by Scott, S. L.
I bolt upright and accidentally hit myself in the face with my hand. Fuck. “What?”
Stella’s running around the room pulling her clothes on. “I need to go. I’m going to be late for work.”
“What?”
“School.” My hands are tugged from where I was rubbing my eyes. She’s wide-awake and looking so goddamn beautiful I automatically start pulling her toward me.
“C’mere, baby. Let me make love to you. I’ll make you feel so good again.”
“No. No. No. I’m late.”
“Like your period?”
She huffs and pulls back until she’s standing beside the bed. Rolling her eyes, she says, “No. For work. Wake up. I need you to drive me home.”
“What day is it?”
Her perfect tits are hidden behind her T-shirt when it comes over her head. “Must be nice not to worry about what day of the week it is.” I’m popped with a pillow. “For real. Get up. I need you functioning.”
Sometimes, I smirk. This would be a prime example of when. “I think I got up and functioned just fine for you last night.”
“Oh, my lord. Do I need to call a rideshare?”
Flipping the covers off, I reply, “Fine. I’m up. I’m up.” Grabbing that fine ass of hers when I walk by, I add, “And I’m hoping to be up, so far up in you later.”
“If you weren’t so hot, that’d be gross.”
From inside the bathroom, I ask, “But since I am so hot?”
“You sound like Tulsa.”
“Please don’t bring up my brother when I’m holding my dick,” I say, about to take a piss.
“Okay. Fine. It’s hot when you talk about being inside me. Hot, just like you.” She stands in the doorway dressed, leaning against it. In so many ways, this feels like old times. Natural. Comfortable around each other. Almost as if time hasn’t passed. Other than using the bathroom, there were never closed doors between us when we lived together. Since she’s still staring at me, I’m thinking there won’t be any at all this time around.
She moves her gaze to the mirror in front of her and scrunches her face. “I look awful. I’m not going to have time to fix my hair either. Shit. Shake the snake and come on.” Turning on her heels, she’s out the door, her flowing hair hitting the doorframe when she leaves.
Stella’s standing next to the 4Runner when I rush outside after getting dressed. I open her door and then hit the driver’s seat, knowing she’s panicked. “How late will you be?”
“If we don’t hit much traffic on the way, maybe ten minutes. Take a left up here.”
I’ve never been to where she currently lives. Although we’re late and she’s stressed about it, she doesn’t seem to mind letting me see her place. “How far are we driving?”
“Fifteen minutes.” She sighs. “I won’t even have time for a cup of coffee. Just a quick shower and time to get dressed. Take a right at the light and then the first right to cut through to West Avenue and across 15th.”
“Tarrytown?”
“Sort of on the edge. I rent a guesthouse in a friend’s backyard.”
“Really? How long have you lived there?”
“A few months.” She stares out the side window. “A friend helped me get Meadow into a cheap apartment through school housing. They only had a one bedroom. The landlord found out I had been sleeping on her couch for a month or more and sent an eviction notice for me or have me sign onto the lease, which doubled the rent. He was a real asshole.” She pauses. “And then a coworker overheard me talking to another teacher about my back hurting and needing a place. He had this place sitting empty after a long-term tenant moved out months prior. Offered me a deal I couldn’t pass up and here I am. Second driveway on the left. You can pull all the way to the back.”
“He?”
“Don’t get jealous.” She laughs. “Yes, a he. He’s the principal at my school.”
“The principal? Shit. He won’t like me.”
I park the SUV in front of the sunny yellow converted garage. The small building has white trim, and she has a flower box hanging under a window. She rushes to hop out and says, “I hate to dash—”
“I could make you a cup of coffee while you get dressed.” I wonder if I’m overstepping by inviting myself in. I don’t want to push her for more than she’s ready for. I’m still processing the fact she was homeless at one point after an asshole landlord threw her out. What the fuck? I take a deep breath, realizing this is another challenge she had to deal with on her own because of our past. She faced it head-on and survived. She’s so incredible. It’s no wonder I love her so much.
