Into The Clear Water

by Celeste, B.

  Carter.

  Swallowing past the surprise lodged in the back of my throat, I move the flowers from the middle of the island and put them next to the sink where more sunlight filters through the small window. Unsure of how to feel, I turn my back on the beautiful gesture and read my roommates messages again.

  Why would I assume he’d buy me flowers? Now that I know he didn’t, I feel stupid. He probably thinks I expect something now because we’re sleeping together.

  Cursing lightly under my breath, I shake my head at the piece of brownie Ainsley offers me. At least I know he made those. I just kiss her temple, grab her bag, and busy myself with making dinner.

  Not knowing when Easton will be home since he said it’ll be late, I only make enough for two.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I’m woken up by the familiar sound of my door cracking open and letting in what little light the small nightlight in the hall offers. Cracking my eyes open, I half expect to see a little girl sneaking in wanting to curl up beside me. It’s not often she does it, but I always secretly love it when she decides she needs to be close.

  It’s Easton who walks in. He quietly closes the door and turns to me as I sit up slowly, rubbing one of the heels of my hands against my tired eyelid. When I see it’s almost four in the morning, I shake my head at him. “Did you just get in?”

  “Told you I’d be late.”

  I lay back down. “Go to bed, East.”

  “Piper…”

  Closing my eyes, I give him my back. “I want to go back to sleep. You should go. I’m sure you’re plenty tired.”

  His footsteps get closer instead of back tacking to the door. The mattress dips. “What’s that supposed to mean?” There’s an edge to his voice, and when I turn back around to face him, I smell the alcohol radiating from him.

  “Seriously?” I groan. “You’re drunk.”

  “Tipsy.”

  “You drove here?”

  “Friend.” His head cocks, eyes hard on my face as they study me. “What did you mean, Piper?”

  “Go. To. Bed.” If he thinks I won’t shove him off the mattress, he’s wrong. I’m tired, crabby, and just want the two hours of sleep I can still get before my alarm goes off.

  He tugs on the comforter that I try covering my face with. “Not until you talk to me.”

  I smack his hands away from my blanket and sit up hastily. “Easton, I’m fucking tired. The last thing I want is you to stumble in here again and fall asleep for Ainsley to see. You should have just stayed at whoever’s place you’ve been at this whole time.”

  His expression darkens. “I was with Jay.”

  “Mmhmm.”

  His eyes narrow. “We went to Divers.”

  Divers? “And then you met…?” I bait him, picturing some woman there giving him the eyes. I wouldn’t blame anyone. He’s good looking and screams sex.

  “I was with Jay,” he repeats slowly, eyeing me skeptically.

  Scrubbing my palms down my face, I finally nod. “Okay. You were with Jay. Drinking. Again. Hope you had fun.”

  “Piper.” It’s a growl this time.

  “Easton,” I counter, “I would very much not like to be woken up hours before my alarm goes off. So, if you don’t mind…”

  He doesn’t let it go. “I haven’t been with anyone but you since we started this. Don’t act like I’m out there fucking random women. You can’t even be jealous.”

  Jealous? Maybe for a moment, the tiniest, slightest moment, I’d had ill feelings over the idea of him being with other women while he was with me. But the thing is, we’re not together. There is no us. There is no we. We have sex. A lot. Slowly. Quickly. Hard. Soft. We use each other for reasons I can only assume are mutual.

  To escape.

  Because it’s fun.

  Because we can.

  “I’m not jealous,” is all he gets from me, and I’m proud it comes out calm. The last thing I want is for him to think I actually care enough to purposefully be a bitch. “Listen, I’m just tired. I have a busy day ahead of me and am looking forward to the weekend more than you could ever know. I plan to sleep. A lot. Maybe watch a bunch of movies that will make me cry. I don’t know. So, I’m sorry if I’m being bitchy. What you do is not my business.”

  His nostrils flare, and I notice his hands clenching at in his lap. “I had a shit night and Jay and I went out to let loose. There were no women involved. Just booze. We sobered up before even leaving the bar.”

