by Ava Harrison
I calculate how long it’s been since I had a drink. A few hours, at least. “Yep. We can drive up to my mom’s place. They’re in the south of France right now.” I roll my eyes.
As I turn on the car, I pray she doesn’t ask me details of my night, and luck is on my side. By the time we pull out of the driveway, Bridget is already sound asleep.
THE EARLY MORNING SUN CASCADES across the room, bathing me in iridescent streams of white light. It filters through my thin eyelids, causing me to flicker them open. With a stretch of my arms and a giant yawn, I check the clock. It’s a little after nine in the morning. Turning to my left, I find Bridget still asleep in the other queen bed in the room. My stomach rumbles as I wring the last bit of remaining sleep from my body. God, am I hungry.
“Bridge?”
“Hmm,” she grumbles from under the pillow.
“Food?”
“Hmm . . . what?” It’s obvious she’s talking in her sleep. Oh, well, she’ll come down when she wakes. I stand from the bed and make my way toward the door.
“I’m going to brush my teeth then head downstairs. If you need me, holler.” She probably doesn’t hear me, but still worth trying one more time.
After freshening up in the bathroom, I head downstairs. The house is peaceful. The only sound filtering through the air is the soft hum of the air conditioner. Mom and Richard are away, and I’m lucky enough to have the key and permission to use the property. There’s not much my mother does for me, but access to a sweet place in the Hamptons is acceptable. Thank God for some things. After last night, heading back to the city is daunting.
Carson . . .
Was I wrong to run off? My body tingles at the thought of his hands on my skin. I was such a coward, and now I’ll never see him again. I didn’t even catch his last name. Maybe it’s for the best, though. After Matt, jumping into a new relationship, even if it’s only sexual, isn’t a good idea. No, this is better. No connections, no strings, no expectation. With a shake of my head, I set out to make breakfast instead of dwelling on things I can’t change.
Pulling out some eggs, a fork and a bowl, I begin to whisk. Once the eggs are on the stove, I pop a K-Cup in the Keurig and make myself a cup. The air becomes thick with the robust scent of coffee, and my mouth begins to water. With just one sip, my taste buds come alive as it bathes my mouth and then my throat with the perfect amount of warmth and bitterness to start my day right. As I’m placing the food on the table, Bridget stumbles in, looking a little worse for the wear.
“I feel awful,” Bridget groans as she plops down on the chair and burrows her head in her disheveled hair. Her sandy blonde locks look extra dirty today. Between the beach air and a night of partying, I’m not at all surprised by her appearance this morning. “Like a freight train hit me. I’m not as hung over as I am beat the fuck up tired.”
“Beat the fuck up? Is that even a sentence?” I laugh.
She narrows her eyes at me. “Yes.” Her one-word answer makes me chuckle even more.
“I’m not sure how much you drank, but when I saw you at the end of the night you were exhausted. We weren’t even out of the driveway before you passed out dead asleep. I almost had to carry you into the house.”
“Wow.” Her torso shudders. “How did you even get me inside?”
“Slowly. Very slowly. And good thing I hit the gym this summer, because pulling you was like lifting dead weight.” I laugh and she groans.
“I swear I might die. I really am so tired. It’s like I didn’t sleep at all.”
“I promise you won’t die. And I can also promise that you did, in fact, sleep. You’re just very hungover. Here, take my coffee. I already took a sip, but by the look on your face, I’m guessing you don’t care.”
“You sure?” She squints her eyes at me.
“Yeah, you need it more than I do. I’ll make myself another one.” After my new cup is brewed, I take the seat across from her and serve myself some eggs.
“So, what happened to you last night?” she asks between sips of coffee.
Oh, God, I so did not want to get into this with her right now. “Besides walking in on Matt fucking some fake blonde with a bad boob job?”
Her mouth drops open, and a series of coughs follows next. “Oh, shit. Yeah.” She grimaces. “I forgot about that.”
“I wish I could forget about that.”
