See Me After Class

by Quinn, Meghan

  “You’re right.” I sigh and rest my forehead against his chest. “You realize you’re going to have to get them all something sparkly.”

  “I know.”

  * * *

  “So, care to tell me how this happened?” Stella asks while taking a seat, balancing her full plate.

  “Yes, I’d like the details as well,” Cora says, sitting down. “Minus all the sex stuff.”

  “You don’t know the details?” Stella asks.

  “No, I found out last night, when my brother was trying to be very sneaky. Newsflash—he isn’t. Oh, I do know Greer calls him Mr. Turns Me On.”

  Stella chuckles. “Almost every female faculty member does.”

  “Ew, gross. My brother is not a sex symbol.”

  I beg to differ.

  “So . . . tell us,” Stella says.

  “Make way,” Romeo says squeezing his way in with his plate and drink.

  “No.” Stella kicks away the chair he’s about to sit in. “We’re having girl talk. You boys sit over there and strategize our badminton game.”

  “I want to be a part of girl talk,” Romeo complains.

  “Well, then grow a vagina,” Stella snaps back and then turns to us with a smile. “You were saying?”

  “Uh . . . is everything okay between the two of you?”

  “Fine. He’s just being a nuisance, and I don’t have time for that.” She looks over her shoulder and shoos Romeo away. “Go on, go over there. That’s right, keep moving along. Good boy.”

  “Do I get a treat for listening?” he calls out.

  “Yes, you’ve avoided a kick to the crotch. Congratulations.” Clearing her throat, she picks up her burger and takes a bite. Talking around her mouthful, she says, “Go on, details.”

  Gunner and Arlo take a seat with Romeo, and before Arlo sits down, he winks at me. That man is going to be the death of me.

  “Well, honestly, it started as more of a sexual thing.”

  “La la la la la la la,” Cora says, covering her ears. “I don’t want to hear about the sex.”

  I remove her hands and say, “I’m not going to talk about the sex, I’m just stating, that’s how it started. And when it started to get, uh, a little out of control—”

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Cora mutters.

  “I asked him where this was all going.”

  “Oh, famous last words of an enemies-with-benefits arrangement.”

  “Pretty much. That comment put a halt on everything.”

  “Ugh.” Cora rolls her eyes. “What a dick.” Shouting over to the boys, she says, “Arlo, you’re a dick.”

  Arlo raises a brow in my direction, so I shake my head and mouth, “Don’t worry.”

  “Wait, did the halt happen right before you went on a date with Walker?”

  “Gah, good point,” Cora says, excited. “Did it? Did you make my brother jealous?”

  “He didn’t like it. At all. And I think it helped him realize that maybe he’d like to give things a chance. That, and some deep conversation he had with you, Cora.”

  She slaps the table. “I knew he owed me for something. Sparkly item, here I come.” She rubs her hands together. “So, he pulled it together, and then what?”

  I smile. “Well, at homecoming, I saw a side of him I’d never seen before. It warmed me toward him, and then he and I sat in the back of his trunk afterward with cookies and drinks and talked.”

  “Crumbl cookies?” Stella asks.

  I nod.

  “Oh, he got you good. Hard to say no to those.”

  “That, and his charm. And then he wrote me notes, wooed me with a date Wednesday night on a boat, and I’ve been gone ever since then.”

  “A boat date? God, where do I find myself an Arlo?” Stella asks.

  “Romeo is quite the catch,” I say with a cheeky grin.

  “Brock is a moron.”

  “Hey, I heard that,” Romeo calls out.

  Stella turns in her chair. “That’s because I said it loud enough so you could hear it.”

  “You’re ripe today.”

  Oh boy.

  Stella’s eyes turn into flames. “Go ahead. Call me ripe one more time. See where it gets you.”

  “Dude, I wouldn’t call her ripe,” Gunner says out the side of his mouth. “She looks terrifying.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask her.

  “Fine.” She takes a deep breath. “Well, how exciting. Does this mean Walker is available?”

  Keeping my voice low to spare Romeo’s feelings, since I feel like something is going on there, I say, “He’s actually caught up on someone else.”

