by Shey Stahl
“You gonna let me fuck you or not?” It was a blunt question and caught her off-guard.
“You’re so bad,” she said, pushing back on the hands of a sinner, laughing.
“And you’re so good.” I flashed an easy smile her way. I might have been bad, but in truth, she wouldn’t have had me any other way. She hated the feeling that drew her to me.
I despised the way she drew me with her warmth, a contrast to the cold that consumed my thoughts.
I pressed my weight into her again, my hips moving against hers. “Are you going to?”
My breath sped as I watched her hands glide down my forearms. I brought her closer when her hand fell away. “I want you. In ways I shouldn’t.”
“But you don’t love me,” her voice shook with the words. “You don’t want to be with me.”
“I do want you,” I argued.
“But not the way I need you to,” she deduced, closing her eyes, shaking her head. My stomach clenched, my chest tightening. Reality had finally sunk in. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”
And that’s where it ended, in the front seat of a stolen car with “I can’t.”
I wasn’t going to pressure her. She hadn’t been talking about just sex. No, it was her saying she couldn’t love someone like me. It was an “I can’t love you like you need me to.” I didn’t fit into the ideas of what Aly had for falling in love. I didn’t fit into her life plan at all. Austin, he had at the time.
Maybe that’s why I left. No. That’s not true. I know why I left, and I certainly never wanted her to choose him, but I didn’t have much choice in the matter.
The door to the classroom opens and thumps against the wall dramatically. It’s not students. No, they’ve been gone for ten minutes, and I thought I might get my first moment to relax today. And watch Aly walking away. She does have a nice ass.
“Mom said you were back but fuck, I didn’t believe her.”
Again, just like this morning with Glen, I don’t need to turn around to know who it is. It’s my cousin, Henry. He’s the product of my Aunt Katherine and Uncle Elliott. You’ll meet Uncle Elliott, I’m sure. He reminds me of Judge Dread. One time he picked me up by the back of my neck. No. Lie. Like I was a goddamn kitten.
I blame him for my constant neck pain.
Now take a look at Henry. He’s like six foot four and built like a grizzly bear. You can’t miss him. His nickname when we were younger was Hare-Bear. If you asked me, it sounded like a pussy’s name, never made much sense, and I refused to call him by it.
Henry spins a football in his hand effortlessly. He went to college with a full-ride at USC so we spent a lot of time together when he finally moved south for a while. “Whatup, bro.”
“Not much.” I lean back on my desk, shaking my head. The trouble Henry and I got into was almost as bad as Tyler and me, Aly’s older brother. It was destructive enough Henry told me when I left, shortly after Tyler had left for a full-time job racing, the town practically had a party.
Henry, having been on his own with no one to corrupt him anymore, eventually tamed down. Tame enough he’s married and has a two-year-old daughter.
Do you notice the way Henry’s looking at me? I think he wants to bring up Aly because he knows the one thing that could have brought me back here—had my dad not died—was Aly.
“I see you’ve got some troublemakers in your class.” He nods, his hand on Cash’s desk with his name tag taped to it.
See? Told you. This is his way of bringing it up.
I nod. “A few. What are you doing here?”
He grins, holding the football up. “I teach PE here, and Mom told me you were back.” And then he hits me with, “I need another coach for football.”
He certainly doesn’t waste any time, does he? I have enough to deal with. Coaching these little brats in my class isn’t exactly what I want to be doing in my free time. Aside from the track, making Aly see I can do right by her, that will take a good amount of my time. “No way. I don’t even like football.”
“Bullshit.” He laughs, tilting his head. “It’s the only thing you were good at besides disturbing the peace.”
I don’t budge and glance over my shoulder out the window. Damn it. Now she’s gone. I glare at Henry. “Why do you need me? Isn’t that something the kids’ dads help with?”
Henry snorts, almost disgusted. “Yeah, I suppose if they knew anything about football. Our only option is Austin, and he can’t manage to show up for the games let alone the practices.”
Now he has my attention. All of it. Just hearing Austin’s name has me wanting to punch the desk. “His kids play?”