“You’d do that for me, Rivers Crow?” she asks with all the sass of her teenage years.
Coming around, I steal a kiss, and reply, “Don’t you know, baby? I’d do anything for you.”
My ass is slapped, and she scurries to the door. “That’s an offer I can’t refuse.”
I walk inside as she drops her purse on the small couch in the living room and goes into the bedroom. Her place isn’t much bigger than a matchbox, but it’s decorated with touches of her—flowers in a vase, candles that get burned regularly by the looks of how low the wax is in the jar, and a blanket tossed on the couch.
When I hear the shower start, I pick up the blanket and hold it to my nose, closing my eyes and savoring her scent, wishing I could still find mine mingling with hers. I remember taking so many naps with this blanket and her falling asleep while studying at night under it. We would drag it out onto our balcony and make love under the stars. For some reason, it feels good to see something of ours in her place.
Going into the kitchen, I find the little coffeepot in the corner tucked next to the small fridge. I add water and the grounds I find in the freezer, which is where she always kept them. While it percolates, I look for a mug and pull out the creamer from the fridge. I note how so many of her habits have remained the same. With my absence from her life, I realize that I’m the change she made.
I pour the freshly brewed coffee into the mug, add some creamer, and stand by the door to her bedroom. Knocking, I turn my back and wait.
When it opens, she asks, “What are you doing?”
“Waiting for you to answer,” I reply, looking over my shoulder at the beauty wrapped in a towel.
The towel is dropped, and she goes to the closet in the room while showing off that fine ass of hers. “We made love, Rivers. I don’t have anything you haven’t now seen.” Turning back, she taps her chin. “Come to think of it, I didn’t have anything to hide from you prior either.”
I walk in and set the coffee down on the nightstand. Sitting on her bed, I take inventory of furniture and décor. She slips on a thong and fastens her bra before eyeing the coffee. “Is that for me?”
“It is.”
“Thank you.” She hurries over and takes a few sips. “You’re the best, and it seems you remembered how I take it.”
“You trained me well back in the day.”
Running into the bathroom, she starts brushing her hair and then her teeth before dashing back out and pulling a silky looking shirt from a hanger. I rest back on the headboard and watch her get dressed. Other than last night when she did that thing with her hand, this is the best show in town.
She says, “I don’t have time to put on makeup. Ugh. I’ll just take it and try to sneak putting some on.”
“I could drive you to school. You could have your coffee and put on your makeup on the way.”
“Really?” She seems to actually be considering the offer.
“Really. I don’t mind. I can pick you up too since you won’t have your car.”
“Thank you, but the ride to school will be enough. I can catch a ride home.”
“Ah, that’s right. The principal landlord friend is around.”
After she slips into pants, she puts on a pair of flat shoes and then comes over to me. Kissing my head, she says, “Be careful with your jealousy, handsome. Some things aren’t worth wasting a second over
. My friend being one of them.”
Less than five minutes later, we’re back on the road. She’s applying makeup in the visor mirror but stops when we’re stuck at a light. She says, “I’ve been meaning to ask you about the banquet. You said you’d go, but just in case, are you free tomorrow night?”
“Free as can be and all yours.”
A playful glint lights up her eyes just as I turn into the parking lot. She says, “Tomorrow night then.”
“Unless you’re free tonight too?”
“I am.” Before she can hop out of the SUV, she straightens her shirt and pucker pops her lips. She slides out of the vehicle and leans back in. “I had a good time last night.”
“It was pretty spectacular. Care for a repeat tonight?”
That warrants a good laugh. Despite being late, she reaches her hand in and across the seat. When I take it, she says, “Can’t wait. I’ll text you later.” She steps back and shuts the door.
I roll down the window and catcall her because all those naughty teacher fantasies start occupying my mind, and hot damn, she looks fine. When she turns back laughing, I wave. “Have a nice day, Ms. Fellowes.”