  My lips twitch. He doesn’t seem sober right now, but I don’t bring that up.

  “It’s easier,” he murmurs.

  That makes me confused. “What is?”

  “Talking to you when I’m buzzed.” I cringe at how that must make me. Am I unapproachable when he’s sober? Do I act like I don’t care? Go me.

  “Sorry?”

  He sighs, his shoulders slumping. “It’s not easy for me to open up to people, Piper. But I do with you. It’s just easier when I’ve had a few drinks and get in a mood.”

  One of my brows quirk up. “You need liquid courage to speak to me?” It’s wrong to find that amusing when he’s so … him. Sex on a stick. An inked orgasm waiting to happen. If anything, I should need alcohol to approach him.

  Been there, done that.

  “You love her,” he states randomly, his eyes locking on the picture of Danny. “I can tell how much you love her. That makes me respect you because you don’t have to.” Not knowing what to say, I just keep quiet and let him speak his mind. “People don’t have to love kids. They don’t have to give them their time. I know that first-hand. But you? Shit, Piper. You took in your friend’s daughter even when you could have found another way. But you love her and would do anything for her. That shit gets to me. You get to me. So, yeah. Liquid courage is sometimes needed when I feel like shit and need somebody to talk to.”

  And he wants that someone to be me? I let my shoulders loosen from their tight stance, easing my back against the headboard. “Ainsley really did love the brownies you made. She had three even though I told her two was enough. I swear she cons me with just one little look.”

  His eyes light up, and the barely-there smile on his face returns. Only this time, it lasts longer than the normal three seconds I’m used to seeing it. “I’m sorry for waking you up. I shouldn’t have come in.”

  “Why did you?” Why did he tell me anything he did? He never talks about his personal life. His past. Maybe I don’t give him a chance to before I use him to escape mine.

  His voice is soft. “Just needed to.”

  There’s something familiar in his tone that has me reaching out and placing my hand on top of his. Defeat. I’ve felt it before, heard it lingering in my voice when I wished I didn’t.

  Easton and I are a lot alike.

  In pain.

  Needing comfort.

  Wanting to escape the reasons why.

  So, I lean forward the same time he does until our lips meet in the middle. It starts as a soft kiss, lingering, exploring. He brushes mine with a gentleness I didn’t know he could possess. Once, twice, a third time. Each pass gets a little firmer, like he’s searching for something.

  One of his hands goes to my hip, where he slides me down the mattress until I’m lying flat on my back with him hovering over me. Our lips never stop touching. His tongue sweeps my bottom lip until I open for him, and I can taste the bitterness of his choice of poison from the bar. But I ignore it and reach for his shirt, guiding it up and palming his hard stomach along the way.

  He moves back peeling his shirt off, then helping me with mine. The movements are calculated yet slow, like he wants this but not with the same urgency as before. What he needs now isn’t to forget. He needs to remember—he needs my body, my warmth, the way I pant and whisper and plead.

  And I give it to him.

  Our clothes shed slowly as his hands caress my body. His lips find my chest, tease my breasts, nip my stomach, until they trail downward and meet the bundle of
nerves that ache for him between my legs. He kisses me and sucks me and licks me and plays with me until I’m gripping the sheets on either side of my body and biting my bottom lip to keep quiet.

  After my climax subsides, he trails kisses up my body until his hard cock is positioned at my entrance. He knows I’m on the pill, we’ve talked about it before. But unlike all the other times when condoms sheathed him, he gives me one long look as if to ask if this is all right.

  And I nod.

  His movements are torturous as he enters me an inch at a time, pausing, pulling out, and moving in further—again and again until one of his hands finds mine and we interlock our fingers, thrusting in until he fills me completely. My fingers twitch around his as he holds my hand, drawing back and filling me again. It’s slow, too slow, and I use my free hand to cup his face and try kissing him harder, quicker, but he won’t have it.

