by Lauren Runow
I’m a teacher, and knowing he’s still in school suddenly has me looking at him like he’s one of my students.
“I should go.” I grab my purse and jacket before sliding against him, motioning for him to let me out of the booth.
“Why?” he asks, exasperated. “Just look at me.”
His hands grip my arms, as he’s willing me to meet his eyes. My focus is down.
“Look at me, Harper!”
I give in. I stop fighting and stare into his intense blues.
“What do you see?” he asks. “When you look at me, what do you see?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“You didn’t think I was young when you met me. You didn’t think of me as younger when I kissed you the first time. It took your breath away, and I know it because it took mine away, too.”
“It has nothing to do with that.” I try to move, but he slides his hands down to mine and grips them. “You didn’t think I was a child when we scoured the city and drank and danced and laughed.”
My shoulders fall. “Tanner—”
“I’m a man, Harper. A man who knows every curve of your body because I painted them, caressed them. A man who sat in a library and fell for a woman who feels more than every person in this entire city combined. A man who has known loss and pain and knows like hell when he sees the woman he wants to be with.”
My breaths are shaky. My eyes widen as I hold back … I don’t even know what it is I’m holding back.
“I’m sorry, Tanner. I need a moment to think. That’s all.” I push against him.
His head falls as he scoots over and slides out of the booth, stepping back so as not to touch me.
I rise from the booth. “I think I should go.”
“You like doing that, don’t you? Leaving.”
I gasp. Millions of things run through my mind, but I can’t for the life of me think of what to say in return. We stare in a stand-off for a few seconds before he slides his hands in his pockets and looks away.
I start to leave but stop myself. “You know, it doesn’t matter anyway. You’re moving back to San Francisco.”
“Nice excuse.”
“Thanks for the memories.”
“Yeah, you’ve already thanked me—a couple of times actually.”
He sits down in a huff, and I don’t know if I should be offended or absolutely heartbroken by his statement. I’m a little bit of both.
No matter how upset I am over walking away from Tanner, I can’t leave Willa here, alone. I start my search on the dance floor where I saw them last, but they’re nowhere to be found.
Heading toward the back of the club, I search for Willa among the young partygoers. I get a few looks and even a few cackles from some guys asking if—you guessed it—I’m an elementary school teacher. Nice to know I at least play the role correctly even if it’s in a place I don’t want to be recognized.
Getting more frustrated by the minute, I head toward the restroom, praying she’s in a long line and that’s why I can’t find her. A couple making out against a dark wall catches my eye, and when I see a female leg wrap around the waist of a guy, I notice the shoes that Willa borrowed from April before we left for the night.
With nothing but aggravation at the situation, at my age, and at myself for walking away from Tanner, I step up to them, tapping Willa on the shoulder and saying, “We need to leave. Well, I’m leaving. You can stay if you’d like. I just wanted to let you know that I have to go.”
Ryan pulls back, shocked at first to be interrupted so rudely and even more shocked when he sees me standing here.
“Is everything okay?” Willa asks.
“I’m not feeling well,” I say.
Ryan wraps his arm around her waist and brings her into him, speaking to me. “You can go. I’ll take good care of her.”
Willa reaches up and runs her fingers through his hair. “I have a feeling I won’t be going home for a long time. Don’t worry; I won’t ghost Ryan in the morning.” She’s making a joke.
Ryan steps back, covering his mouth and saying, “Ooh.”
They think they’re being funny. Before, we were toasting to one-night stands. They have no idea I’m not in the mood to laugh.
“You just met this guy, and you’ve already decided you’re going to sleep with him?” I say, rather accusatory.
Willa’s jaw falls. “I can’t believe you just said that.”
“You just met Ryan,” I state.
“How long did you know Tanner before you went home with him?” She’s not really interested in the actual time frame. More like trying to make a point.
“More than thirty minutes!” I sigh, feeling more than deflated. I’m acting like such a bitch.
“Just tell Tanner I’ll see him later,” Ryan says to me, but his eyes are back on Willa.
“You’ll have to tell him yourself. Have a great night, guys. You’re … just be safe, okay?”
Ryan drops his head to Willa’s shoulder before turning to me. “Are you leaving him? Again?”
“It’s not going to work out.”
“Damn it,” he growls. “She has no idea,” I hear him say to Willa as I walk away.
When I pass the booth, our glasses are still on the table, but Tanner is nowhere to be seen. He’s not by the bouncer when I exit, and he’s not on the sidewalk as I leave.
Closing my eyes, I try to fight the sting of tears and shake the feelings away. While I might be upset that Tanner is younger than me, I’ve never felt so childish in my entire life. And the only one I have to blame is myself.
12
TANNER
“Fuck!” I call out as I watch her taxi pull off from the curb.
When she left the booth and headed toward the restrooms, I walked right up to the bar and ordered a shot. It was strong and burned, but it did the job.
When I saw Harper again, she was standing outside the building, hailing a cab. I fought with myself over going after her. By the time I came to my senses and got outside, she was driving away.
