by Danica Avet
All the air leaves the room, or maybe that’s just my lungs. Either way, I suddenly can’t breathe. I come to a complete standstill in the middle of the aisle, staring at Shaun as though he’s a ghost. He keeps talking to the students, easily conversing with them, while my entire world shifts on its axis. Shaun. Here. In my classroom, leaning against the wall as though he has all the time in the world, as though he isn’t a liar and a cheat. Just like Adam.
My brain takes note of his tan, which is darker than the last time I saw him, of the highlights in his hair and the way his Sauvage Athletic Department polo strains at the seams. That’s about when my brain comes to a grinding halt, as I re-read the words etched on the left breast of his shirt. The school emblem—the Greek letter lambda behind the profile of a Spartan helmet—with his name etched below it, sticks in my mind. His arms are crossed over his chest, the muscles standing out in sharp relief, but my gaze keeps going back to the symbol on his shirt.
Why is he wearing a Sauvage faculty shirt? I have several just like it, given to me after the contracts were signed, except they read Music Department. My brain puzzles over it, the logical conclusion being he works here. But that can’t be right. It can’t, because there’s no way I can run into him on campus without having a mental and emotional breakdown.
Meanwhile my body remembers very clearly every detail of the night we shared together, from the casual, fun talk to the five best orgasms of my life. It’s all there in the way my nipples contract and my panties grow damp, as though I’m not standing in the middle of my classroom with students only a few feet away from me. My lips tingled, remembering the kisses we shared. My fingertips itch to touch the satiny skin that covers his muscles. Everything in me strains to get closer to him, to touch, kiss, taste him all over again.
He laughs, throwing his head back, and the movement helps to break the trance I’ve fallen into. I don’t know what he’s doing here and I don’t care. I really don’t, I tell myself as I take the strap of my bag in a death grip, hunching my shoulders. He’s married and not to me, so he’s off-limits completely.
Ducking my head, I stare down at my feet as I start to ease by the group. I hear one of the guys say something about the Football Hall of Fame, but pay no mind. Despite having spent so long in marching band, performing and attending football games, I never got into it and I have no interest in stopping to chat with anyone, much less Shaun, about it.
I’m only a few feet from freedom when a tanned hand grabs my arm, halting my progress. I don’t need to look up to know it’s Shaun. My skin pebbles, the familiar static charge lighting along my nerve endings until I’m certain my hair must be standing on end. Slowly, my body no longer under my own control, I turn my head to look at him, my heart threatening to clog my throat.
Handsome. Had I ever really thought back to how handsome he was? Maybe in my weaker moments, when I wasn’t castigating myself for falling for the same trap, I wondered why someone like him had chosen someone like me. It makes me wish he wasn’t so attractive. But he is. I’m stupidly glad to see he still has the beard, although it’s a little smaller than it was before, as though he trimmed it because of the stifling south Louisiana heat. It still looks good.
And he’s staring right at me, mesmerizing me with his dark eyes all over again. I tell myself I’m stronger than this. It’s mind over matter. Or in this case, mind over hormones. But I still don’t move. Not even when someone bumps into me.
“Oh! I didn’t see you there, Frosty,” Levi says, turning to see me standing directly behind him. He winks, a flirtatious smile aimed right at me, except it has no effect. Not with Shaun’s thumb rubbing a small circle on my arm. “Trying to cop a feel, huh?”
It’s a joke. I know it’s a joke and so does he, but the grip on my arm tightens a bit. Not enough to hurt, although it draws my attention from Levi to Shaun who’s glaring at me as though it’s my fault Levi’s a flirt. As though it’s any of his business at all what I do with my life.
I pull away, wanting my arm back, but not wanting anyone to notice why I stopped. Of course the exact opposite happens. Levi glances down, his gaze traveling down my arm to the big hand holding it, following it to the pissed off man glaring at both of us. His eyebrows fly up and he backs off just a little, allowing Shaun to tow me closer. I almost drag my heels. Almost, but I’m an adult and we don’t need to cause a scene. Not here, not ever.
