by Teagan Kade
“Goodbye.”
The male voice sounded familiar, but I can’t place it—not that it’s any of my business what the faculty get up to.
It doesn’t matter. Soon Asher Slade will be nothing but a memory and I can get back on with the business of clawing back my grades.
*
It’s a long week. Asher tries to text and call. I don’t think my cell’s ever seen so much activity, but I can’t bring myself to answer it or reply back. I even let Linda on the desk downstairs know not to let him up if he comes around the dormitory. She gives me a wry smile. “Like that, is it?”
“Absolutely not,” I reply.
I’m sure he could find a way up to my room if he wanted, but two days later, he remains MIA. At least he has that much sense.
I dart in and out of classes like the Phantom, always looking behind myself waiting for him to materialize, but he never does. No, it would seem the infamous Asher Slade is rather absent on campus of late.
Glenda sighs when I tell her I won’t be at the center this week, that I’ve come down with something—probably food poisoning.
“You poor thing,” she coos. “I’ll let Asher know.”
I hang up feeling incredibly guilty. Why should those poor kids suffer because I can’t adult up and face this guy?
With my lie in place, I turn to study instead. I bury myself in work and assignments, attempting to leave precisely zero room for any intruding thoughts about Asher and his soft lips to enter my headspace. As if he wasn’t distracting enough, now I’ve got The Kiss to think about all day long. Even running through the world’s most boring subject, pharmacology, I’m thinking about his eyes, his chest, his hands—my own personal anatomy lesson.
Four days pass and the texts disappear completely. He’s moved on, I think…
…Until I show up from class one day to find a curious red box on my bed.
Amy’s bopping around with her headphones on listening to what I can only deduce is an audio recording of the apocalypse. She lifts a cup off her ear when she sees me enter. “It’s not a bomb, is it?”
I walk over and pluck a little card stuck to the top. It reads: ‘Warning: Clichés enclosed –Asher.’
“No,” I reply, barely thinking, “I don’t think it’s a bomb.”
I take lid off and peer in.
He wasn’t kidding. Inside, there’s a box of chocolates, a half-dozen roses, even one of those adorable teddy bears with a ribbon around his neck. He even managed to include the heels I left at his place.
“Well?” questions Amy, headphones around her neck.
I place the lid back into position. “It’s nothing.”
She rolls her eyes. “Because a giant red box full of chocolates and roses is ‘nothing.’”
“You looked?”
She shrugs, lifting up her headphones again. “Had to check it wasn’t a bomb.” And with that logic her headphones snap into place and she resumes her head-banging.
As for me, I don’t know what to do. I’m torn. Asher clearly wants to make amends, so why am I being such a… I don’t know the appropriate word in this situation.
I bet Mr. Photographic Memory could fill it in.
Maybe.
But do I accept this apology? And what then? Pick up where we left off? I don’t know if I’m ready to bring her back.
Like that would be so bad.
I can’t think. I grab my coat and head back out.
“By the way,” calls Amy, a little too loudly. “I took a chocolate, or three. Hope you don’t mind.”
*
It’s mid-afternoon at Penbrook. The sun has disappeared behind a bank of cotton-ball clouds, the campus empty given this is peak class time.
I stroll around aimlessly thinking, and thinking, running through The Kiss until I know every intimate detail.
You were enjoying yourself, weren’t you? Admit it.
I wasn’t hating it. That’s for sure.
I don’t know whether it’s coincidence or not, but I find myself at the Litterbox. There’s no one at the gates, so I walk right out onto the field. I stand where Asher normally stands, his bat, lovingly named Big Red, held high ready to swing. So this is what it feels like.
I imagine it would be quite different with a pitcher standing in front of you and thousands of fans cheering you on, mind, but I get the gist.
I take a swing with my air bat hoping no one’s watching. It feels good, kind of liberating.
I kick my foot back and forth on the plate, squat down pretending I’m the next Barry Bonds. It’s been years since I stepped foot onto a field. I never played at school. No, a popular girl like me would never sink to sports lest I chip a nail or mess up my hair, but I always goofed around at home with Dad in my cheap, comfy jeans and tee. There was no one watching in our backyard, no crowds, but those days were some of the best of my life. I couldn’t swing to save my life, but I don’t think Dad cared. He wasn’t big on affection, but I believe being out there on our own little diamond always made him feel closer to me, like we were bonding in some way.
My thoughts turn to Asher again.
That damn kiss.
I really break it down, strip away the emotion and consider the facts. Regardless of what he may or may not have done, which is pointless fretting over, I did enjoy the kiss. When his hand fell on my thigh, I wanted him to keep going. I didn’t want to stop. In fact, I wanted to give in, to melt under his touch. Is that so wrong? These are natural feelings, aren’t they? Why am I denying myself what I would no doubt enjoy? That doesn’t make any sense.
I take out my cell. It’s hot in my hand from sitting up against my leg all day.
I start to walk back to the center of campus. The clock tower chimes. People start to emerge from class. Soon streams of them are passing me by in the quadrangle, a wash of humanity. They have no idea of the war going on in my head.