  Every time our hips meet, it’s with thought-out precision. He’s searching, searching, searching for something inside of me. His free hand cups my face like mine does his, and he deepens the kiss, tasting me and nipping my bottom lip as he continues his rhythmic movements.

  The feelings building inside my chest warm my entire body as I realize how different this is from the other times. We’re always looking for ways to use sex as a means to an end. This isn’t like that.

  And I want to know why.

  What triggered you, Easton?

  Whatever it is changed him. Instead of seeking a fuck buddy for a few hours, he sought after something entirely else. A person to cherish. To hold. To find shelter in. Me. He confided in me for that.

  I find myself unlinking our hands and wrapping my arms around his neck as I draw my legs around his waist. I don’t rush the way he enters me or try changing the pace again. I settle for everything and anything he gives me and get lost in the foreign feeling as our heavy breaths mix.

  What happened to you, Easton?

  Thrust.

  Talk to me, Easton.

  Thrust.

  I’m here for you, Easton.

  My lips form an O as he thrusts one more time and hits me in the perfect spot until black spots dot my eyes and I silently orgasm with my body arching into his. I feel him empty himself inside of me and it’s the most erotic feeling I’ve ever felt before.

  He doesn’t pull out right away. And before I know it … we’re doing it again. Only slower, drawing it out—prolonging the moment.

  And I get lost all over again.

  The gift card to Bellamy’s Bistro stares at me from the bottom of my purse. Nibbling my bottom lip as I sift through the contents to find the Chapstick I lost, I pull out the card and study it for a long moment with indecision. I haven’t even thought about using it until now—out of sight, out of mind.

  But a part of me wants to use it soon to get out and enjoy myself. I doubt Ainsley would be interested in going since their kid’s menu is barely more than a few basic selections, and she was never one to like restaurants anyways. I blame Danny for that because he was the same way. He liked ordering delivery or cooking at home, even though I know Willow preferred dressing up and going out. She’d confided in me about it in hopes I could convince Danny to get someone to babysit while they had date nights. I talked to him and babysat Ainsley.

  After the night I spent with Easton more than a week ago, I can’t help but wonder if he’d want to go with me. The Bistro supplied a card with more than enough for two people. I could ask Jenna, even be safer to, but it’s not her I want a night out with. And I’m not sure how to feel about that.

  Pulling out my phone while waiting for Carter to show up at his office like we’d planned, I shoot East a text before I chicken out.

  Me: Ever been to Bellamy’s?

  Biting down on my thumbnail in wait of a reply, I turn my focus to the half-eaten granola bar in my other hand. Not hungry, I wrap the plastic wrapper around what’s left and stuff it in my purse. The gift card rests beside it, taunting me as my phone buzzes in my hand some minutes later.

  East: Not usually my scene

  What is his scene? After the night I’ve thought about way too much, I’ve wondered more about him. I want to ask him about his mom, what her name is, about his father and if they talk, and if he has any siblings. I want to get to know the man who practically admitted little old me intimidates him enough to only open up after he’s been drinking. Maybe I should be offended, but for some reason I’m flattered.

  My brilliant response to him? Oh. Okay.

  When I reread my message, I cringe and click my screen off, so I don’t have to look at his reply. He didn’t send me flowers and he doesn’t want to go to the restaurant with me. Fine. The more I open my mouth with him, the greedier I become. He probably thinks I’m desperate—like sex equals a relationship. I need to back off and give him space. Give us space.

  “Good morning,” Carter greets, rounding the corner with his keys in hand. His coat is still buttoned and spattered with the snow that’s been flurrying all morning.

  I put my phone into my purse pocket and smile up from where I sit on the floor by his door. He walks over and offers me his hand, which I take to pull myself up. “Thanks. Morning. Still snowing out I take it?”

  He nods, unlocking his door and pushing it open. With his free hand, he flicks on the lights and gestures for me to follow him in. “It’s lightened up some.”