Notice how I don’t say his name? It’s by design.
“Yep. Cash is amazing. He’s our cornerback and running back on offense, but Grady,” Henry pauses, shaking his head, “Kid can’t catch a ball to save his life. We have him as a tight end at the moment, and then on D he plays defensive end.” Henry tosses me the football, and I catch it near my stomach. “Grady must take after Aly.”
He says Aly’s name on purpose, I know he does, but then I do wonder how much of the Austin/Aly situation he knows about.
I exhale, lifting my brows and looking sideways, like he’d caught me off guard by mentioning her. “What’s their story?” I ask, my voice devoid of emotion. I play this game pretty well. I know exactly what’s going on with them, Glen tells me everything, but I’m curious what Henry will tell me. Maybe he knows what Glen doesn’t.
Henry leans back against one of the desks, his size making it look like a piece of toy furniture. “Pretty simple, actually. Austin fucked Brie, and Aly called him out on it.”
You probably know this already, but Henry married Aly’s cousin, Tori, and they live across the street from her. I’d never been more thrilled to know this because now Tori could give me the dirt. I took Tori’s virginity. Henry doesn’t know this, and I doubt Aly does either. It’s irrelevant at this point.
I don’t focus on that and neither should you. I only told you in case it comes up later.
I always knew Austin was a lying piece of shit. “When did that happen?”
“Not sure. Sometime after the Fourth of July. We had our big block party like we always do, and Austin left early. Said something about work and never came back. I guess that’s when Aly found out.” Henry shrugs, frowning. “Fucked up if you ask me. He had it all. Hot wife, great kids, and he was banging her friend the whole time.”
Who was she calling a juvenile dipshit this morning? She must have been referring to her husband. You know, I always knew Austin was a fucking asshole. Everyone always thought he was the good guy hanging out with the loser growing up, me being that loser, but it was the other way around if you ask me. He had everyone fooled, including Aly.
I raise an eyebrow and toss the football back at him. “The whole time?”
“I don’t know if it was the whole time, but you know Austin. He’s an asshole. He spews bullshit for a living.”
Henry stands up and holds the ball in one hand at his side, raising his eyebrows. “Meet me on the field at five.”
It’s not a question. It’s a demand, one I’ll probably follow.
I don’t want to coach football. But if it means Aly will be there, what will be the harm be in helping some kids learn to throw a ball?
Guess who’s a football coach now?
This guy. Only because I know it pisses Aly off the moment I see her.
Don’t believe me? Take a look. She’s walking up with the boys, each one holding her hand. See the frown set on her face?
Pissed. Off.
And I fucking love it.
Blood rushes through my body. A natural reaction with her proximity. I can see I’ve pissed her off. She notices me and takes a seat on the bleachers next to the field. Her small hands curl into fists until she has to tuck them between her thighs. She looks like she’s on the verge of throat punching me. Watch her. Do you see the way her lips thin into a straight line? The way her bod
y goes rigid?
All indications she’s angry.
And you know what? Her anger turns me the fuck on. There’s a reason why I was such a shit as a kid. It was to get little Aly Rae Sprague to look my way and now that she is, I have to keep it up.
Henry goes immediately into drills with the boys, and my attention is on Aly, who by chance, or me playing my cards right, is standing next me. Her eyes are on me, looking like she wants to take a pair of cleats to my face.
A grin tugs at my lips, but I don’t let it loose.
“Jesus, you’re their teacher and their coach. Something tells me you’re doing this on purpose and you’re pissing me off,” she says quietly, her eyes searching my face.
“And it’s turning me on,” I retort, my voice flat as I wink at her. “If you keep glaring at me like that I might have to fuck you behind the bleachers.” I don’t move my eyes from the field, but I can see from my peripheral she’s white as a ghost. “Or I could steal a car again and maybe this time you’ll give in?”
Is it wrong to enjoy that after ten years I can still get under her easily? I know what you’re thinking, Ridge, you’re being awful. Knock it off.
Nope. I can’t. Not when it comes to her. Teasing her is too much fun.
