by Ryan, Lexi
My stomach sinks. Being called to the principal’s office isn’t any less terrifying when you’re an adult. “Of course. I’ll be down in about fifteen minutes.”
Mr. Mooney doesn’t even attempt a reassuring smile. Instead, he gives a tight nod and walks away.
“Are you in trouble?” Lance asks.
“Is it about the layoffs?” Sydney asks.
I wave them both off. “You two worry too much. Go ahead and get out of here. I’ll see you at the theater tomorrow.”
They look skeptical but gather their things and leave my classroom. I’m glad when they’re gone, and I no longer have to fight to keep my smile in place.
It’s been a long day at the end of an even longer week. A meeting with Mr. Mooney wasn’t on the agenda, and I can’t imagine it’s likely to make an already tough week any easier.
My phone buzzes, and seeing Jake’s name in the text notification makes something knot in my stomach.
Jake: I’ve missed you this week.
I’ve been avoiding Jake—easy enough to do. The children’s theater is beginning its inevitable takeover of my life, as it does this time every year, and the end-of-the-school-year grading seems never-ending. But now it’s been six days since he walked out of our hotel room. I’m bound to see him when I’m out for girls’ night tonight, and maybe again when Lilly comes to her audition tomorrow. We’ve texted a couple of times, but he’s been busy too. Kathleen had surgery on Sunday and was released from the hospital but needs a little extra help getting around.
Me: I’ve been so busy. If I don’t see you at the bar tonight, I’ll try to catch you tomorrow morning.
I bite my lip and force myself to hit send. I need to see Jake. I need to admit to him that I’m hitting the brakes on Operation Pregnancy . . . at least for now. I’m just not sure how to have that conversation. What will that mean for me and Jake? Will we go back to how we were before? Is that possible or have I ruined everything?
Jake: Oh, you’ll see me tonight. In fact, I might pull you away from the girls. Give me fifteen minutes in my office. I promise you won’t regret it.
A thrill rushes down my spine and my thighs tighten at those words, and I have to squeeze my eyes shut for a beat. Part of me—a very selfish, undersexed part that’s lusted after her best friend for longer than she’ll admit—wants to hold off on telling Jake. I know letting him give me a baby is a capital-B, capital-I Bad Idea, but having him flirt with me and touch me has been nothing short of a fantasy. I don’t want it to end. I know I turn him on, and he’s admitted he’s been attracted to me for a long time, but is that enough? Is either of us willing to give Ava-and-Jake a try without a baby as an excuse?
I type three different replies before I settle on a cryptic We’ll see about that, and tuck my phone back into my purse.
I take my time packing my things, needing the few minutes of alone time before facing Mr. Mooney. Last week, I let my plagiarizer have another chance on his research paper, and even though I’d bet money he had someone write it for him, I couldn’t prove a thing, so I graded it, and everyone but me seemed pretty pleased with that outcome. Today must be a different unhappy student. Or worse, unhappy parents.
Just a day in the life of a private school teacher.
I roll my shoulders back and head to Mr. Mooney’s office, knocking twice on the frame of the open door before poking my head in. “Mr. Mooney?”
He gives me a tight smile from the other side of the desk and waves me in. “Please, Ms. McKinley, have a seat.”
“Thanks,” I say softly. My hackles are up, but I need to assume the best until I know there’s a reason not to.
“As you know,” he begins, “we’ve been having to grapple with some pretty difficult choices with all these layoffs.”
I wait for him to say more, but he just looks at me, and as the seconds tick away, I realize what he’s not saying, and I freeze. I knew layoffs were coming, but I naively believed what he told me that night at Howell’s. I thought I wouldn’t be affected. But he’s staring at me as if he’s waiting for me to understand something. He wants me to guess it before he has to say it out loud.
I won’t give him the satisfaction. “Okay?”
He sighs heavily, his annoyance weighing in the air as unmistakably as his cheap cologne. “I’ve always appreciated your work ethic and your rapport with your students. But as you know, we have to look outside the classroom, too. Miss Quincy has taken our cheerleaders to state championships two years in a row. Not only is it an invaluable experience for the girls and a pathway to scholarships, it’s good for the school. Girls want to come here because they want to be on that team.”
My stomach sinks. “But I have seniority.”
“This is a private school, Miss McKinley. We’ve never used years of service as a metric for teacher evaluation.”
“But what about the theater program? Those kids—”
“Do you really think the theater program is going to bring kids to this school?”
I lean forward, feeling desperate. “If you’d give me some money to work with, it might. The cheerleaders have gotten everything they’ve asked for and more, and meanwhile the theater kids are expected to put on major productions with nothing but the paltry budget they get from fundraisers.”
He holds up a hand. “I could have waited until the end of the school year to deliver this news, but I’m telling you now as a professional courtesy. I knew you’d want to prepare yourself.”
I shake my head. This isn’t just about me and my job. Every year, kids find themselves through the drama club. They forge friendships and develop confidence. They create something they can be proud of. “We’ve already started planning next year. These kids are counting on me.”
“Mr. Wick will take over the drama club.”
