“That’s why you like me.”
“Hmm.” She sipped her drink, eyes twinkling as he tried to interpret the non-committal sound.
They returned home late in the afternoon, and he settled Elle down on the couch to watch television. She was asleep by the second episode.
Rosa retrieved her dress and accessories from the backroom, folding them carefully so her shimmery bra wouldn’t peek out from the inside the bundle.
“This was nice.” She said, glancing at the sleeping Elle. “It’s good to know that you have a soft side.”
“Don’t go spreading it around.” He said. “It’ll ruin my reputation as a hardass.”
“I won’t. Scouts honor.” She said, saluting him.
“You were never a scout.” He said with a snort.
“Had a brother who was. Does that count?”
“No.”
“Ah, then I’ll just have to cross my heart and hope to die.”
“You better pinkie swear or there’s no way I can take this promise seriously.” He said sternly.
She cracked up, doubling over with giggles. “Thanks for the good time, Rick.”
“And thank you.” He escorted her out to the living room, and they exchanged a brief, awkward hug before he opened the door.
“I will see you in class, Miss McCall.”
Chapter Seven
It was difficult to believe they were approaching midterms. The weeks had started to pass by in a blur.
He supposed it helped that he had more than papers, staff meetings, and cleaning his empty house to occupy his time these days.
Now his time was portioned between what felt like two separate lives. Time with Rosa, and time without. He lumped the hours at work in the former. He saw Rosa in class, and lounging in the English building doing her homework in-between classes.
Even grading papers was more enjoyable, as he looked forward to seeing her name atop a page, and her slanting writing at the bottom where she’d write flirty notes meant just for his eyes.
The hours without were drudgery. Elle’s visit was a distant memory, and he hadn’t seen her since. Melanie hadn’t been returning his phone calls, and Barbra had driven past his house several times, seemingly looking for evidence of something nefarious going on.
So it was with great pleasure that he entered class with a documentary on Hemmingway.
“I’ll be collecting your essays after class. And there will be a quiz on the documentary next period, so take notes. Notes only. I don’t want any of you trying to do last minute edits on your papers, George.” He said the last rather pointedly and fixed one of his honor’s students with a look.
The class snickered and George flushed. “Got it professor.” He said, and dutifully closed his laptop.
Rick fiddled with the ridiculously outdated computer system for a little while before finally getting the DVD to play.
He took a seat in the front row so he wouldn’t have to crane his neck. He sat two seats down from Rosa. It was the first time he’d tried something so bold in public.
“Could you get the lights for us, Miss McCall?”
“Of course, professor.” She said, and pushed to her feet. In a few long strides, she’d reached the light switches near the door. She flicked them off, and plunged the room into darkness, but for the screen.
So no one noticed when she took the seat next to him, instead of resuming her own.
“You really ought to pay attention to the film, Miss McCall.” He muttered as she kneaded his thigh with her long shapely fingers.
“I think I can get someone to tutor me on what I miss.” She whispered back,
He smiled at the private little joke. She’d insisted on “lessons” before their many trysts, and insisted on punishment when she got answers wrong.
“Education first.” She always reminded him and then would promptly derail any semblance of a lesson by nibbling on his earlobe.
“Just don’t slack off on your papers. There’s only so much leniency I can show, even to you.”
“Of course not, sir. My essay is in my bag.” She turned slightly so he could see her profile in the dim light. She was wearing a wicked smirk.
“Along with something extra, just for you.” She said in an undertone
His imagination spun out, eagerly anticipating what the unnamed surprise might be. He quickly nixed the idea it could be something lacy and meant to be worn beneath clothing. Besides, he had a right red memento she’d left in his bedroom the week previously.
Before he knew it, the class was over and the students were left blinking in the harsh luminescence of the overhead lights. Students filed past, placing their papers in a neat pile on his desk. Rosa left last, placing not one, but two papers on top of his stack.
She gave him a coy smile before departing. He scooped up the pile and slid the whole lot into his bag. It wasn’t particularly neat, done in his haste to leave the classroom.
He all but sprinted to his truck, though it took him longer than usual because he’d needed to take an alternate route to avoid a conversation with Marcy and Cal. He accidently bumped into a young man.
“Sorry.” He said, attempting to help him up. He was tall, tanned dark, and had wavy hair that looked like it belonged in a hair gel commercial. He didn’t get a good look at his face though, because the man pushed to his feet, ignoring the offered hand up.
“Watch where you’re going.” He said gruffly, stalking away. Rick stared after the young man for a moment longer, a bit miffed at his rudeness. Yes, he’d needed to pay more attention, but it hadn’t been intentional.
When he finally arrived at his parking spot at long last, he climbed into the cab of the truck and dug out Rosa’s papers. The first document was the double-spaced essay he’d assigned. The other document contained only two pages, stapled together. They smelled of her perfume.
He leaned back in his seat, flicking the radio and the heater on idly. As the strains of a familiar country song filtered through the speakers, the heat pumped into the cab, he began to read.
“You’re sitting down, reading. I’d like you to imagine I am there with you.”
