Unsupervised (Slumming It Book 1)

by S. M. Shade

  “Well, that sucked.”

  “What the hell were you doing?” Remee asks.

  “Owen bet me I couldn’t,” he says with a shrug, as if that explains everything.

  “Are you hurt?” Zara asks.

  He grins at her. “It’s nothing a blow job wouldn’t cure.”

  I can’t believe he’s seriously standing there, with whatever goop they lubed him up with still shining on his shorts, hitting on her. He has no shame.

  Zara isn’t fazed. “Where are you going to find a dick to suck on such short notice?”

  “Not it,” Owen says, laying his finger on the side of his nose.

  I’m awake before my alarm. Groaning, I roll over and stare at the ceiling. I have class today. And Adulting Club. It’ll be the first time I see Mr. Aldrich since I kissed him. He canceled his piano lessons last night. The thought still sends a wave of sadness and regret through me. I shouldn’t have done it.

  Now, I have to face him again. My plan is to be as mature and adult as possible about it. Just act like nothing happened, attend class and Adulting Club like usual. It’ll be fine.

  Zara stands at the stove when I sit at the kitchen table. “I’m making some scrambled eggs. Want some?”

  “Yeah, thanks.”

  While she cooks, I put us both some bread into the toaster—that’s something I can’t screw up—and pour us both a glass of juice. I’m just putting the bowl of sliced melon on the table when she sets a plate of eggs in front of me.

  As we eat, I check my student email.

  “What’s wrong?” she asks, seeing my frown.

  “I’m not exactly nailing this school thing.” My music grade is fine. We haven’t done much in there that can be graded. English isn’t terrible, it’s passing at least, as is geography, but I failed the econ quiz. Maybe because I spend his classes zoned out thinking about him naked. I can’t imagine that’s going to get much better now that I know what it feels like to kiss him.

  “It’s early in the year. I’m sure you just need to adjust. Maybe you should find a tutor?” Zara suggests.

  “It’s not that I don’t understand the work. It’s a matter of…motivation. I’m a lazy bitch.” I rest my head in my hands.

  “Kelly, I watch you juggle work, school, and now volunteering at a retirement home. All without a car. You rarely even let any of us give you a ride. You’re gone all day on that bike most days. You aren’t lazy.”

  “I failed my econ quiz.”

  “Oh, well, I take it back. If you failed a quiz, I’m not sure how you can even look at yourself in a mirror. Seriously, how do you even sleep at night?”

  Zara restrains a grin as I roll my eyes at her. “Your sarcasm is endlessly helpful.”

  “If you want someone to help you feel sorry for yourself, that isn’t me. But I will tell you what I think.”

  “Which is very you.”

  She tosses her napkin at me before continuing. “You aren’t giving yourself enough credit. You left a lifestyle that didn’t demand anything of you but to look pretty. You didn’t just leave it. You blew up the bridge behind you to get your freedom. Since then, you’ve found a job, friends, you pay your own rent and take care of yourself. You’re completely independent. There are tons of people our age who can’t say the same. I think you’re doing awesome.”

  Her words put a lump in my throat. It never occurred to me that others might see me that way. “Thanks for…saying that. Most of the time, I feel like I’m just stumbling through the days, trying not to screw up.”

  Zara grins at me. “We all do.”

  “How are things going for you?” I ask.

  A bright smile is her reply. “I’m really enjoying my classes this semester. My entire women’s studies class is planning a fundraiser so we can go to the Women’s March.” She taps the table with her fingertips. “Which reminds me. I gave Miles your number. He’ll probably call you today.”

  Right. The date. It’s probably a good idea. Something needs to distract me and keep me from mooning over my teacher, for fuck’s sake. “Great. Do you want to help me pick out what to wear? Serena will have me in a halter top and shorts with my ass hanging out.”

  “Absolutely.” She pauses for a moment before adding. “If it’s just the one class giving you so much trouble, you can drop it. We haven’t passed the cutoff date where you couldn’t get your money refunded.”