“I need to speak with Ms. Frost,” Shaun says with a charming smile at the others, sparing Levi another glare. “If you guys stop by the athletic center after football practice, I’ll sign some autographs.”
That takes the focus off of me and puts it back on Shaun, leaving me baffled, pissed off and nervous, not the best combination. Standing next to the man I’d had the best sex of my life with, I watch my students finish filing out of the room, only Levi pausing to study us thoughtfully. I give him a smile I know looks sick, probably because I feel sick, but he keeps going.
The door slams shut behind him, echoing around the room with a loud bang. I can’t look at Shaun. His hand is like a brand on my bare skin, seeping right down to the bone. We’re both quiet, the sounds of students walking and talking in the hall muffled by the thick door. I shift my feet just a bit—cursing my decision to wear pumps today—and the fingers on my arm tighten again.
“Where are you going?”
The words come out as a low growl and this time it’s my nipples that tingle, remembering just what he’d looked like the last time he growled at me. It’s been two months. Two months, and it almost feels as if it was yesterday, the memories are that clear.
I lick my lips and look anywhere but at him. I can’t. I just can’t. “To work,” I stammer, a hated blush climbing up my neck. “What are you doing here?”
He gives my arm a gentle tug. “Look at me.”
I shake my head and he turns toward me, his opposite hand coming up to cup my chin. I don’t want to look at him. But he’s gently insistent, tilting my head back until I have no choice but to meet those panty-melting eyes of his. His gaze searches my face, some unknown emotion tightening his lips.
“Katie,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing my skin. I might have shivered. Or shuddered. And he knew it because satisfaction gleamed in his eyes. “Why did you leave? Why didn’t you wait for me to explain—”
Just hearing his voice, having him look at me with such heated tenderness, nearly reduces me to a puddle of goo. But his words are cut off by his phone ringing. Impatience flares in his eyes as he releases my face to take the phone from the clip. He breaks eye contact with me to look at the screen and finally lets go of me completely, taking a step back.
I look from his face to the phone and back again. His wife. That can be the only fucking reason for him to go from all oh honey, but you’re the one I want to I can’t be anywhere near you in the blink of the eye. Any arousal I felt disappears as though it’d never been there.
Straightening my spine, I hitch my bag higher and say, “You’re a dick,” before I push past him and out the doors. This time he doesn’t try to stop me.
Shaun
“What?” I demand, as I step into the hallway to watch Katie walk away.
The skirt she’s wearing hugs her ass just a little. Not obscenely so, but just enough to emphasize the shape, and I’m not the only one to notice. Several students turned to watch her march down the crowded corridor, nudging each other with knowing smiles. Katie doesn’t seem to notice, her head held high and her ass twitching.
“I got another call from Denise’s lawyer,” Madison says, not in the least bit offended by my less than polite greeting. “Seems she’s been sent to a specialty spa in Los Angeles due to the stress of the divorce, and seeing the picture of you with that woman.”
Katie disappears into the Department of Music offices and I’m finally able to focus on the conversation. Seeing her—touching her—again has thrown me off my game. I caught the end of her lecture, her face lit from within as she expounded on the
merits of appreciating music. The only time I’d seen that look on her had been when she was coming for me. My dick stirs and I hastily turn in the opposite direction, heading for the exits.
“This is bullshit. What stress? The only thing that woman stressed out about is what color shoes to wear.” And she’d had at least a thousand pairs, I swear. “She’s just stalling because she knows I want this divorce finalized.”
“Then you shouldn’t have been photographed in a hotel with a blonde bimbo,” she shoots back.
“She’s not a bimbo,” I growl, as I step outside Tauzin Hall, a wave of heat slapping me in the face. “And that’s irrelevant anyway. We were already separated before that happened.”