That wasn’t difficult. The heater was circulating her warm brown sugar and vanilla scent around the cab of his car. He tried to capture the timbre of her sultry voice, and imagined her speaking the words on the page aloud to him.
“Run your hands over your chest, unbuttoning the top button.”
He glanced around the parking lot. There weren’t many cars left, except for the few teachers who taught evening classes, and they were still inside. Sure, he could wait until he arrived home to attempt the undoubtedly sexual instructions she’d given him. But there was no one around. And what was the harm of it really?
He loosened his tie, and unbuttoned the top button, trying to picture that it was her slim, soft fingers doing it. It was a little harder to imagine that it was her hands. His were too large, too calloused. Most of all, they were warm. Rosa’s hands were almost always cold, and she delighted in placing her cold hands on his warm skin, making him jump. He scraped his nails against his shoulders, trying to pretend they were her meticulously manicured nails.
He read on, wanting to know exactly what she wanted next.
“I’m in a red silk wrap dress, and I am straddling you. Tell me what you’ll do to me.”
That was what the empty pages were for. He grinned. That was the game then? It was a choose-your-own erotica. He was still smiling as he pulled a pencil out of his bag and began to write.
“Oh Rosa.” He said with a dark chuckle. “You’re going to have to give me more than two pages to answer that.”
He pressed the pencil to the page and began to detail the slow seduction he had planned when they saw each other next.
The little minx was utterly consuming. He so enjoyed the task that it took him longer than it should have to notice that the sun was setting, and he was losing his light. Cursing, he set the pages aside and flicked his headlight
s on. Only now was he aware of how painfully aroused he’d become. He winced as he pulled out of the parking lot.
He hadn’t been in this state for nearly ten years. Melanie had not been his first, but he had been hers. He’d waited for six months before they finally consummated their relationship. That was the last time he could remember having such a severe case of blue balls.
He adjusted himself slightly, grimacing at the discomfort. He nearly swerved off the road when the unexpectedly shrill ring of his phone pierced the relative stillness of the cab. He fumbled to find the phone in his pocket.
“Hello?” He said, when finally answered it. His voice came out huskier than usual.
“How’d you like my paper, professor?” Rosa’s voice sounded like a sensual purr. His cock stiffened, becoming impossibly harder. He was going to cum at the slightest friction at his point.
“It was…interesting.” He choked out. He wanted to growl at her to get her ass over to his house so he could finish what she’d started. He could tell from the teasing lilt of her voice that it wasn’t going to be that simple.
“Oh?”
He smiled nastily as a thought struck him. She wasn’t the only one who could tease.
“An interesting premise.” He mused. “But I feel you meandered somewhat, Miss McCall. Your work lacks direction.”
He turned onto his street. Far from sounding offended Rosa merely laughed again.
“Is that so? Maybe you should read the rest of it before you judge?”
He pulled into his drive and put the truck in park. He left it running, sensing the night wasn’t over, not by a long shot.
“There’s more?” He asked. “I only saw the two.”
“There’s ten.” She informed him smugly. “The next two are in your mailbox. Have a look-see.”
He opened his door, jumping to the ground. He was to the mailbox in four long strides. Inside, on top of a pile of junk mail and unwanted bills was a crisp white envelope, sealed with a kiss. The bright red lip stain was Rosa’s favorite and the fullness of the lips drove any doubt from his mind that the envelope had been left by her.
“What’s the game Rosa?” He asked.
“No game. Just fill out the prompts I give you, and then follow directions to the next location.”
“Where I’ll find two more pages?” He guessed.
“Exactly.”
“And where exactly are these pages leading me?”
“You’ll see.” She said cheerfully and hung up the phone. He stared at the screen for a moment before trudging back to the truck. He’d been right to leave it running.
He turned on the dome light and skimmed the pages. There was some, to his chagrin, very purple prose pulled directly from Violet in the Wind the first novel in the Connor Valentine Series, where Connor recounted his first time with his paramour Violet Kelley.
He read the whole story and even replied to the prompt, in which Rosa asked him to write a love poem, like the one Connor had carved into the floorboards of the barn where they’d made love. He knew where she wanted him to go next, before he even checked the second page.
He turned the radio back on and used it to calm himself. He had to be cautious, even now, during this seemingly innocent game. He shouldn’t be indulging her. If someone found a note before he did, or stopped him on the street…it was all too easy to get trapped in a lie. It would take one mistake to have the whole thing come crashing down around his ears.
That thought sobered him, bringing him out of the haze of lust that he’d been in since class that afternoon. He’d been doing his best to ignore it of late. Being with Rosa was a lot like eating chocolate. It tasted sweet, and it was great going down, but ultimately it wasn’t good for you.
He was less enthused when he finally reached the condemned farmhouse that marked the halfway point between Fayetteville and Springdale.
He found her note tucked beneath a molding welcome mat, as well as another present draped on the doorknob. His heart rate spiked, and despite his admonition, his cock twitched ever so slightly as he plucked the lacy black underwear from the handle.
