by R. J. Lewis
Ms Landry finally arrived. You always knew it was her when you heard the click-clack of her high heels. She was sporting a ridiculously short black skirt and a low cleavage red body suit tucked in. This was not Catholic school teacher attire, but she got away with it time and time again. It didn’t help Principal Gibbons dribbled over himself anytime he was in the same room as her.
Her black razor straight hair was down and flowing around her hips. She was ridiculously beautiful, and I couldn’t help the thoughts that swirled inside me like a vortex every time she entered the room owning it.
Conor tapped that.
He touched her the way he touched me.
She moaned beneath him, quivered around the same dick I lost myself in.
I couldn’t help but feel she had the same thoughts when she looked at me. We both frowned every time we made eye contact. Her lips would purse, and mine would flatten. She would look me over, and I would do the same. We inspected one another like two hounds before a fight. Only Landry fought a different way. She was downright nasty.
I reflected on my last conversation with her after class. It was a week ago. My last assignment was an end of year term essay about the book we read. We’d been given a choice of five novels. I chose The Great Gatsby. I did a character study on Gatsby and the nature of his love for Daisy. I found his passion for Daisy obsessive, and not in an endearing way. She had promised she would wait for him when they had to part ways, but she didn’t. She’d found another man and Gatsby never moved on. He made a fortune through illegal means just to win her back. He had spent so much of his life trying to recapture the past and the moments he’d shared with Daisy, but I didn’t buy Daisy’s bullshit for a second. She could have waited, but she didn’t. All she cared about was herself and her lavish lifestyle. And Gatsby was a fool. His hopes took him far, but they should have died when he saw what she was. He shouldn’t have risked everything for the off chance she would come back to him. He should have let her go.
Landry commented on my essay, scribbling, “Negative views defeat the entire purpose of the novel’s inner message. B-.”
I had sat shocked at my grade. Fuming, I’d waited until after class to march up to her and demand answers.
“I got a B- on an opinion piece essay?” I asked, throwing the essay down on the desk in front of her.
She arched her perfectly plucked brow. “I was not entirely convinced you read the book.”
My eye twitched. “I read the book. Twice.”
“Then twice you overlooked its symbolism.”
“This is an opinion piece essay,” I stressed again. “Not a ‘find the symbols’ essay.”
She narrowed her eyes at me and slowly said, “I grade a student on their ability to write a constructive piece, and if you’ve paid attention in class, you’d know I grade heavily on that student’s ability to break down the emblematic purpose of the novel.”
“That’s based on the reader’s experience.”
“You wrote your paper poorly,” she said firmly, never backing down.
“In what way?”
“Your voice is cynical. You hashed a lot of hate for Daisy, but in the end, you sounded exactly like her.”
Shots fired.
“So, you think I’m cynical?”
“I’m saying your voice was.” Her eyes went over me slowly. “You, my dear, are just young.”
Where was the medic when you needed one?
After she’d said that, I caught the underlying meaning in her words. This was not a teacher marking a student. This was so much more.
My heart palpitated when I uttered, “You never used to hate me, Ms Landry.”
Before this semester – before Conor – we had always been pleasant to one another. I had envied her black hair and she had asked me about the city life. Turns out, she was just another woman in the long line of them, waiting for the opportunity to sink her claws back into Conor.
Her expression had relaxed when she replied, “I don’t hate you, Charlotte. I just think you have a lot of life to live. Perhaps, Gatsby was out of your range.”
I was offended at the time. Wounded that I had poured myself into an essay and the criticism had gotten to me. I wondered, though, if it wasn’t Ms Landry marking me, and if it were any other teacher, would I have been so dismayed?
I was acutely aware I had taken it more personally than I should have. Before Conor, I was insecure in a cute kind of way, the kind of way that begged for a boyfriend like Reid to compliment me to make the bad thoughts go away. With Conor, it had been so much more. It was a constant struggle to look past his reputation and the countless women of whom he had been with. I tried hard to separate myself from them, to consider myself more special than they were, but my mind always mined the realism out.
I was insignificant. I had known him hardly a minute. There was simply no guarantee he was even waiting for me.
I stared at her now as she rounded the desk and told the class to settle down. She didn’t get upset when it took five minutes for everyone to take their seats. Our grades had been finalized. What did she care anymore? Being at school was merely symbolic.
I had finally made peace with the essay grade. In truth, aside from that hiccup, she’d been marking me fairly. I was going to settle with an above average grade, not an A, but still acceptable.
The period was long and gruelling. We weren’t even doing anything aside from collecting old work from over the year. I felt Reid’s eyes on the back of my head the entire time, and when I turned to look, he blinked away. Why was he still trying to make my life a misery? Surely, he didn’t care. He had expressed that every way possible since our very public break-up.
When the bell finally rang, I breathed a sigh of relief escaping that room. Away from his eyes. From Landry’s long fucking hair. From Millie’s snorts because clearly she was part-pig.
Fuck, I’d hated English class.
I was going to be glad never stepping foot in that class again.