I gape at him. Mr. Wick is the orchestra instructor who hasn’t taught a drama class in the entire time I’ve been here. “Mr. Wick hates theater. He mocks the kids who want to do it and resents having to put his orchestra in the pit for our musicals.”
“Enough, Ava. I’ve done you a favor by telling you sooner than I needed to, and frankly, your behavior is making me regret that decision.”
Protest after protest surges up my throat, but I swallow them all back and focus on keeping the burning tears at the back of my eyes from making their way down my cheeks. “This is all just a very big shock.”
“I want you to have as much time as possible to find a new job. We had to make hard decisions, and I don’t like that any more than you do. I don’t want you to disrupt the last two weeks of our school year because you’re pouting about not being chosen.”
I’m pouting? This is my job. It’s my life. I’ve given this place everything for eight years, and now I’m pouting?
“I hope I can trust you to handle this properly with the students. The last thing we need is you making us look like the bad guys.”
“I’ll do what’s expected of me. Just like I always do.” I push my chair back and stand. “Is that all?”
“It is.” He folds his arms and leans back in his chair. “I’m sorry I don’t have better news, Ava, but you and I both know you already have one foot out the door.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? I’ve been fully dedicated to Windsor Prep since I graduated from college.”
He arches a brow. “Why would I keep on an employee who’s considering jobs in Florida when I could keep the ones who want to be here?”
“Knock, knock!” Ellie calls from the foyer, her heels tapping on my hardwood floor.
Shit. I completely forgot it was girls’ night. I’m in sweatpants and a ratty old T-shirt, and am feeling as prepared for a night at Jackson Brews with the girls as I am for a walk across a beauty pageant stage.
“What’s wrong?” Ellie asks as soon as she spots me. “Ava, what happened?”
I wipe my cheeks. “I lost my job.”
“No!” Ellie’s face crumples. “Seriously?”
I nod.
“I knew they were doing layoffs. It shouldn’t come as a complete surprise.”
“Yeah, but they’re getting rid of one of their longest-serving, most dedicated teachers?”
I shrug. “It was me or Miss Quincy, and she’s got the cheer team, which brings in all the money.”
“Well, you’ve got the drama kids.”
I cut my eyes to Ellie. “Who bring in no money.”
“Because they don’t give you any support. Cheer gets all the funding!”
“I love you,” I whisper. I know she’s just parroting the things she’s heard me complain about, but it doesn’t matter. Right now, it feels really good to have her on my side.
“That asshole,” she says. “He’s had it out for you ever since you refused to let him feel you up on that blind date. That’s what this is about. He has a personal vendetta against you.”
“He found out about the job in Florida,” I whisper, and my cheeks flame hot with anger, frustration, and humiliation. I wasn’t even trying to look for another job, but my father’s belief that I’d be the first to be let go came back and bit me in the ass.
“Crap.” She sinks down on the couch beside me, and I lean my head on her shoulder. “What are you going to do?”
I swallow hard and draw in a ragged breath. “Wallow in self-pity tonight, spend my afternoon at Jackson Harbor Children’s Theater tomorrow, and spend Sunday trying to figure out what my options are.”
“Your options meaning Florida?”
I shrug. “That’s one possibility, I guess. I don’t know. I was considering it, but I hate feeling like I’m being cornered into making such a big decision.”
“Get dressed. Let’s go out. You need a drink.”
I shake my head. “I can’t do it tonight, Ell. I love you guys, but I’m only giving myself one night to feel sorry for myself, so I’m going to make the most of it.”
She kisses the top of my head in an uncharacteristically maternal gesture. “Okay, but next girls’ night, you’re coming whether you want to or not.”
“Understood.”
She squeezes my hand again. “Want me to swing by after? I could bring ice cream, and we could make a voodoo doll of Mr. Mooney.”
“I appreciate the offer, but I think I’ll go to bed in a bit.”
“Okay. Love you, Avie.”
“Love you too, Ell.”
Shortly after she’s out the door, my phone buzzes. I half expect it to be a text from Ellie insisting I come to girls’ night. Instead, it’s Jake.
Jake: The girls are getting started without you. Everything okay?
Me: I decided to stay in.
Jake: That’s my loss. I was really looking forward to my fifteen minutes.
Me: Maybe another time?
My thumbs hover over the keyboard as I hesitate, considering whether to tell him about the layoff. Usually, Jake’s the first person I tell when something big happens in my life, but I don’t want to tell him this. He’ll swoop in to try and find a solution. He’ll pull strings to get me a job, pay my mortgage when I’m not looking, and then, months later, I’ll realize that the balance of our friendship has once again fallen to favor me and I’ll feel like shit about it.
I will tell him. I have to. But first I need to decide what’s next for me, and I have to make that decision alone. Jake won’t want me to leave Jackson Harbor.
I’m wondering if that’s part of the reason I should.
Jake
Me: Confession time? I’ve had all week to try and haven’t managed to make it more than five minutes without thinking about you naked and moaning under me. The only thing keeping me from showing up in your room in the middle of the night is the need to maintain the illusion that I’m not a creep.