The last next two pages directed him to Fayetteville, of course. He had begun to suspect some sort of joke on Rosa’s behalf. That was, until he found the matching bra at the final site, which was in the back alley of the bar where they’d spoken seriously the first time, and where Rosa had seduced him.
To his horror, he couldn’t find the note. He searched everywhere around where he’d found the bra. Maybe someone had picked it up and put it in the trash. That was the most he could hope for. She hadn’t specifically called him “professor” or named him fully, so even if someone picked it up; it wasn’t definitive proof of anything. But it made him queasy to think of anyone being in possession of knowledge that could potentially cast aspersions on him.
He sat down on the bench in front of the bar to call her. Rosa wouldn’t be happy that the game had been ruined, but it was better than not showing up to see her at all.
The phone rang, going to voicemail eventually. He frowned. This wasn’t like her. She’d been eager to speak to him earlier. Was she only speaking to him if he arrived? That wasn’t fair. He couldn’t find her if the pages were missing. The final destination was a mystery to him. She’d have to pick up, eventually.
He called seven times in quick succession, and finally someone picked up.
“Rosa?” He asked. “Rosa, I’m sorry, but I can’t find your pages. Tell me where you are.”
Silence. Was she angry at him?
“Rosa, please just tell me. I’ll be there soon.”
He listened hard, and he could make out someone breathing on the other end. He shivered, and the hairs on his neck prickled with unease.
The phone call was disconnected after a few moments more.
He stared at his phone. He had the sneaking suspicion something had gone wrong with Rosa’s little adventure. He wondered if he ought to phone the authorities. He could spin a story, say she’d been meeting with him for advice on a paper, or she’d left something essential in his classroom. But how could he convey that he thought something was wrong? If something had happened, he’d be a suspect. His story would have more holes than Swiss cheese.
He walked on shaky legs back to his truck. He drove around town, peering out into the darkness, hoping to see her. After a few hours of searching though, he had to give up. She wasn’t anywhere in Fayetteville that he could easily see.
When he arrived home, he was keyed up, too restless to sleep. He couldn’t pay attention to the television. He set the pages with her prompts on the desk, kneading his temples. He needed sleep.
He sat down to write, finally. Writing had always calmed him down. When he touched pen to paper, the words came spilling out, as if he’d stored them away for just such an occasion. Connor’s words flowed onto the page. Words he’d never written, but that felt like they’d been spinning in his head for weeks.
He was only half aware of the numbers ticking by on his clock. He wasn’t paying much attention to his uncomfortable seat or the aches in his joints. He’d entered the pleasant limbo where nothing but the story existed.
A girl’s face danced before his eyes, and he was surprised to find it was not the usual golden-haired beauties of his fantasies. She was young, small with keen eyes and a cascade of brown curls.
“Evangeline Devereux had been a mere girl of sixteen when he’d seen her last. She’d been a spare child, even then. All elbows and knees, and quite gawky compared to her older sister Marta.
Six years had transformed her. The girl had emerged from her chrysalis a butterfly, or perhaps a moth. She was nowhere as bright or flamboyant as Marta.
Still, she was beautiful…”
Chapter Eight
He groaned and rolled over. The loud, insistent rapping at his door had invaded his dreams for the last ten minutes. His head ached as if he had drunk to much the night before. He knew it wasn’t true. He knew that it was the consequence of
not sleeping much the night before.
He checked his watch, groaned again, and made to get to his feet. He managed a half-hearted roll and fell with a thump to the carpet. Fortunately for him it was the very ugly shag carpeting left over from the ‘70s and the thick house fur shielded him from the bruising.
He got groggily to his feet and shuffled to the door. He ought to have known who would be standing on the other side. Rosa was dressed to kill, as usual, and her furious expression hinted it might be a more literal application of the phrase than usual.
She had her arms crossed over her chest and was glaring daggers at him. He groaned a third time and clapped a hand to his face. He’d nearly forgotten the anti-climactic romp around the city. He hadn’t been able to find her last clue, and she hadn’t responded to his calls.
“I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine.” She was shaking and he wasn’t sure if it was entirely from the cold. “Can I come in?”
“Of course.”
He stepped back and let her enter his living room. She kicked her shoes off absent-mindedly, glancing around the living room as though she suspected someone to pop up from behind the sofa and attack her. Finally her gaze zeroed in on the open notebook he’d set by the couch before going to sleep, and the multitude of paper wads he’d tossed aside. Some of them were false starts, and others scenes he’d decided to nix.
“What’s that?”
He stooped to gather his notebook from the floor and held it out to her. She eyed it with trepidation.
“Just tell me what it is first.”
“It’s the beginning to Winter’s Eve. It’s a Connor Valentine novel.”
Her eyes went wide and she snatched the notebook from his hand before he’d even finished the sentence. She backed her way into his armchair, not taking her eyes off the page. He gave a rueful little chuckle and settled back in to wait. She was enjoying herself, if the small smile on her face was any indication.
She kept reading for a long while, so in the interim, he fixed them both omelette. He made them both coffee as well, and took is precariously balanced load into the living room to await her verdict.
Mr. Write Now Page 6