  Drop Mr. Aldrich’s class? My knee jerk response is no. I wouldn’t get to see him as often or get to hear his smooth, deep voice lecture on things I couldn’t give a warm fuck about. Rationally, I know that’s ridiculous. I can’t spend money to take a class just to ogle the teacher.

  Zara misunderstands my silence. “It’s not a failure to drop a class, Kelly. I’ve done it. Even Remee has. Especially an elective.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  It’s on my mind the whole bike ride to school. I’m not going to do well in that class, and if I drop it, I could take more hours at the music store. It wouldn’t be much, but the idea grows on me more and more.

  My stomach churns walking into Mr. Aldrich’s class. It’s such a strange combination of dread, anticipation, and a little embarrassment. Instead of sitting near the front like I usually do, I take a seat in one of the middle rows, hoping to blend in. No such luck.

  Mr. Aldrich enters wearing jeans and a button up shirt, the arms rolled to the elbows. His forearms are fascinating, hairy and strong and—

  “Since so many of you had trouble with the quiz, let’s go over a few things.” I’m jerked out of my arm porn drool fest by his booming voice and find that his gaze is focused right on me. He doesn’t keep it there long enough to be obvious to the other students, but it leaves me frantically trying to figure out what that look was about.

  Was I the only one who blew the quiz? Did he notice I was checking him out instead of listening? Is he still pissed that I kissed him?

  Damn it. He’s been talking about the quiz, and I haven’t heard a word.

  I’m wasting time and money here. Decision made.

  I spend the rest of the class avoiding his gaze, staring at my book, the board, out the window, anywhere but toward the man I can’t seem to get out of my mind. When the class ends, I’m the first one out the door. Before I can second guess myself, I stop in the admissions office and withdraw from economics. It still feels like a failure to me, but I try to keep Zara’s words in mind.

  Music class is the high point of my day as usual, especially because I have the perfect idea for our required music in the community project. I’ll have to talk to Debra, the activities director at the retirement home, but I’ll bet they’d be happy to have us put on a little concert for the residents. I’m sure a few of the other students would be willing to team up with me as well.

  The thought of it keeps a smile on my face as I wait for Owen in the parking lot. I’m glad he also attends the Adulting Club. It really helps that I can ride with him to the house. We make a quick pit stop for a coffee which makes us the last to show up.

  “Nice of you to join us,” Mr. Aldrich says, not unkindly, when we walk into the empty house.

  Maybe it wasn’t smart to continue with this club in light of the circumstances either, but I’m not leaving it. The stuff I’ve been learning is important. Plus, I’m determined to be mature about this. I can’t just run from every uncomfortable situation. I’m just going to act natural and play it cool.

  We follow him into the kitchen where a few other students stand around.

  “We needed coffee,” I remark, patting myself on the back at how even my voice comes out when my insides are practically vibrating. I lean back against the wall and my shoulder flips a switch.

  A loud, grating, snarling sound startles me, and my arm jerks like I’m trying to fend off a barrage of arrows. All that’s missing is a shield. Although, Mr. Aldrich is the one who really needs a shield. It seems to happen in slow motion, as I’ve noticed most mortifying moments have a tendency t
o do. My iced coffee flies out of my hand and all I can do is watch in horror as it slams into Mr. Aldrich’s chest. It explodes across his shirt and up into his face in a spectacular fashion.

  Panic is a wild animal racing through me. What do I do? The loud growling noise drowns out some of my babble when I apologize while still looking around frantically for the source of the clamor.

  Owen reaches over and flips a switch behind me, and the noise stops, just as I realize what it was.

  “I’m so sorry! It…startled me. I didn’t know what it was. We’ve never had one of those…” Shit. Anxiety has stolen my word retrieving ability again. “One of those angry sinks.”

  As soon as the words leave my mouth, there’s a split second of silence. Then laughter. Even Mr. Aldrich—who still has coffee dripping from one eyebrow—can’t help but chuckle.

  Still desperate to correct my mistake, I grab a roll of paper towels, tear off a wad and start trying to clean his shirt. “I’m so sorry,” I repeat. “I’ll pay the dry cleaning bill.”