This is why I don’t date women my age. I can’t take the drama, can’t stand the bullshit. Yet here I am, standing in the street, calling after the back of a fucking cab that’s driving away with my older girlfriend. Maybe it’s just women in general.
How’s that for drama on a Friday night?
“Tanner, what the hell are you doing?” Derek calls from his post.
I hop back onto the sidewalk and out of the way of the cars honking at me. Inside the bar, I grab an open stool, smashing myself in between a group of horny coeds and a guy trying desperately to argue sports stats with his buddy.
I order three shots and a beer. I take the first and hiss through my teeth.
“Hey there, stranger.” Laney Shultz from class appears. Since she has to squeeze in, her body is flush to my side.
In class, she wears Juicy sweats. At the bar, she always does herself up. Tonight, she’s got on tight jeans and a sequined halter top that’s cut low. If I were Chris, I’d tell her she had nice tits. Lucky for her, I’m not. Plus, hers aren’t the ones I want.
I take my next shot. It goes down smooth.
She bites her lip. “You drinking alone tonight?”
I slide the third shot over to her while taking a swig of my beer.
She lifts the glass and drinks. With the shake of her head, she shivers. “That’s good.”
She pushes the empty glass back past me, toward the edge of the bar. Her breasts brush up against me.
I clear my throat and lean back. It’s an attempt to move away from her. All it really does is give me a better angle to look down her shirt.
She grins. “I thought I saw you sitting with a girl before. Was that your girlfriend?”
“I don’t have a girlfriend.” I seethe at the thought.
“Can I buy you a drink?”
“How about the bottle?”
I’m not the type to drink away my sorrows. That’s Austin’s deal. I don’t wo
rk away my anger. That’s Bryce. Me? I like to paint, and that’s the last thing I feel like doing. So, bottoms up!
Laney leans her elbow on the bar and tilts her head. “You don’t seem like you want to be in a crowded room tonight. Let’s take the party somewhere quieter.”
She’s right. Not only is this really not my scene, but it’s also the last place I want to be right now. And I know that, if I leave, I’ll be tempted to follow Harper home to find out … what? Why she doesn’t want to date a twenty-two-year-old?
Good idea, Sexton. I’m sure standing outside her door, buzzing her bell and throwing rocks at her window, will show off your maturity.
“Tell you what,” she whispers in my ear. “I have a bottle of tequila in my freezer. Why don’t we go back to my place and save a few bucks?”
I raise my brows. “What kind of tequila?”
The music is getting louder as the night gets later, so Laney has to speak into my ear. “The cheap kind.” She giggles. “Does it matter?”
Little does she know, the shot she just downed was Don Julio. I have a pretty decent palate when it comes to liquor.
Her body is now fully twisted into the front of mine, so much so that I can see the flecks of glitter on her face from her makeup.
“No, I suppose it doesn’t.” I finish off my beer and tap it on the bar.
“Ryan is making out with someone in the corner, and Chris is macking on some girl in the back.”
Ryan is hooking up with Harper’s friend. At least one of us is getting lucky tonight.
“Good for them.”
“So”—she bites her lip—“what do you say?”
I pull out my phone, hoping for a call or text from Harper. There’s nothing.
Laney is looking at me with a kind smile, and there’s a bottle of tequila waiting for us in her freezer.
“I say, let’s get the hell out of here.”
I wait outside while Laney says good-bye to her friends. Her apartment isn’t far from the bar, just a few blocks. I’ve been there before to study and a few times to pregame back in freshman year. That was when I tried to do the college-partying thing and quickly realized I was more of a gin-and-jive kinda guy.
She comes out with no coat on, and I want to curse her. I hand her mine.
“You’ll freeze,” I say. “What kind of friends let you leave your apartment in a sleeveless top?”
She smiles. “Guess I need someone like you to look after me.”
“It’s called common sense.”
“It’s chivalry, and it’s dead.”
I agree, “Apparently.”
We turn the corner, our feet keeping a quick pace due to the cold weather.
“I’m right up here.” She points toward her building that houses student apartments.
“I remember,” I say.
“That’s right. You’ve been here before. Never alone though.” There’s a look in her eye as she says that, and it makes me do a double take of my actions.
This is how guys get themselves into trouble. When a girl asks a guy to come over for a drink, he walks over the threshold with absolutely no idea if she’s asking him to bed or if she really just wants him to come up for a shot of tequila. I’ve never insinuated anything from a woman. I also hope I’m not giving her the wrong impression either.
As we approach the complex, she takes out her key and turns the lock.
“Laney,” I call out to her.
She stops and faces me.
“When you said a drink, did you mean a drink, or were you asking me to come up for something else?”
Her eyes bug out. “Wow. No one has ever asked me that before. Um … well, I do have a bottle inside, so I really am asking you to have a drink.”
I sigh in relief and take a step forward. I don’t know what I’m feeling right now about Harper, and I’ve already had a few too many to drink. I don’t need the headache of waking up next to a woman I have no intention of hurting.