“You’re disgusting,” she mumbles, reaching for the water bottle on the bleachers beside her, still staring at me—but not in a way that suggests she’s appalled. My dirty mouth doesn’t disgust her. Judging by the flush of her cheeks, the way her body instinctively angles toward me, her attraction to me does. “How old are you now? Is fucking still all you think about?”
“Maybe.” I shrug. “I’ve thought about you most of today. . . and something tells me you enjoy that, Aly.” My voice blows over her, and I know it sparks something inside her. Look at her. She wants to slam me against the metal bleachers and ride my cock until I make her scream.
Her eyes glitter with rage, and fuck, I’m so hard. She’s so goddamn beautiful. See that spark in her eyes? Yeah, there’s hate there, but there’s also anticipation I might own my words.
Yep. It’s decided. I’m going to fuck Austin’s ex-wife. I have no idea if they are still technically married. I don’t care at this point.
“Do you really think you and I talking is a good idea, Ridge?” She leans forward, her arms crossed over her chest, effectively pushing her tits up in the tank top she’s wearing.
Goddamn, those are nice.
I turn to face her, my hands on my hips. “I’m curious, why’d you marry him? You had to know he was going to cheat on you.”
I don’t think she wants to hear that. Do you?
Her lips thin, her jaw tightens. Nope. Didn’t want to hear that at all. “You know what your problem is, Ridge? You’re pissed off I chose your stepbrother after you left.” There isn’t a trace of embarrassment in her voice. She owns this. What she doesn’t know is how much truth there is to those words.
“I am pissed you chose him,” I tell her sternly, narrowing my eyes at her. “You chose wrong and you know it. Safe doesn’t always get you security.”
Do you notice the way her cheeks redden? What about the inability to suddenly meet my eyes and the perpetual slouch of her shoulders? She’s assumed because she knows the truth in my statement. Aly yanks her purse up over her shoulder. “I hate you.”
As she’s walking away from me and I’m watching her ass in those jean shorts that are clinging to her every curve, I chuckle and flip a football around in my hand Henry tossed in my direction, as if to say, get over here.
I walk over to Henry, who’s staring at me, and I can tell he’s is trying to keep it PG for the sake of the kids standing beside him, but he doesn’t exactly do a good job. “Fuck, man. . . .” See what I mean? “You trying to get her attention?” he goads, amused with himself. I stare blankly at him. “She’ll probably even let you put your P in her lonely divorced V.”
Henry’s wrong though. I shouldn’t be looking at her or thinking about her V in general. I’m her kids’ teacher and they’ve been through enough. They don’t need me in the picture. That in itself is enough for me to stop the thoughts before I make plans. But then again, when have I ever followed the goddamn rules? Rules and me don’t always go hand and hand.
“I’m not lookin’ to get her attention.” I grin, winking at him because I’m a nasty fucker when I want to be. “I’m just looking to B my L on her Ts.”
Henry throws his head back in laughter. “That’s the cousin I remember.” And then he motions to Grady, dropping the ball downfield on every throw. “Go help him.”
Sighing, I watch Aly in the distance, standing next to Tori now. Reaching down, I grab a pair of gloves from my bag I picked up before coming to practice.
I didn’t want to coach, remember? But if it means helping her kids, I will, because I’ve been in their shoes. I know why Cash is acting out, but Grady, he seems entirely different. He’s a good kid, kind and gentle, so unlike the harshness of his cold twin brother. I relate to Cash more, but Grady, he reminds me so much of Aly I can’t help but want to be near him.
He’s sitting in the grass, frowning, picking at the blades and piling them on his black pants.
I kneel next to him, then sit down on the ground and hand him a pair of running back gloves.
Grady picks them up and then stares at me, brushing grass from his legs. “What are those?”
“They’re for you,” I tell him. “They’re running back gloves.”
His hazel brown eyes light up. Fuck he looks like his mom when he’s happy. “What do they do?”
I wink at him, leaning back on my hands. “Help you catch the ball.”
“Do they work?”