Walking backward, she gives me a wink. “You too, Mr. Crow.”
22
Stella
I run down the empty hallway to my classroom and skid to a stop. With my hand on the doorknob, I take a quick breath and exhale before turning. The door is opened, and my eyes meet Brian’s.
He’s standing at the chalkboard pointing at a stick figure with a speech bubble that has the words I cannot tell a lie inside. Basically, he’s teaching my junior and senior students first grade history. False history at that.
“My apologies, class, for being late.” I march straight to him. “Mr. Teller, thank you for stepping in.”
Irritation burns like fire in his eyes. It’s an expression I’ve never seen before especially not one directed at me. “Ms. Fellowes, may I speak with you in the hall?”
I set my bag down on my desk and turn to follow Brian back out of the classroom. I instruct my students to turn to chapter ten and start reading silently. The door is shut, and Brian stands before me, fuming. “Why are you late?”
“Traffic?”
Narrowing his eyes, his temper flares. “Are you asking me?”
“No. I’m sorry. I’ve never been lat—”
“It doesn’t matter if you’ve never been late before. It matters that you left students unattended. If I hadn’t gotten wind that you weren’t here, who knows what trouble they would have caused.”
“I’m sorry. I overslept and—”
“Why weren’t you home last night? Where were you?”
Surprised by this personal interrogation, my head jolts back. “Excuse me? That is none of your business.”
“It is when it directly affects my business, and this school is my business.”
How dare he talk to me like that! My fury erupts in my whispering yell, “You are not my parent, so do not speak to me like you are. You’re my principal, so if you feel the need to write me up, then do it. I take full responsibility for being late. But to get these kids back on track with their day, I’ll be returning to my classroom now.”
As soon as I turn, my arm is grabbed, his hold tight, and strong enough to physically angle me so I’m looking him in the eyes again. “What are you doing?”
“Shut your mouth and you listen to me.”
Pain shoots through my arm and red flags fly up. My fight or flight instincts kick in. Flight. I try to yank my arm away, but he digs his fingers into my muscle. My eyes water as he leans down, getting even closer. Through gritted teeth, he warns, “Don’t screw up again or there will consequences and I’ll have no choice but to punish you.”
“Principal Teller?” a voice asks, echoing down the hall.
His hand immediately drops to his side, and we both look down the hall at the same time. A fake ease fills the space between us when Brian replies, “Mrs. Warner. How can I help you?”
“Is everything all right?” Her gaze slides from his to mine. “Ms. Fellowes?”
Another warning shot is fired when Brian quietly clears his throat.
I reply, “Fine. I’m just returning to class.” When I take hold of the doorknob this time, the metal rattles in my shaking hand. I briefly squeeze my eyes closed because I know they both heard it. Opening the door, I step inside. I keep my eyes focused forward on my desk.
When I sit, I tuck my hands under the desk and hold them together, hoping to stop the nerves from exposing the fear that’s bubbled inside me.
“Ms. Fellowes?” I look up at my students who, judging by their expressions, seem concerned. My gaze lands on a studious girl in the front row. “We’re done reading. It was a short chapter. Are we going to discuss it like we usually do?”
“Yes. That would be good. Let’s break into small groups and discuss the chapter among yourselves.”
The sound of chairs skidding against the linoleum hides the hiccup that frees itself from my chest. I want to sob, but watching the students, I know I can’t. I pull my laptop from my bag and go about setting up for the day, busying my mind to stifle the fear I feel inside.
My hands shake from the encounter. What the hell was that out there? I’ve never seen Brian like that. I’ve only been more frightened one other time . . . shit. That’s not a memory I ever want to relive. Ever.
My thoughts drift back to Rivers in his old 4Runner giving me a wave and making me feel beautiful. I hold that visual tighter and the knowledge that I’ll be seeing him again for a repeat will help me survive the day.
* * *
I skipped lunch today for two reasons.