Wishing, not for the first time, that I’d used the private elevator to my suite at the hotel, I stride through the Quad, barely acknowledging the waves sent my way. If it hadn’t been for those little shits in the elevator snapping a picture of me walking out with Katie, which they’d posted on Twitter and Facebook, Denise wouldn’t have seen it and sent those texts. Katie wouldn’t have bolted and I wouldn’t be in the middle of a fight for a divorce.
“It is relevant, Decker,” Madison says sharply. “If this goes to court, Denise can use that picture as evidence that she’s also an injured party, that she’ll need continued therapy to deal with the trauma of your cheating. That picture casts doubt on your fidelity throughout your marriage, regardless if it was the first or millionth time it happened. Right now, with a doctor’s orders to attend a special spa for a mental health break, she appears fragile in the eyes of the court. If this goes before a judge, they’ll see she’s broken up and you’re consorting with random women, having fun and shit. There won’t be any doubt in their mind that you’ve been unfaithful throughout the marriage, that it was your infidelity that caused Denise’s and it will look badly on you. You’re at a university now, a very prestigious university, mind you. You can’t play the bad boy card and skip away scot-free.”
She takes a deep breath. “Denise not signing the agreement puts us in a tight spot. Normally, I’d advise you just push forward with a court appearance and take your chances, but she’ll be out of touch at this spa. If we push now, we’ll look like assholes, which will make it harder for you during the community property settlement.”
“So we’re going to have to wait,” I say numbly.
Pausing outside the Edwards Athletic Complex, I stare at my reflection in the glass door. Denise wanted more money. I knew that from the first time we spoke via our attorneys. No, not wanted, needed. She spent lavishly, as I’d seen in the numerous credit card statements she’d hidden from me. But it wasn’t the money I was worried about; that had me staring at myself and feeling nothing but self-loathing. It was what this could do to Katie.
I know how the world works, saw it hundreds of times in my career. Whenever a married celebrity was caught cheating, or suspected of cheating, it was the woman who suffered for it. She was cast in the home-wrecker light, seen as a whore or mercenary. If Denise played this right, she could ruin Katie. And that’s the last thing I want to happen.
“See if she’ll take ten million,” I say a little desperately. “But only if she signs the papers and a non-disclosure agreement to keep all the terms of our marriage and the divorce to herself.” I don’t want her running to the tabloids to sell her story. “That was the original amount she asked for, she should go for it.”
“It won’t happen, not while she’s under a doctor’s care,” Madison replies, sounding tired. “Until she’s released, she’s completely out of reach with only family members, her doctor and lawyer having access to her. Oh and because you’re still legally married, you’re footing the bill for this.”
“Fuck.”
She lets out a chuckle. “My thoughts exactly, Decker. Okay, I have some phone calls to make, but I’ll keep you updated on the situation. I can talk to her attorney, get the ball rolling there. Who knows? Maybe offering her more money will suddenly cure her anxiety?” Sarcasm drips from her voice and I had to snort. “In the meantime, keep your nose clean and try not to get caught with any more women.”
I don’t promise anything before we hang up because, even with so much at stake, I can’t stay away from Katie. She’d called me a dick, had glared at me like she wanted to stab me in the heart, but I’d felt her body tremble when I grabbed her arm. She still wants me. She might not want to, but she does, and that’s all I need to know.
Denise is simply an obstacle to getting what I really want, which is Katie. I don’t believe for a single minute she’s suffering from mental anguish. This is just a stalling tactic to get what she wants: more money. But as I stepped into the Edwards Complex, I find I don’t care how much it costs me to be free of her. Because the light at the end of this clusterfuck of a divorce is Katie. She can run away, hide, do whatever she wants. But she hasn’t met Steady Decker, the guy who never gave up on a play, the one who’d made touchdowns with defenders hanging off of him one, torturous step at a time. Steady. Slow. Determined. Not yet anyway.