“What a scum bag.”
“You think?”
“He’s the worst. So where did you go?”
“I couldn’t take it, so I just hung outside.”
“Alone?”
My stomach muscles tighten. I should tell her about Carson. It was a magical evening, and how something so bad could turn out so perfect was beyond me. But I don’t want to share it with anyone. Not even my best friend. Instead of opening my mouth and divulging everything, all I do is nod and quickly change the subject.
“Enough about me, tell me about you. I saw you with Mason.”
Her cheeks turn crimson as a large smile spreads across her face. “You did?” She’s full fledge blushing now, and it’s super cute.
I can’t help but allow my lips to turn up. “Yeah, you guys looked totally into each other. Tell me what happened.”
“We made out,” she blurts.
“Oh, I know,” I chide.
“You do?” she squeals.
“I saw you two going at it, so it didn’t take a rocket scientist.” I laugh. “So now what?”
“He’s going to college.” Her brow furrows.
I can understand her reluctance. Matt is starting college too, and I obviously wasn’t important enough for him to stay faithful to or at least try. But Bridget is different, and maybe it could work out for them. Meeting Carson last night made me realize that crazy things can happen. Why not for Bridget?
“So.”
“What chance do we have if he’s in college? I’m here, and he’s there.”
“Bridge, he’s not that far. It’s like an hour to Princeton. If you want to make it work, it will.”
“You think?” Her eyes look hopeful, so I plaster on the biggest, fakest smile I can muster.
“Yes, I do. Listen, just because it didn’t work with Matt and me, doesn’t mean it won’t work out for you. Matt just decided I wasn’t worth it.”
“You are worth it,” she says firmly.
“I know.” I lean back in my chair and close my eyes on a sigh.
“Do you?”
No, I didn’t know. All my life it’s been evident that I’m not. If Mom and Dad have taught me anything, it’s that I’m not worth the time and inconvenience.
“You’re worth it to me.”
I reopen my eyes and draw my lips in thoughtfully. “I know,” I finally say to appease her, even if I don’t mean it. We sit in silence for a few minutes, each lost in our own thoughts. After I take a sip of my coffee, I turn my head back in her direction.
“So, what do you want to do today?” I ask.
“Choices?” She perks an eyebrow up at me.
“Today’s Sunday, so we have the farmers market. Bike into town—”
“Bike into town? You’re kidding, right? I’m too tired to walk to the bathroom, let alone get on a bicycle.” She tilts her head to the side and scrunches her nose. “But I could totally go for some macaroons. I bet they would make me feel better.”
I shake my head at her. “Only you.” I laugh. “Only you think of macaroons as a hangover cure. Maybe you should just take some Motrin.”
She throws her head back in a fit of giggles and the sound makes me smile brighter. Being with Bridget is easy. She gets me. I don’t have to try with her. There’s a connection there, as if we are kindred spirits. As if we are family. I don’t know what I would do without her.
After we finish breakfast, I head upstairs and jump into the shower while Bridget gets ready in the guest room. As I’m putting on a coat of lip-gloss, she strolls in and I can’t help but laugh.
We both have throw
n on jean shorts, Chucks and tanks. This is why she’s my best friend. We are so in tune with each other that we are actually wearing the same outfit. With the same color hair, we look like twins.
An hour later, and with our bellies full of sweet delicacies, we step into the warm summer air, and walk straight into a large, familiar group. My stomach churns at the sight of Matt. Everything inside me rebels at the idea of being close to him.
“Let’s go,” I say under my breath, pulling on Bridget’s arm. At that moment, Matt’s eyes meet mine. Please don’t speak to me. Please.
“Lynn.”
Fuck.
“Leave me alone, Matt,” I huff.
“You don’t need to be a complete bitch. I said I was sorry.”
He doesn’t look sorry. He looks more like a condescending bastard. “Sorry? Yes, okay, because that makes it all fine.”
He blatantly rolls his eyes. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Lynn. What did you expect?”