I forgot to make one in my rush out the door.
I don’t have a car to leave to go buy anything.
I’ll get by. It’s just a growling stomach. I can manage a little longer since it’s the last class of the day. Anyway, it’s not my hunger that’s been on my mind. I lost my appetite this morning in the hall, and it seems I suddenly have bigger problems on my hands than being five minutes late to class.
This sudden turn in Brian’s behavior is shocking. I fully expected to be written up. I never do anything wrong, so it’s not like I have a record or would be fired. But the anger in his eyes keeps flashing before mine. Do I talk to him after school about what happened or pretend it never did?
With no idea how to handle the situation, I turn my attention back on another growing issue—Josh Baird. I can usually handle rowdy students or rude students. I’ve never had a fight with one or even had two students get physical with each other in my classroom.
This private school is one of the best in the city and in the state of Texas, and a lot of money flows through these halls. Even though most students don’t fear the staff here, they do fear their parents and the threat of losing their hefty allowances. So we generally have well-behaved kids. But Josh has been getting bolder as the year has progressed.
While the other students read the chapter in front of them, his eyes are burning holes into me. When I look up, he doesn’t even have the courtesy of looking away. No, while slumped in his chair, he holds my stare while tapping his pen against his lip.
It’s not the stare that bothers me. It’s his arrogance that he has the right to look at me like he’s undressing me with his eyes. The top of the pen dips into his mouth and pokes the inside of his cheek a few times before he blows me a kiss.
“Josh, tell me about the battle discussed in the chapter you just read?”
“No please?”
“No please or thank you, Stella?” The sound of my name mixes with the metal teeth of his zipper. It’s over. “I just gave your father his life back. A little gratitude would be nice.”
“Why don’t you tell me, Stella.”
I don’t blink, and I don’t find him amusing, though some of his classmates do. “If you call me anything other than Ms. Fellowes for the rest of the year, you’ll be spending your free period with P
rincipal Teller. Do you understand me?”
“I understand you, Ms. Fellowes.” He sits up and raises his hand.
“What is it?”
“Where are your glasses?”
Shoot. I forgot them in my car. That’s when I realize my hair is down as well. Shit. What is going on today? And how on earth did I not put my glasses on or even do my hair? I never leave for work unless I have on my full armor. Because I hate the attention on my looks. My appearance has never been anything more than a nuisance that makes men want to belittle me. My mother was beautiful and made it clear that we should use our looks to get what we want or be used.
She chose to use hers, but I refuse to use mine. Appearances can be a blessing and a curse. I have no doubt that “the boss” gave me that ultimatum once he saw Meadow and me. There is no silver lining when it comes to that situation. He took my integrity away when he bent me face down over his desk while his lackeys watched. I guess he could have let them have a turn right after him. Should I be grateful he didn’t?
“Sasha, will you fill us in on the battle?”
She answers my question, and then I instruct them to discuss the chapters as I’ve done with every other class today. When the bell rings, I call Josh to my desk. He slings his backpack over his shoulder and high fives his friend like he’s about to get laid. Spoiled little shit.
I stand, not wanting him looking down on me, and watch as he takes his sweet-ass time. Rude. I’m still not eye level with the eighteen-year-old football player, but I intend to hold my own. “Your behavior has progressively gotten worse. You’re disrespectful and not working to your potential. I wanted to get your thoughts on a parent conference where we can all openly discuss the issues.”
He taps my desk as if he’s in control of this conversation. “That would be an unwise decision on your part.”
Crossing my arms over my chest, I glare straight into bratty eyes. “Are you threatening me, Mr. Baird?”
“I don’t need to.”
“What does that mean?”
“Good day, Stella.”
A shiver runs the length of my spine as I watch him walk away. What the hell just happened? He shuts the door, and the loud conversations on the other side are cut off. Standing there, I continue to stare at the light wood door as if it will give me the answers I’m searching for. Did he just threaten me?