  “It’s okay, Ms. Bryant. It’s not a big deal.”

  He steps back, trying to get away from my crazy ass as I dab at his clothes. The coffee has dripped down over his waistband and onto his pants. Without a thought in my head, I follow it with the paper towels, until Owen tugs me back by my arm.

  “Kel, pretty sure that can get you into trouble.”

  Oh god. I was rubbing his crotch. In front of everyone. “Oh!” I drop the towels and step back. “I’m sorry! I wasn’t trying to touch your…” My hand waves at his crotch. “Inappropriate section.”

  I regret every decision I’ve ever made in my life that has led to this moment.

  There’s no way I can do anything but escape. With a muttered curse, I’m out of there. By the time I reach the front porch, I realize I don’t have my bike or any way to leave other than taking one hell of a long walk.

  “Hey.” Owen steps onto the porch.

  “Hey.”

  He walks over and stands next to me, leaning against a column. “Are you okay?”

  “Do you think changing my name and moving a state away would be an overreaction?”

  “Come on, it’s not that bad. So, you felt the teacher up a little.”

  Of course, he doesn’t understand why this is so much more mortifying than what he witnessed. The kitchen was full of other students. Why did it have to be Mr. Aldrich?

  “And if you want my opinion, he totally owes you a coffee. His stupid hair and clothes just sucked it right up. How rude.”

  His words and the smirk on his face make me smile in spite of myself. “Also, I like your word for it much better. From now on, garbage disposals will be known as angry sinks.”

  Chapter Nine

  Layton

  Kelly dropped my class. She also hasn’t shown up for Adulting Club for the last two weeks, ever since the coffee incident. She’s avoiding me and while the rational part of me thinks that’s for the best, I hate it.

  Not just because I miss being around her—which I do—but because it’s my fault she’s missing out on educational opportunities she needs. It’s true she kissed me first, but I sure didn’t hesitate to kiss her back, and she never would’ve done that if I hadn’t gone out of my way to spend time with her.

  “I don’t understand the problem,” Dalton says, opening a beer.

  We’re taking a break from helping him move into a new apartment. Only one more truckload to carry inside.

  Travis shakes his head. “That’s because you have no morals or conscience.”

  “He barely touched her! And she’s legal age.”

  “Some of us aim a little higher than just will this get me locked up? There’s right and wrong. She’s his student.”

  Dalton turns to me. “I thought you said she dropped your class.”

  “Yeah, because I let things get inappropriate.”

  “Then she isn’t your student anymore. Go be inappropriate all over her ass.”

  Travis is right but damned if I haven’t thought of it in exactly the way Dalton just described. I’m surprised when Travis seems to think it over a moment before shrugging. “If she isn’t your student, and she won’t be again, then you aren’t technically breaking any rules.”

  He grins a little when I stare at him, shocked that he’s changing his tune. “Look, it’s not the most ethical way to meet someone, but I haven’t seen you interested in anyone since your break up. Even that other chick you dated for a few months, the older one, you weren’t that into her.”

  “Kelly is eight years younger than me.”

  “So, you can date older women, but she can’t date older men? Sexist,” Dalton taunts.

  Running my hands through my hair, I groan. “Why do I ask you assholes for advice?”

  “We’re all you’ve got,” Dalton says, slapping my shoulder. “Now come on and let’s get this shit done. I’ve got to get a wax before this weekend. I have a threesome. Can’t go in looking like Sascrotch.”

  We head outside and start carrying in furniture and boxes again. Dalton carries a stack of boxes higher than his head, and his voice is a little muffled when he asks, “Did you try that dating app I told you about?”

  That app is a nightmare. It didn’t take me two weeks to figure that out. “So far I’ve talked to two women who just seem to want to chat when they’re bored but not meet, one who was looking for a threesome with her husband, and another who offered to piss on me for the low price of two hundred dollars.”

  Travis cracks up, nearly dropping the table he’s carrying. “Is that the going rate now?”