  I put my bag down in the spare chair beside where his desk is perched against the side wall. The first time I saw his office, I was mesmerized by the bookshelves lining the opposite wall covered in history textbooks, mythology novels, encyclopedias, pictures, and trinkets that seemed random. But I know Carter and he doesn’t display random objects. They all mean something to him, just like the pictures he selected do.

  Smiling when I see a new one added at the end, I walk over to it as I unzip my own jacket and slide it off. “Jesse would hate you if he knew you had this on your shelf.”

  It’s one of Jesse, Danny, Carter, and me. I still had braces, so I had to of been ten or eleven. Danny had an arm draped across my shoulder and Jesse’s face looked like he wanted to murder whoever was taking the picture. Was it my mom? Our dad? I don’t remember.

  Carter chuckles, resting his jacket on the back of his office chair and walking over with his hands in his pockets. “He never liked getting photos taken of him. Danny’s grandmother had to bribe him with cookies just to take that one.”

  Mable. I’ve only seen her twice since Ainsley’s birthday party. Her nurses keep me updated on her health and they haven’t had a lot of positive news to give me. She’s been struggling and there’s nothing I can do to help.

  Something brushes my arm. “You okay?”

  I find myself shaking my head. “Mable isn’t doing well these days. She’s in a home for her dementia and it’s getting worse.”

  His frown greets me when I look up. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry.” He studies my sullen expression for a moment before looking back at the picture. “Do you see her a lot?”

  “I try to go a couple times a month.” My schedule hasn’t allowed me to do that lately, and if I do have time her nurses tell me it may be better not to come until she’s having a better day. It kills me to see her like that. They know it. I know it. It’s better for everyone if my emotional ass isn’t there when she slips. “It’s hard not to react when the switch flips for her. One minute you’re you, the next she thinks you’re somebody else. It happens in seconds, Carter.”

  His hand squeezes mine. “She’s strong.”

  My lips rub together. “Nobody is strong enough to fight that.” It’s a truth I hate speaking aloud, but it’s true. There are a lot of diseases that aren’t fair. Why they exist is beyond me. I’ve never been a religious person, never once been to church, but if there’s a God out there I don’t get why He’d create such horrible things.

  I clear my throat and walk over to my bag, moving it to the floor and sitting in the hideous yellow chairs they supply for th
e faculty offices. He follows suit, pressing a hand against the front of his black shirt before sitting in his. “I meant what I said before. You can talk to me about anything. If there’s anybody who can understand, it’s me. Danny, Mable, I know them. I get it.”

  “I know.” I loosen a sigh and settle into the uncomfortable excuse of a cushion. “I just don’t think it’s appropriate. You’re my professor, not my friend.”

  “Who says I can’t be both?”

  “School policy?” I guess dumbly.

  He chuckles, leaning back and resting his folded hands on his stomach. “There’s nothing against students confiding in their professors. In fact, it’s encouraged.”

  I level with him. “There’s a difference in confiding in a professor and finding friendship in one. Friendship opens doors that I’m sure the administration would frown on.”

  His head cocks to the side, his brown eyes burning into mine with interest. “Like?”

  “Trust.”

  “Professors aren’t allowed to be trusted?”

  I scoot forward, leaning my elbows on my knees. “It’s like this, Professor Ford. Trust is an intimate thing. It means that you’re willing to open up to a person with anything and everything. That person, then, will be there for you. It’s rare to be able to find that in somebody and have it be pure and genuine. It’ll shift because of its rarity. Lines get blurred. Trust then becomes complicated. Administration doesn’t like complicated things.”

  He blinks, taken aback. “Huh.”

  That’s all I get. Huh. “We’d be even more complicated because of our situation. I knew you from the past. We sort of grew up together. That adds a layer they wouldn’t like if we decided to be friends.”

  “You’re overthinking this,” he states simply, his shoulders lifting. But am I? I’ve always been a goody-goody. I never liked being on anybody’s bad side or getting into trouble. And Carter? I think of the ride home and the flowers and everything he’s done for me with my student teaching placement.