Ava: I’ve thought about it a lot too. I’ve been thinking about a lot of things this week.
Blood rushes to my dick at those words, and I grimace as I scan the crowded bar. Ava’s been at auditions all day, so she probably isn’t up for company tonight, but fuck if I don’t want to show up at her doorstep right now and hear some very specific details about her thoughts.
Me: Up for a call? I can hide in my office for a few. Don’t mind texting but would rather hear your voice when I learn all about what’s been on your mind.
Ava: I can’t call. I’m meeting someone, but it’s my turn for a confession.
Me: Please, go on . . .
Ava: I’m putting the brakes on Operation Pregnancy.
I blink at my phone and reread her last text three times before the next one comes through.
Ava: We can talk more tomorrow, but I wanted to tell you.
I’m not sure if this should feel like a victory or a defeat. On the one hand, when I finally do sleep with Ava, I have no intention of being the stud called in to share his seed before being sent away. In that sense, I’m glad she’s putting her plans on hold after our night together.
On the other hand, I don’t know if the end of Operation Pregnancy means the end of my excuse to seduce her.
Maybe it’s an opportunity to confess it was never more than an excuse.
My fingers hover over the screen as I mentally compose and dismiss dozens of replies. I’m equal parts relieved and panicked. I have no doubt Ava still wants a child. She’s just decided it’s better not to try for one. Or has she decided it is better not to try for one with me?
Me: Swing by and have a beer with me.
I regret that reply the second I send it. Too damn casual. I don’t want her to think that this decision is nothing to me. So I send another.
Me: Or I can come by your place. Whatever sounds good to you. We should talk.
Ava: Maybe I’ll come by Jackson Brews after my date.
Me: Date????
I grimace at the four question marks looking back at me from my text. If I wanted to play it cool, I could have left off a few of those.
Ava: I forgot I scheduled two SUC dates at once. Just got the reminder about tonight and didn’t want to be the bitch who stood someone up.
I officially hate text conversations. Is it really that she doesn’t want to stand someone up, or does her decision to end Operation Pregnancy mean she’s back on the market?
I tried to give her space this week. Last Saturday night was intense for her. It was for me, too—intense and fucking amazing. We both put ourselves out there. Admitted this attraction isn’t new on either side. It was everything.
Me: Enjoy your date. Be safe. Call if you need me.
I have to believe her plans to take the focus off pregnancy might mean something good for us, but until we get to talk in person, I can’t assume anything.
Ava
If I hadn’t scheduled my first two Straight Up Casual dates at the same time, and if I didn’t have a serious guilt complex at the prospect of standing someone up, I’d be spending my Saturday night at home, not at Howell’s downing another shot of tequila and praying to every deity I’ve ever heard of that this experience is better than my last.
I’d like to blame the tequila for the heat pooling in my belly, but I know Jake’s texts are responsible. I like the idea of him thinking about me. I like the idea of him showing up in my bed in the middle of the night. My only problem is that I don’t know if the attraction he proved so clearly last weekend extends beyond sexual desire. Does he want a real relationship with me? And do I want one with him when I don’t know where I’ll be living come fall?
Ending Operation Pregnancy in a text was cowardly, but I was afraid I wouldn’t do it at all if I didn’t do it now. And if the sexy texts stop now? That’ll tell me all I need to know about where Jake stands.
I study the contents of my drink and wait for a date I’m not the slightest bit interested in having. This is the last one. Thankfully, Ellie was cool about it when I told her I was transferring her gift to Teagan.
I might as well make the best of tonight, though, so I will myself to imagine a good outcome to this date. A handsome guy with a big smile who looks at me with s
tars in his eyes. Someone with a steady job, who values family and knows how to make me laugh.
Someone a lot like Jake.
The thought makes my chest pinch, and I take a long pull of my beer. Jake isn’t just a prime example of the kind of guy every girl deserves; he’s my rock.
Since Saturday night, when I realized how thoroughly I was taking advantage of him, I’ve been trying to brace myself for a life where I hold myself up a little more on my own and depend on Jake a little less. It won’t be easy.
When Carter Jackson walks in the door of Howell’s and spots me and the Straight Up Casual placard on my table, I want to crawl under the nearest rock. If he knows that Jake and I were jumping headlong into Operation Pregnancy only a week ago, seeing me here with another guy tonight is going to make me look like an ass.
I am an ass.
This is so stupid. I should have just called and canceled this date. I’ve lost my job, might be moving to Florida, and have feelings for my lifelong best friend that I don’t really know what to do with. I have no business dating right now.
Carter grabs a shot from the bar, throws it back, then strides across the room to me. He thrums his fingers on my table. “Straight Up Casual?” he asks with an arched brow.
“If you mock me for this,” I say, “I’ll tell every single woman in town that you have a small penis.”
He holds up a hand and then clears his throat. “Okay, first of all, they know better. Second of all, I’m not mocking you.” He looks around. “I’m pretty sure you’re my date, Ava.”
I glare at him. “Are you freaking kidding me? They set me up with my boss four weeks ago, and this week it’s my best friend’s brother?”