“Let’s try them out.” I motion toward the ball a few feet from him. Wanna take a few throws?”
In the distance, I can see Aly is watching my interaction with her son. I can’t see from here what her reaction is, but it’s probably earning me some points, right?
Grady and I stand. He puts the gloves on and then runs upfield about twenty feet. “Okay, I’m ready.” He stares at the ball in my hand with such determination I almost laugh.
“Are you sure?”
He claps his hands together, the sound dulled by the leather gloves. “Yep.”
Drawing in a breath, I pull my arm back and toss the ball to him.
He drops it.
Tears surface. “I can’t do it.”
I make a clicking sound with my tongue. “None of that, dude.” I motion for him to throw the ball back. “Let’s try again. Watch the ball the moment it leaves my hand. Don’t take your eyes off it.”
He nods, tosses the ball back, and adjusts his gloves, staring at them. Then he spits in them and looks up at me. “I’m ready.”
I don’t want to tell him spitting in them probably isn’t wise, but whatever. One step at a time.
We go through the process two or three more times and finally, on the fourth time, he catches the ball. Widened eyes drop to the ball in his hand, a smile forming, bright and beaming, just like his mother again.
“I did it!” he screams, running toward me. “I did it, Ridge!”
And then he’s hugging my legs, and I can’t help but smile myself. I kneel and wrap my arms around him. I can’t remember the last time I hugged a child or anyone where I felt this much emotion. I want to. . . I don’t even know. It’s a surge of something I can’t place. Pride, love, confusion. . . . I really can’t place it, but I don’t let him go right away.
Grady pulls back, that little speck of brown in his left eye noticeable in the setting sun. “Can I keep the gloves?”
If you let me kiss your mom.
“You bet you can.” I stand up, distancing myself from him.
He runs away, toward Cash on the field, and my stare finds Aly’s again. She’s still watching me, but her stance is more relaxed. I certainly didn’t want to lead her kids on or involve them in any way, but fuck, maybe they’d help me out and get her to like me again.
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I know what you’re thinking. Ridge, you’re using them. I’m not though. I wouldn’t do that. They’re helping me out.
What a dick.
Who does he think he is that he can just come back here and expect me to fall for him? Expect my kids to fall for him?
And damn it, why is that happening already?
I can’t escape his persona, and the confident shit has not changed. Nothing’s changed. Not his jet-black hair, his teasing dark eyes, or his rebellious nature. He’s still got that square jaw and that lean body that makes my panties wet.
My panties are wet. In fact, I had to change them. Urgh!
Aly, gurrrrrl. . . you don’t need a man in your life. You don’t.
That’s my mind telling me that, not my va jay jay. She’s got something else to tell me because she enjoyed that little teasing game her and Ridge’s cock played at practice.
But while we’re on this, you see the girl there trying to open the pickle jar by herself? The one repeating the “I don’t need a man” speech, you’ve heard that from every single woman out there who’s been tainted by love, haven’t you?
It’s a fact. That’s what the past six months have taught me. I do, however, need dick. I need wine and for a man to tell me I’m pretty. And dick. I don’t know how lesbians do it.
When Austin and I separated, it had been three months since we had sex. Three long months. You do the math; it’s six months. Now do you understand why I can’t stop drooling over Ridge, the hot-bend-me-over-your-desk-and-teach-me-a-lesson teacher?
It’s bad. So bad.
Grady comes up behind me in the kitchen, pushes a chair toward the counter, and brings himself to the same height as me and motions for the pickle jar. “Give that to me. I can do it, Mama.”
He’s so adorable. I hope he doesn’t grow up to be a douchebag like his father.
I hand it to him, and he struggles for a moment, tiny dark brow drawn together in determination to open it. I want to cry because he’s trying so hard to be a man and no eight-year-old should have to try to be a man. He’s already growing up too fast.
“I can do it,” he mumbles, grunting and then sighs and sets the jar on the counter. He wipes his small hands on the front of his football pants, then tries again. When it doesn’t open, he frowns. “Hold on, I’ll be right back.”