“Wait,” she says, and I halt. Her eyes close as she pinches them in embarrassment. “Okay, yes. I have thought about going to bed with you many times. Many times,” she repeats herself and then opens her eyes. “I’m not saying come upstairs for a cheap fuck, but if I’m totally honest, I’m not opposed to the idea of going to bed with you tonight.” She fidgets with her keys in her hand as she says, “Yes. I asked you to have a drink with every intention of us having sex tonight.”
I take a step back. “I can’t.”
“Is it me?”
“I have a girl.”
“You just said you didn’t have a girlfriend.”
I run my fingers through my hair. “I don’t. It’s complicated.”
She lets out an exasperated laugh. “I’ll say. She left you at the bar. How long have you been going out that you’re already fighting like an old married couple?”
“Three dates.”
“Three!” She holds up a hand. “You can’t possibly be that into a girl after three dates. Listen, Tanner, I tried to play coy with you, but that didn’t work. I tried to be the friend. That didn’t work. Now, I’m laying it all out on the table. I want you. Bad. You’re leaving in a few weeks, so it’s now or never. So, if you want to come upstairs with me, I promise I’ll ride you so hard that I’ll make you forget all about whoever she is.”
While I never pictured Laney as the type of girl to offer herself up for a fuck, I also never pictured myself turning one down. And that’s what I’m going to do because, as pissed as I am at Harper, as much as I have no damn clue if things will work out between us, I know for certain that I can’t be with any other woman tonight because all I’ll do is close my eyes and picture her.
“I’m sorry, Laney. Have a good night.” I turn to leave.
“Wait,” she calls out, and I stop. “This just got weird really fast.” She blows out a deep breath. “Don’t go. Because, now, I feel weird that this conversation ever took place, and it might scar me for the rest of my life.”
I laugh lightly at her brutal honesty. “It’s my fault. I asked the question.”
She rolls her eyes. “Just come up for a drink.”
“Just a drink?” I ask.
She smiles demurely. “I thought we were drinking the bottle?”
I probably shouldn’t, but damn if I’ve done anything that makes sense lately. Against my better judgment, I follow Laney upstairs for that drink.
13
HARPER
After having the absolute worst sleep of my life, I wake to a call from my dad. Seeing his name flash across the screen this early in the morning makes my heart race.
“Is everything okay?” I ask in a panic.
He exhales into the phone. “Mommy’s fine. It was a rough night, and I needed to talk to someone.”
My heart aches for my dad. My mother should be in a rehabilitation center, but he won’t have it. According to him, they’ll just wheel her into a corner and make her watch TV all day. Not that she does much more at home. She has a steady schedule of game shows and talk shows before Dad comes home from work.
Her home health aide cares for her during the day, and at night, my dad wheels her everywhere and even changes her diapers. He puts himself through hell to take care of her, but he won’t have it any other way.
“Talk to me about it,” I say as I sit up and try to wipe the sleep from my eyes.
“Nah, I wanna hear about my sweet pea. I haven’t spoken to you in a few days. What have you been up to?” The inflection in his voice rises a little at the thought of hearing about my life.
I wish I had better news to tell him.
“I think I screwed up.” No matter how old I get, I’ll always be the girl who needs her father’s advice.
“I highly doubt it. What happened? Is it something with school? Please tell me it’s not that scumbag Aaron.” My dad has a thick New York accent that makes him sound like Robert De Niro.
“It’s officially over with him.”
“You have no
idea how happy I am to hear that. He was—”
“I know; you never liked him. You made that clear.” I stand up and walk to a mirror in the living room where I see the puffy bags I have under my eyes and my ringlets that are like little rat’s nests. “It’s not about Aaron.”
“Well then, what is it?”
“I met someone else.”
There’s a pause. I can hear the sound of the pilot light igniting on his stove. I bet he’s making himself some scrambled eggs.
“That was fast.”
“I wasn’t planning on meeting anyone; that’s for sure. He’s someone I met in a bar. We went to a speakeasy—which you’d love, by the way. We hit it off. And then I screwed up—big time.”
“Yeah, you said that.” He laughs. “If you just met him, how could things have gone south so fast?”
“Well, he’s a little younger than me.”
“At your age, it’s not that big of a deal. I mean, he’s not a student of yours, is he?”
“Dad!” I say in shock.
“I read the paper. It’s always the female teachers who bed the high school kids. The women are always pretty, too. Can’t blame a sixteen-year-old when your busty blonde teacher wants to take you home.” He chuckles. My dad has always been there to say the craziest things to get a rise out of people.
“That’s so wrong, and you know it.”
“Hey, in my day, it would have gotten you a free drink at the bar.”
“Today, it gets the teacher a one-way ticket to jail.”
My dad is still laughing. He is such a throwback from Long Island City and a time when rules were made to be broken and you were rewarded for it. The comical part is that, where my dad’s friends have cut corners in life, he’s always played the straight and narrow.
“He’s not a student of mine, but he is a student,” I say.
“In high school?” he asks seriously.
“No, not high school.”
“Is he eighteen at least?”
“Dad, Jesus, you make me sound like a pedophile.”
“You’re the one who’s making it seem that way. So, he’s over eighteen?”
“Yes, he’s twenty-two.”