  “Son of a bitch,” Stella says under her breath.

  “Bet you Romeo would take you out on a date,” Cora says, loud enough for the boys.

  “Over my dead body,” Romeo shouts.

  And for some reason, I don’t believe him.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  ARLO

  “Look me in the eyes,” I demand as I drive into Greer. “Do not close them. I want to watch you come.”

  “Oh God,” she screams, gripping the headboard behind her. “Oh my God, Arlo.”

  “How close?”

  “Right . . . now,” she says. Her hips convulse and her mouth falls open, a silent scream causing my orgasm to rip through my body.

  “Ah, fuck,” I grunt, spilling into her, my hips stilling as she continues to move hers.

  Together, panting, we melt into the mattress, me partially collapsing on top of her.

  It’s been two weeks since our date, and I still look for more and more every night when it comes to this girl. She’s only spent one night at my house—as she doesn’t want to make Cora uncomfortable—because she can’t keep her voice down while I fuck her. And the rest of the nights, we’ve either FaceTimed or I’ve spent the night at her place.

  We spend lunches together.

  We walk into school together.

  And the weekends, so far, we’ve spent together.

  And I don’t have one goddamn complaint.

  In a few short weeks, this woman has not only consumed my thoughts, but she’s made me think about a different future. One with daily intimacy. No secrets. No loneliness.

  “God.” She laughs and breathes heavily. “I think I blacked out for a second.” She turns her head toward me. “I can’t feel my legs.”

  “Same,” I say, breathlessly. “Come here.” I pull her in close, loving the lavender scent of her hair.

  “I told my parents about you.”

  “Did you?”

  “I did.”

  “What did they say?”

  “That they want to meet you.” She presses a kiss to my chest. “They asked if you might want to visit for Thanksgiving.”

  I drag my fingers up and down her arm. “Are you . . . asking me to go home with you for the holidays?”

  “Don’t tease me.”

  Chuckling, I pull away just enough to be able to look her in the eyes. I should be terrified. Family events, Thanksgiving and Christmas in particular, were not fun times in the Turner household.

  So, I should be terrified. Greer’s family, however, sound warm, inviting, generous with love, and accepting. And somehow, through Greer’s efforts, I might be a recipient of their affection too. My reward, though, is seeing Greer’s face right now.

  She wants me there. She wants me to know her family. I caress her soft cheek, lean in close, and say, “Not teasing. I’d like to meet them, babe.”

  “Seriously?”

  I nod. “Yeah. I’d have to make sure Coraline has somewhere to go first—”

  “She can come. The more the merrier. We can do a road trip.”

  “Or we can fly first class. A road trip with my sister doesn’t sound appealing, no matter how much I love her.” She laughs, and I say, “You know, that’s a few weeks away.”

  “I know. Is that okay?”

  “Yeah. Just making sure you’re okay with attaching yoursel
f to me for that long.”

  “I don’t think I have a choice in the matter. You seem to have dug your arrogant claws into me.”

  “Damn right.” I roll her to her back and hover over her, a large smile on my face. “If you get Thanksgiving, does that mean I get Christmas? Because I can go all-out for the holiday. I’ve kept all my grandparents’ decorations. We can have a Christmas for all our friends who might not be going home.”

  “That sounds like so much fun.”

  “But most importantly, it’ll be Christmas with you.”

  Her hand falls behind my neck and pulls me down to her mouth. “Then it’ll be the best Christmas ever.”

  * * *

  “Shot. Everyone take a shot,” Gunner calls out, lifting a tiny glass.

  I suck down the tequila and watch as my girl cringes after setting her glass down.

  “I don’t think I can do one more,” she says. “Oh, dear lord, the burn. How many strikeouts does a team normally get?”

  “Anderson is on fire,” Stella says, eyes trained on one of many TVs in the back room of the bar.

  “Someone call the fire department,” Keiko yells right before falling off her stool.

  “Jesus,” I say, bending down to help her up.

  “Maybe we shouldn’t be taking a shot for every strikeout,” Greer says, swaying next to me.

  Holding her finger to the sky, Keiko says, “The probability of predicting thirty-seven strikeouts during one athletic event is one in—hiccup—two hundred, trillion billion, ten.”