“I don’t need to hear this right now, Matt. I get it. You’re a big shit college guy now. Go. Have a grand time.” And with that, I turn and walk away. Bridget follows behind.
“God, that was awful. He’s such a douche,” she says with labored breath.
“Was he always that horrible?” I ask her.
“He was the coolest douche in Cranbrook.” She shrugs. “Everyone thought it was cute.”
“Slap me next time I do something that stupid.”
“Deal.”
“Let’s get real dessert now. Macaroons didn’t satisfy me. I need to eat my sorrows.”
“Ditto.”
At that, I smile. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”
“Die. You would probably die.”
“Yep, that’s it.” I laugh, and thank God for her because she’s the only person I have. I really should tell her about my night with Carson, but not yet.
I will.
Soon.
Eventually.
The weekend passes, and before I know it, it’s Tuesday—the official first day of my senior year of high school. As the bell rings, I slide across the hallway, dashing as fast as I can. I can’t miss attendance. Cranbrook Prep has a strict tardy policy, and three tardies are equal to cutting a class. My last name starts with an A, so I’m pretty much fucked once the second bell rings.
I glance down at the printed slip of paper in my hand with my class schedule: AP World History. Mr. Blake. Hall B. Shit. That’s clear across the building from where I currently am. I pick up my gait until I’m at a near sprint. I round the corner . . .
And fly face first into a wall, my notebook falling to the floor.
“Watch where you’re going,” a voice says.
Well, maybe not a wall.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
This day just keeps getting better and better.
With a huff, I bend over to grab my notebook. My ass is probably hanging out of my short, pleated, black and red plaid skirt. But I can’t force myself to care.
I do my best to make sure I’m decent before opening the door. The squeak is deafening against my ears. I’m so late. Just as I take a step forward, I hear my name being called.
“Here, here. Sorry I’m so late,” I say, rushing in. Laughter erupts at God knows what, but I can’t bring myself to care. I’m so disheveled.
“Miss Adams, will you please take your seat.” I roll my eyes at the command. That’s what I’m trying to do, idiot. I glare up at my teacher, sure to make an even better first impression. My gaze meets his—
And my world stops.
My book drops from my hand again and goes crashing to the floor. The sound reverberates through the room, causing me to be met by another round of laughter. As I bend over and fidget to grab my belongings, I peer up and see Carson looking down at me. His movement’s halt as all the muscles in his jaw tighten, causing a small, barely noticeable tic beneath the skin. His mouth turns into a grim line. Lifting my chin, our gazes meet again. He appears stunned. His mouth opens, and then shuts as his eyes probe mine. There are so many unspoken questions in the way he looks at me. Sharp and assessing. There’s a lethal calmness to them that makes the oxygen in my lungs feel restricted.
How is this possible?
How can fate be so cruel?
Through heavy lids threatening to expel tears, I watch as he studies me intently. A student’s coughing in the distance has him giving his head a little shake. Righting himself. But the rigidness of his body betrays him. He’s as unnerved as I am.
“Lateness will not be tolerated,” he stammers before abruptly turning on his heel, heading back to his desk. “Take the first seat in the row and open your book to page one.”
HOLY SHIT.
This is hell.
If I ever wondered what hell would be like, this is it. I mean, where else could I be?
My teeth grit from the effort to remain silent, to not launch into an attack and demand to know why she’s here. Why she’s sitting right in front of me. Torturing me with her mere presence. And Lord, is she torturing me. From where I’m standing in the class, I can see her creamy thighs peeking out from that scrap of material this hellhole calls a skirt. I can only imagine what she’s wearing underneath it. A lace fucking thong. One that could be ripped from her body, exposing . . .
Head in the game, Carson.
When I woke up alone on the beach, I was pissed she had snuck out on me, but I knew it was for the best. With her going back to school, and me starting my job, there was no future. But God, she was incredible.
Fuck, how did my day go so wrong so quickly?