As soon as I reach the locker room, Buddy pops his head out of his office, eyes me speculatively, and says, “We have game film to go over before this afternoon’s practice and we have a meeting with Mark Klauss from the Music Department to go over the season schedule.”
While I enjoy what I do, at this very moment the last thing I want to think about is the game on Saturday, but I shove everything else to the side for now. Regardless of the mess I’ve made of my personal life, the team needs me to be the best coach I can be. Besides, strategizing with Buddy might help to clear my head enough to come up with a game plan to get Katie back into my bed. Permanently.
Kate
There’s a buzz of excitement in the air as the band, in pressed red and black uniforms, Spartan-inspired hats on their heads, falls into loose lines. Warm-ups were already completed, instruments and uniforms inspected. We’re ready. The game starts in a little over an hour, pre-game in forty-five minutes, and the Spartan Marching 300 would lead a procession from the band annex, circling the stadium before heading for the field. We act as the official notice to all tailgaters and spectators that the game was due to start soon.
And my kids are pumped up.
“Woo!” Cuba shouts, hopping up and down, the plume on his hat bouncing with his movement.
The drumline is stoked. I remember the anticipation of getting into the stadium, the roar of the crowd and the exhilaration of performing for hundreds, if not thousands of people. Even though I won’t be playing with them, my blood thrums with sympathetic anticipation. They’ve worked so hard for this moment. We all have.
A lot of people don’t realize how much work goes into putting on a show. There’s blood, sweat and tears. The blood from skinned knees and elbows if someone trips—which we’ve had happen—not to mention the bloody nose one of the trumpet players got from a color guard with an errant flag. The sweat speaks for itself. Even in the cooler parts of the country, marching in formation while playing instruments for hours takes its toll. The tears happen as well. Especially if the section leader was harsh in their constructive criticism. Or you have a Nazi as a Music Director I think, as I watch Mark emerge from the building.
He gives a nod to Drum Major Walker, who calls the band to attention.
“Band! Atten-hut!”
“Spartans!” Three hundred and ten voices shout back, as every member snaps to rigid attention, eyes focused forward, instruments held at the ready.
Silence follows, as Mark and I walk the lines to make sure everyone’s in perfect formation. I give the thumbs up to Levi, who marks the time for the cadence with his sticks. The quads kick off the cadence and the rest of the line joins in, the members marching in place perfectly.
“Band! For’d harch!”
As one massive body of pumped-up musicians, they begin marching. Our circuit will take us along the blocked off street that leads directly to the stadium. Walking alongside them, I glance back to make sure
the support staff have the ATVs hooked up to the pit’s equipment as well as the color guards’ props. Everything looks set.
Wearing my casual slacks with one of my Spartan Music Department polos, I’m already sweating and miserable before we hit the first of the spectators lining the street. But our students look cool despite the polyester blend of their uniforms. This game, like every one we’ll perform for this season, is the accumulation of hours of work. Pride fills me, helping me concentrate on this moment, right now, rather than the fear that’s plagued me ever since I saw Shaun in my class.
I haven’t seen him since Wednesday, which is fine with me. Of course that doesn’t stop me from panicking a little at the thought of running into him at the game. If he’s with the Athletic Department, there’s a chance he’ll be at the game, or at least sitting in the faculty section of the stadium. But I won’t allow myself to think about that. I can’t allow myself to think about him. Not when these kids need me to look cool and collected.
Crowds trickle behind us as we make our way to the stadium, the band acting as the Pied Piper, collecting drunk spectators. There are shouts of encouragement from Spartan fans and boos from the opposing team’s fans. Normal stuff, and I swear it only makes the band members stand a little straighter, prouder. They are Spartans.
The drum majors lead the band through the gate security guards hurry to open. I flash my badge when one of the campus police officers attempts to stop me and he lets me pass. Mark and I stand to the side as the rest of the band files into the stadium, each member popping their instruments up as they cross through. It’s a drill we spent hours and hours working on, and the visual effect is awesome.