  “It’s been eleven strikeouts,” Stella corrects her. “How many shots have you taken?”

  “According to the level of bile that’s starting to rise, I’d surmise measurably fifty-two, but can’t quite be certain without the proper data analysis of blood alcohol levels.”

  “If you had fifty-two shots, you’d be dead,” Greer says.

  “Well, intoxication manifests double vision. Perhaps it doubles one’s counting competence.”

  Talking quietly to Greer, I say, “I think she’s one step to the right from puking. We should get Kelvin.”

  “Kelvin is currently outside, parked in his automobile, waiting for the barf signal.” Keiko chuckles. “I mean bat signal.”

  “Why is he waiting outside? He could join us,” Greer says.

  “I suggested he not observe me in such a rowdy state of mind.” Keiko flops against my arm and clings on. “But perhaps it is time. Bring in the well-proportioned man I call boyfriend. I need his gallant steed to take me home and then ravish my breasts.”

  “Keep it in your pants,” Stella says, right before cheering with the rest of the bar.

  “I’ll take her,” Gunner says. “Lindsay is almost here and I’m going to meet her outside.”

  “What a modern man,” Keiko says, right before kissing my arm and throwing herself at Gunner.

  Brow furrowed, he awkwardly walks her through the bar and to the exit.

  “I hope she’s okay,” I say as Greer picks up her water and takes a long sip.

  When she sets the glass down, she looks up at me and says, “I’m going to tell you right now, you look incredibly sexy tonight. That’s not the booze talking. And I love the way you’re holding my hand, and how you spoiled me all week with notes, and our date on Wednesday that seems to be a tradition now for us, and I wore this really slutty bra and underwear set for you tonight, but if I take one more shot, you’re never going to see it.” Fuck that. Sexy lingerie and Greer?

  “So, some fresh air then?” I suggest.

  She nods.

  I take her hand and walk her out of the bar to sit on a bench, where we find Gunner.

  “Everything okay?” he asks.

  “Just need some air,” I say.

  “Yeah, Lindsay isn’t coming for another ten minutes, but I wanted to sober up a bit before she got here.” He holds up a glass of water.

  “Smart.” Greer sighs against me. “How are things with Lindsay?”

  “Great. We told Dylan the other day that I’m his dad.”

  “Really?” I ask. “How did he take it?”

  “Really fucking well. He was excited. Confused a little at first, but then excited. I want to ask Lindsay to move in with me, but not tonight. I want to do something special.”

  “I get that. It’ll mean more if you’re not buzzed.”

  “What about you two?” Gunner asks. “You seem really happy.”

  “We are,” I say. “Right?”

  “Hate him, actually,” Greer says, using my chest as a pillow. “Can’t stand the man. Blech, gross.”

  “Yeah, really looks like that.” Gunner laughs. “How serious are you guys? Exclusive? Boyfriend, girlfriend? Ready to propose?”

  “Are you ready to propose?” I ask Gunner.

  “Hell, yeah. I was ready to propose a month ago.”

  “Well, we’re not there yet,” Greer says, lifting up and kissing my jaw. “But I think we’re headed that way. I sure know more about him than I ever thought I would. Did you know he used to wet the bed up until he was eight?”

  “Hey,” I snap.

  Greer giggles. “Oops, sorry, that must be the alcohol.”

  “Dude, eight years old? Tough break.”

  “I blame the lack of parenting in my household.”

  “My poor bed-peeing boyfriend.” Greer taps my cheek, and I turn and nip at her hand. She giggles against me and wraps her arms around my waist. “Gah, I love you.”

  I go still.

  She goes still.

  Gunner’s head whips around.

  “I mean . . .” she stammers. “I love . . . uh . . . you-o-da. I love Yoda.”

  “Smooth,” Gunner mutters.

  “Oh God.” Greer lifts away from me and puts her face in her hands. “I didn’t mean to say that.”

  “You didn’t?” I ask, feeling like I just swallowed my own heartbeat, my throat thick, my emotions bubbling up inside me. She loves me?

  That’s . . . hell, that’s terrifying but also exhilarating.