Second period was my spare. I ran down the stairs in the direction of the cafeteria. Jamie had a spare too, and we liked to indulge in the kitchen’s blueberry muffins while talking shit. I guess, if I had to be honest with myself, the best thing to have happened to me was finding real friends. The kind that didn’t care who I went out with, nor did they define me by the mistakes I’d made. My public humiliation was always separate. I appreciated Jamie and Laura so much for that.
I was in the atrium when I spotted a large crowd of students at the entrance doors. They were staring outside, their chatter low and curious.
Interested in what they were so enamoured with, I changed direction and ambled to them. These were sophomore kids, not yet scarred by high school drama; a few girls noticed me and let out an audible gasp.
“Is he here for her?” one of them whispered.
“No way,” another hissed back. “She’s obviously old news by now.”
What did they mean?
Ignoring them, I pushed past the throng of people.
“Conor Thames is outside the school,” someone said.
I froze mid-step, absorbing the shock. My body went slack, and my heart was all a-flutter.
“He’s just standing there, waiting,” another commented.
It took several moments to regain my composure. Then I was moving fast.
I forced my way through the crowd and pushed the entrance doors open. Hot, humid air hit my face. Under the bright sun, I saw a familiar black dually parked illegally out front of the school. And outside the dually was a solid figure leaning against the body of the truck.
My goddamn heart was pounding now as I squinted at the figure.
It was him.
It was definitely him.
It was Conor Thames, dressed in jogging pants, in a tight white tank, looking bulkier, looking scruffier than before.
His stance was casual; his arms were crossed over his wide chest. I didn’t know if he was looking at me. The sun offered too much glare
for me to make him out clearly. Maybe he wasn’t here for me. The thought made me dizzy. God, maybe Landry was right. I was cynical and armed to withstand disappointment. But I couldn’t help second-guessing. Some things were too good to be true.
I looked over my shoulder at the growing crowd, wondering if someone else was going to take my place. Then he whistled and I whipped my face back in his direction.
“Charlotte,” he called, that voice so low, I felt it coursing through me. “Get your ass over here.”
Oh, my God.
Eight months of uncertainty, of doubting, of preparing myself for the worst because that’s usually how it went these days – all of it came to a crushing halt. He had meant every word he said. One night together and he had held onto us for almost a year.
I didn’t walk to him.
I ran.
The sadness, loneliness, the deprivation of normalcy had no longer mattered. Replacing it was a rush I’d never felt before. Pure elation took over as I jumped into his waiting arms. He picked me up like I weighed nothing and pressed me against him tightly. My legs immediately wrapped around his hips, and my arms wrapped around his neck, tightly hanging on. His forehead pressed against mine. He held me like that for a while as we breathed each other in.
“You waited,” he said, smiling softly at me.
I closed my eyes tight. “You meant what you said.”
“I told you, dove, I’m an honest man.”
Then he kissed me, hard and slow. It was better than I remembered. I sank into his embrace, needing his taste like my next hit. My heart was thudding so hard, I was sure he could feel it. He held me securely and began walking. He rounded the truck and opened the passenger seat for me.
“I’m taking you out of here,” he told me, kissing my nose, my chin, my lips.
My eyes fluttered open. “I’m in the middle of school, Conor.”
“Would you rather stay?” He looked genuine asking that.
“Of course not,” I replied, smiling. “You’re a bad influence.”
He chuckled and his blue eyes looked alive. He gently set me down in the seat. I looked him over quickly. I’d forgotten how big he was, the symmetry of his face, how stunning his jawline and lips looked. He’d shaved his beard, and his hair was a few inches long, tousled and falling over his forehead. It was like staring at a new man.
“You seem confused,” he stated, clipping the seatbelt around me.
“You look different.”
Now his eyes met mine. He was still leaning over me, his face inches apart from mine. “Different good, or different bad?”
“Good. Very good.”
That cocky glint in his eye returned. Ah, yes, there his ego was. “And you look fucking delicious,” he returned swiftly. “I grabbed a lot more ass than the first time.”
I blushed. “Comfort food.”
He laughed and pulled away, shutting the door on me. In a daze, I watched him stroll to the driver’s side. Jesus, he literally came to pick me up and split.
He had said he would come for me and he did. The feelings that pulsed through me were indescribable. I felt like a princess in a tower that’d been rescued, only the dragon was the school filled with assholes.
I glanced back at the school. More people were out. I spotted Reid at the entrance, standing alone with his deep, empty gaze. He disappeared from sight the second my eyes landed on him.
I took a few breaths and shook away the guilt. He’d terrorized my locker – terrorized me – all year. He made sure to destroy my name by smearing it along every inch of Blackwater. He sought revenge and he had succeeded by putting me through a hard battle, and I’d allowed it. I’d accepted the blame – felt I deserved it – for months, but the last few weeks I’d had enough. My final year of high school would be remembered as dirt, and my final few fights with him had been me trying to claw back whatever self-respect I’d had left.
He was not welcome to torment me anymore. Like Billy, I would distance my emotions from him so he could never touch them again. It was the only way to survive it.
As Conor slid into the seat, I felt him watching me.
“Are you okay, dove?” he asked, a hitch of worry in his voice.
I smiled brightly at him. “You’re here, Conor. I’m definitely okay. Are you?”