Everything seemed to be going great. I came in early on Monday, set up my classroom, and walked the grounds. I was excited to be back here again, not as a student but as a teacher. It was perfect.
Until the moment the fucking door opened and she walked in.
What I’d do to turn back the clock to Saturday night and not have touched—
Fuck that.
As much as this situation sucks—and Lord, does it ever—I will not regret one minute from that night. Being with Lynn, even if only for one night, was incredible. Why would I want to forget it?
My eyes catch her again from across the room. She’s gorgeous, and the crazy part is, she doesn’t even realize it. Not going there, though. Doesn’t matter how much I want to lift up that skirt and . . .
Our eyes lock.
God, what I would do to bend her over my desk and lose myself in her for the rest of the period. Hell, the hour; maybe even the day.
Fuck.
She’s my student.
With a shake of my head, I try to lure myself out of my perverse thoughts. If I’m lucky, my pants won’t tent in front of a classroom full of kids. Kids . . .
Oh shit.
How old is this girl? If it’s not bad enough I’ve fucked a student, what the hell will I do if she’s not legal? Shit. I’m going to get fired from a job I only just started. Hell, I might even be arrested. Not that it would be my first time, but still . . . This is not good. From my peripheral vision, I see that some kid in the first seat is frantically waving his hand in the air to ask a question and I can’t even calm down enough to call on him. Instead, under my desk I keep balling my fists and then unclenching them.
I need answers.
I glance up at the clock. Only fifteen more minutes until I get some.
I SHOULD BE TAKING NOTES. I should be paying attention. But all I notice are his muscles flexing as he writes on the smart board and I can’t help remembering how his arms felt when they were bracketed around me. All I can hear when he speaks is the sound of his moans in my ear as he tasted my skin, and all the sinfully delicious words he spoke when he took me on top of the blanket. My face flushes at the memory. I can’t think of him like this. No. I left for a reason and this cements my reason. It’s time I stop daydreaming about him, no matter how hard the memory is to relinquish.
“Miss Michaels?”
&nb
sp; His voice breaks through the memory. I glance back up and see he’s staring at a girl sitting a few rows away from me. His gaze is paralyzing, his pupils flat and dull. Not at all like the Carson I knew from the beach. I wonder what he’s thinking. I wonder what makes him so angry. Is it me?
“Yes,” she mumbles, flustered from her own daydream she must have been in. I would feel the same way if he had called on me, but as he refuses to even look in my direction, it doesn’t seem as though I’ll have to worry about that.
“I asked you a question,” he states in an icy-cool tone.
“You did?” she mumbles. Poor girl.
“Yes, Miss Michaels. And from the look on your face I can safely assume that you, in fact, were not paying attention.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Blake.”
Hearing his last name sounds bitter in my ears. But that’s who this man is, and as much as I remember Carson, this man is not him. Even thinking his first name now feels like a dirty secret waiting to be expelled.
An audible sigh escapes his lips before he looks down at the seating chart on his desk. “Miss Clarke, can you help Miss Michaels?”
Madison perks up and moves her body in a seductive manner. From the pucker of her lips, I can see she’s set her sights on him. An encompassing sickness coils its way into the pit of my stomach. It invades my bloodstream and takes over like venom. I clench my mouth tight, gritting my teeth against the invasion of emotions wreaking havoc in my body. The sound of my foot tapping on the floor makes me realize how badly I’m fidgeting from the anger and jealousy. I shouldn’t feel this way. I shouldn’t care. But why won’t he look at me? I keep staring at him, willing him to look back and praying he won’t. Trying to force my conflicting thoughts from emerging, I look down to my desk hoping he never calls on me and this class ends soon.
“The answer is expansion,” she says smugly.
“Okay, class. I want you to read to chapter five in your textbooks and be prepared to discuss it tomorrow.”
A collective groan emanates through the classroom, and someone behind me mumbles under his breath, “God, it’s the first day of class. Isn’t there a no homework rule?”