  “I, uh—”

  “Oh, this is uncomfortable,” Gunner says, and I box him out with my body, forcing Greer to look at me.

  “Hey.” I cup her cheek and smooth my thumb over her soft skin. “I love you too.”

  Her eyes widen, and Gunner claps behind me. “Dude, that’s—”

  “Shut the fuck up, man.”

  “Yup, gotcha.”

  “You do?” Greer asks, shocked, elated.

  I nod. “I really fucking do.”

  A gorgeous smile spreads across her face. “I love you, Arlo. I really fucking do.”

  “And this isn’t the alcohol talking?”

  She shakes her head. “No, it’s not.”

  “Me neither.”

  We stare at each other, both smiling, both realizing this is monumental.

  “Christ, would you two just kiss already?” Gunner asks.

  I bring her lips to mine, opening my mouth, claiming her, just as we hear a very loud “WOOOHOOO” in the parking lot.

  We all look up to see a streak of nylon blow by us. Keiko, wearing nothing but a pair of pantyhose and an ironclad bra, streaks by, arms flailing in the air, screaming at the top of her lungs . . . and poor Kelvin chasing behind her with a blouse and plaid skirt in hand.

  “This just became the best night of my life.” Greer laughs.

  Mine fucking too.

  * * *

  “You know, I wasn’t even a super fan of the Bobbies, but even I feel let down that they didn’t win the World Series,” Cora says as she hops up onto one of the chairs at the kitchen island.

  “Stella is devastated. She called in sick today,” Greer says as she helps me make dinner. She’s cutting up the veggies for the salad while I shred the chicken from the Instant Pot.

  “Really? Man, she must have taken it really hard then.”

  “Harder than the guys,” Greer answers. “It’s going to burn her for a bit, but I’m sure she’ll get over
it.”

  “Not sure that’s ever something you get over,” I say, bumping my shoulder against Greer’s. She looks up at me and smiles.

  “God, you two are sickeningly cute. I never thought I’d be jealous of my brother, but I kind of am. And before you ask me if I’m okay because I’m getting a divorce—I know you, Arlo—I’m fine. I’ve really grown to not hate people in successful relationships.”

  “Growth is important,” I say.

  “Which is why I need to point out how Greer never stays here. You two said the big L word, so why don’t you ever stay here?”

  Smirking, I say, “Greer moans loudly, and she doesn’t want you hearing her.” I barely finish my sentence as Greer elbows me in the stomach, causing me to laugh.

  “Arlo, things you don’t tell your sister.”

  “It’s the truth, and any lie, I’m sure, wouldn’t have passed with her.”

  “He’s right,” Coraline says, looking at her freshly manicured nails, something she spent a good hour doing last night. I know this because she was doing Greer’s nails, as well. “But the moaning thing, now that I believe. You look like a moaner.”

  “Uh, thank you?” Greer asks.

  “You’re welcome,” Coraline says, now placing both her hands on the counter. “Which brings me to my suggestion.”

  “Suggestion?”

  “Yes, I’ve been doing some thinking—”

  “Never a good thing,” I mutter.

  “Uh, excuse me, I was talking,” Coraline snaps at me. Clearing her throat, she continues, “I’ve been doing some thinking. Since I got a job—”

  “What?” Greer and I say at the same time.

  “Ugh, yes, I got a job, nothing to get all huffy about.”

  “Where did you get a job?”

  “At Frankie Donuts.”

  “WHAT?” Greer shouts and drops the knife. “You got a job at Frankie Donuts? How?”

  “It’s kind of funny,” Coraline says. “I got a box the other day and brought them to my marriage counselor. I took a bunch of pictures and posted them on my Instagram. Kind of like a twelve days of donuts thing and an added bonus, because baker’s dozen and everything. Anyway, I tagged Frankie Donuts and they reached out to me, asking if they could use my pictures. I said yes but demanded they meet with me first because I had a thing or two to say about their lackluster Instagram page. Well, I met with the owner, ripped him a new one for missing the mark, and showed him exactly what he should be doing. The guy said if I could turn his Instagram around in two weeks and gain five thousand more followers, he’d hire me.”