He shot me a heart stopping smile. “I’ve thought of you every single day, every single minute, for the last eight months, and now I have you. I’m fucking better than ever.”
Chapter Nine
Charlotte
I messaged Jamie to explain what had happened. His response: I know. I saw it. He is sexy as fuck. You’re a lucky girl.
Sitting in the truck right next to him, with the windows down, the wind blowing in, and the light music blasting from the stereo – I felt lucky in every way.
I couldn’t stop looking at him. Couldn’t stop the excitement bubbling to the surface. I was on the biggest high of my life.
“When did you get out?” I asked, turning down the music.
He glanced at the time on the dashboard. “Two hours ago.”
My jaw dropped. “You just got out?”
“Came straight to you.”
“Why?”
“You know why.”
He locked eyes with me and smiled. It was the most genuine smile I’d ever seen from him. It made breathing harder. He extended his hand out to me and I took it, closing my eyes briefly at his warmth. When I opened them again, I flicked my gaze down at his fingers, at the light dusting of hair on his knuckles.
I saw old bruises.
Fresh bruises.
Scars I didn’t remember seeing before.
Then I blinked away. I didn’t want to acknowledge the signs. I wanted to be oblivious. I didn’t want to grow too quickly and feel the weight of his sins press down on us.
That could wait.
Instead, I took notice of the car, frowning at the memory of the last time I was in it.
“Where’s Jem?” I probed.
“He picked me up. Lent me the car to go to his bar. I think he was trying to give me some time for this. I heard you didn’t take too well to him.”
“He’s charming,” I noted, dryly. “What about your mom and sister? Shouldn’t you have seen them first?”
“Dove, I think they’re tired of welcoming me home. I figured we’d have dinner with them tonight, if you’re okay with that. I don’t want to be away from you.”
I smiled. “Me neither. What’s our first stop?”
“To be fucking honest, Charlotte, I wanted to go on a drive with you, but I need to touch you more than ever.”
He turned into the nearest park, parking under a tree. When he cheekily drew the car seat back, I climbed right over to him. Straddling him, I rested in his lap and took his face into my hands. I didn’t kiss him straightaway. I looked into his bright blue eyes, completely enraptured. I preferred this look to the beard and short buzz. I could run my fingers through his thick hair and tug. I could see his cheekbones and feel his smooth cheeks. All of him wound me up tight.
“What is it about you, Conor Thames?” I murmured, riveted by him. “You make it impossible to forget you.”
He looked just as captivated. “Did you want to?”
“No.”
“Did you think of me, pup?”
“Every day.”
He brushed the strands of hair from my face and slowly trailed his finger along my jawline. His other hand rubbed at my lower back. His gaze travelled down my neck and to my button up blouse where my breasts were. My skin prickled in response. He swallowed hard, the lust in him apparent.
“I’ve been locked up these last two years, and in that time, I’ve been with you once, and I can’t stop thinking about it.” He seemed confused. “That night brought us together, didn’t it? It brought us together even while we were apart.”
I traced my finger down his straight nose and brushed them against his lips.
“You know,” I whispered, “m
en like you aren’t supposed to talk like this.”
His lips bunched up to one side. “Tell me what I’m supposed to say.”
“You’re supposed to be a little more vulgar.”
“Okay, I can be that way for you.”
“Really?”
“I’ll be any way you want me to be. Just…just don’t get scared off by me.”
My finger paused around his bottom lip as I stared at him deeply. “You won’t scare me away.”
A moment of vulnerability past over him. It was quick. A few seconds, tops. Then it vanished and he smiled at me.
“How badly have you missed me, Charlotte?” he asked, that cocky edge returning.
“If you only knew.”
“Have you touched yourself thinking of me?”
Heat spread through my chest and up my neck. “Yes.”
“Are you wet for me right now?”
My voice was smaller. “Yes.”
Without warning, he grabbed at the back of my neck and pulled me to his mouth, kissing me hard. I felt his desperation, felt mine entwining with him. It wasn’t a quick kiss, and it wasn’t sloppy. It was languid and deep. It was one that was made to feel on a whole other level.
His strong hand gripped at my hip, the other scrunched into my hair, keeping me plastered to his mouth, to the feel of his tongue between my lips, flicking against mine. Jesus, this man could kiss. I sank into him, feeling his hardening ridge press against me. My body grew hotter, my fingers trembled as I pressed them against his hard chest. I groaned into his mouth when his hand cupped my ass and pushed me harder against his length. Jolts of pleasure shot through me.
“Conor,” I whispered into his open mouth. My body was desperate for the feel of him, all of him.
He pulled my hair back, forcing our mouths to part. We panted against each other. My eyes were half-open, his were exploring me.
“I gotta reel it in,” he grumbled, licking at his lips.
He let my forehead fall against his. “Who says?”
“Me, pup. Me.”
“Explain.”
He shook his head, a look of exhaustion coming over him. “I was alone a long time, and I got to thinking. I don’t want you to feel cheap. I didn’t pull you out of school to fuck you, okay? I know what they say, and I know what I’ve been like in the past, but…this isn’t that for me.”