  “Wait,” Dalton says, dropping the boxes in the kitchen. “She pays you or you pay her?”

  “Does it matter?” I hold up my hand as soon as the words leave my mouth. “Never mind. Forget I asked.”

  “Don’t you kink shame him,” Travis says.

  “I’m not into getting pissed on, but hell, if they’re into that, I’ll fill up a bucket for them for two hundred dollars.”

  After we carry in the last load, Travis asks me a question that sticks in my head the rest of the evening. “If you’d met Kelly somewhere else, if she hadn’t been your student, would you have dated her? Or is it really the age thing?”

  I’m met with a grin and a nod when I don’t answer.

  I have just enough time to get home, feed and walk Midnight, and grab a shower to wash off all the grime and sweat before heading to the retirement home. Today is Grandma’s birthday and I’m finally ready to surprise her by playing a song on the piano, simple as it is. I’ve practiced Happy Birthday until I could play it blindfolded.

  When I walk into the lounge, balancing two packages, Grandma calls out. “There’s my Layton! You’re just in time for cake!”

  Grandma sits at a long table with a few residents, while others are seated in the chairs and rockers throughout the room. Half of them are wearing paper hats and the lounge is decorated with streamers and balloons. I’m so glad to see that she’s aware. She had a bad spell last time I was here and kept forgetting who I was.

  “Well, don’t just stand there with your thumb up your backside! I don’t turn seventy-nine every day you know. Get over here and hug me.”

  Yeah, she’s herself today. “Happy Birthday.” I set the packages in front of her and give her a careful hug.

  “Oh, you remembered the cake! Thank you.” She leans back and yells across the room. “Agnes! My grandson brought a sugar free cake so you can have some.”

  She asked me if I could bring a small sugar free cake because Agnes’s diabetes means she often gets left out of the treats. Depending on the day, or sometimes the hour, Agnes is either my grandmother’s friend or nemesis. They’ve been frenemies since the moment they met. Sometimes I think we should do a DNA test to see if they’re related. Under her breath, she mumbles, “I’m not eating that shit. I get the good stuff.”

  “This is for you,” I tell her, handing her a flat, wrapped package.

  �
��I told you not to be spending money on me. I have everything I need,” she says, as she tears into it like a kid.

  The retirement home has a few tablets the residents can borrow to play simple games or get online, but they’re limited in time and not the smoothest running machines.

  The smile on her face when she sees I’ve brought her a tablet of her own is wide and bright. “I can play Words with Friends all day!”

  “It’s already installed,” I laugh, and spend a few minutes showing her that I’ve already put her favorite games on it, along with the browser I know she’s comfortable with.

  An orderly comes over to cut the cake and pass out the slices. While he’s doing that, Grandma takes a slice of the sugar free to Agnes. On her way back, she waves her tablet. “Look, Ags, I got a new tablet and my light up shoes. Who’s the hot shit now?”

  Sure enough, Grandma is wearing new, bright pink shoes with blinking red lights that flash every time she takes a step.

  Agnes grins and holds up a withered middle finger at her before tearing into her cake.

  The orderly slides me a small plate with a slice of cake, and I take a seat beside Grandma as we eat. “Where did you get the new shoes?”

  A smile leaps to her face and she sticks her foot out, admiring them. “Aren’t they pretty? Kelly got them for my birthday. She’s a sweet girl. I was telling her how Beatrice had shoes that lit up. Now I have some too.”

  “Kelly…”

  “Yes, Kelly, the student you have no interest in, remember? She came to play piano and chat a couple of times. Everyone loves her.”

  Kelly bought my grandmother light up shoes for her birthday. I’m still stuck thinking about that as Grandma continues. “Her birthday is this weekend too. Said she’s having a big party. Oh, that reminds me. I had Mr. Jackson pick this up when he went to get his lottery tickets. You’ll see her at school before I see her again. Give it to her for me, will you?”

  Grandma holds out an envelope, shaking it at me when I don’t take it right away. “Here, it’s just a birthday card with a ten dollar gift card from the coffee shop. Figure all college students need coffee.”