I need is a mind-blowing orgasm to stop acting like a horny teenager.
“Sup, ladies.” I say confidently, proving these bitches don’t scare me. After the day I’ve had, I’ll gladly take on the carpool mafia. Either teenagers have gotten dumber, or teachers are taking too many sick days, because none of these kids know who Anna Karenina is, and that’s a travesty.
I’m relieved to see Candace already sitting in her presidential chair at the head of the table, and her smile perks up as I sit next to her. When none of these robots respond, I light a fire under their asses, hoping it sparks a conversation.
“So, how many women’s lives were changed this weekend when the Avon representative showed up at their door?”
“Listen here, you little twat.” Betty slams her fist on the table. “I’ve been the lead district saleswoman three quarters in a row.”
“Wow, you don’t say! That's amazing, I’m sure your husband is so proud. Did he fuck you with the lights on as your prize?” I lean back in my chair, laughing internally.
A gentle hand covers mine, and immediately the show is over.
Candace has a mom-in-charge look on her face, so I back off.
There’s no way anything other than friendship is going to happen between this princess and me.
I can’t put my finger on it, but there’s something about her approval that I’m craving.
“The spirit week posters are finished and hanging in the hallway. Don’t forget we still need volunteers for the dance.
It’s only a couple of hours, ladies.” Her eyes circle the women, who are all avoiding eye contact.
Seeing her disappointed is like watching a puppy left out in the rain, and my black heart can’t handle it.
“I’ll do it, volunteer or whatever. As long as I can spike the punch,” I joke.
“She’s joking,” Candace says, her lips curling into a smile. “Thank you. I really appreciate that.” Her hand stays on mine, giving three squeezes. We’re just friends, we’re just friends. I’ll repeat over and over until it sticks, meaning I’ll be chanting it till I die.
“If you’re not busy tonight, you’re more than welcome to join us for book club. It’s hosted at my house on Monday’s,” Candace offers.
The meeting was the snoozefest I predicted, and I’m internally kicking myself for volunteering to supervise a bunch of teenagers. All these women preach, pretending to be passionate about bake sales, but not one of them looked in Candace’s direction when she asked for help.
Candace leads the way to her car, giving me a spectacular view of her backside as she struts to the parking lot. Shit, just friends. “That depends on what you’re reading?”
“The Duke’s forbidden secret.” She pulls the novel out of her purse to show me.
Wow, exactly what I expected. Of course, these women sit around reading historical romances. Why feed your mind with the imaginative words of Charles Bukowski, when you can rot your brain with four hundred pages of a duke hiding his erection from the housemaid?
“It’s okay if you're busy. Don’t even worry about it. Forget I asked, you’ve got way cooler things to do than hang around a bunch of old married women.” Her cheeks blush as she fidgets with the folded pages of the book.
“I don’t have plans. I’d love to hear what The Duke’s packing under his pantaloons.”
“You’re going to have so much fun. I’ll text you my address. We always meet at seven, it’s pretty casual.”
“Cool,” I nod. Our versions of casual are opposite, but I’m still interested to see how these women behave outside of school. My guess is probably not any better, especially with that scandalous romance novel in their possession.