Do I? Don’t I? Do I? Don’t I?
I hold my cell, squeezing it tight.
I unlock the screen.
I enter my contacts.
I wait.
I cannot believe I am about to do this.
I have to cup my ear to hear properly in the crowd. “Hi, Karen. It’s Willow Grant again. Can we talk?”
CHAPTER EIGHT
ASHER
I’ve been waiting under the clock tower for what seems like hours now.
I check my cell. You’ve been waiting fifteen minutes, asshat.
Christmas came early when I found out Willow had called Karen, told her she was okay with me continuing to volunteer at the home.
Not much escapes me on campus. I only found out late last week Willow had asked for me to be transferred to another community-service gig. That at least explained her sudden illness.
And then I spot her. She’s wearing a bright yellow dress, something of a departure from her usual attire, but a color that brings out her best. Unencumbered by loose sweaters and shirts, she’s striking. Every male eye in the immediate vicinity is on her.
Back off, I want to scream. She’s mine.
There’s an awkward beat as she stands before me, her textbooks clutched in front of her cleavage.
“I like your dress,” I start.
She looks down at it. “Thanks.”
Another beat. “Should we go?”
“Sure,” she replies.
This isn’t going how I expected, not that I thought she’d leap into my arms, but I’m so used to girls jumping me that this quiet tension throws me completely.
I pull her into an alcove. “I’m sorry about what happened that night. I take full responsibility. I want you to know that.”
She chews her lip. “We’re both to blame, Asher. It takes two to… you know.”
“Too fast?”
“Too fast,” she nods in confirmation.
I slide my hands into my pockets to stop them from reaching out and taking hold of her, pulling her into me and never letting her go. “What now?”
Sh
e smiles and it’s the greatest fucking sight in the world. “We go back to work.”
“To the home?”
“Unless you’ve got somewhere better to be.”
“I shake my head. There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”
She turns and walks off.
I stand there for a moment longer, placing my hand against the wall to collect myself. She seems okay. At least she’s not holding a grudge, right?
Just get the fuck out there.
*
At the home, it’s like we’ve turned back time. We go about the day as if nothing happened. We have fun with the kids. We laugh. We joke. We’re in tune, but the moment we get close we pull away like two repelling magnets, unable even to make eye contact. I see my chances of being with her again slipping away, which is a fucking shame, because I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in my life.
Close to five, a cute blonde kid by the name of Theo informs me he thinks Willow likes me, though he’s careful to warn of cooties should I approach her. I tell him cooties are the least of his worries where girls are concerned.
Theo looks at me like a doctor enquiring as to a strange mole, eyes squinty with examination. “Do you want to kiss her?”
I laugh. “Maybe.”
He pokes his tongue out. “Gross! I never want to kiss a girl.”
“I’ll ask the same question when you’re sixteen, bud, see what you say then.”
I watch as he goes dawdling off to a pile of plastic dinosaurs.
Willow comes around the corner. “I see you and Theo were having a nice deep-and-meaningful there.”
“He was warning me about cooties.”
“It’s a serious affliction didn’t you know?”
“Oh, very serious, apparently.”
Willow leans against the wall, smiling. “It’s half past five. You don’t get paid extra for overtime. Wait,” she corrects. “That’s right. You don’t get paid at all.”
“Neither do you,” I retort.
“I’m in this for the warm fuzzies, not because I flipped a car during a drunken bender with my baseball pals.”
“It was Honda. We were doing it a favor.”
“I don’t think the owner would agree. So…”
“So?”
“I’m headed to the library. I’ve got this anatomy quiz tomorrow and you seemed to know a bit about it, so what do you say? Can you help, fire me some questions?”
If only she wanted a real anatomy lesson, I’d be happy to oblige, but I nod casually. “Let me get my things.”
She stops. “You have been to the library before, right?”
I smile. “Not unless it’s got a bar and Happy Hour.”
*
We’re in a private study room up on the second floor of the Quincy Jones Memorial Library, one of the few places on campus I’ve yet to step foot, or get my dick out.
I look around. The room is small, barren but for a table in the middle and windows looking out to the hallway.
Willow’s got a strange smile on her face I’ve never seen before as she sits opposite me at the table. I would have thought the last hour of anatomy quizzing would have dented her mood, but she seems oddly elated for some reason.
“You okay?” I ask, placing her notes down.
“The truth?”
“Sure,” I nod.
She sits back. “I’ve been struggling. I got this fancy scholarship, but pre-med’s been harder than I expected.”
“You’re worried you’re going to lose your scholarship?”
She smiles again. “I was, but with your help? I’m actually starting to feel confident.”
“Glad to be of service.”
“I’m ready for something else,” she continues, eyes wide.
“Which is?” I press.
“To live a little, bring some of that old wild Willow back into service.”
“So we’re heading to the Quagmire then, I take it? I should warn you I’m not a big fan of body shots, though I’ll happily make an exception in your case.”
I snap to attention. Under the table there’s a stocking-clad foot pressing against my crotch.
I go to look down.
“Eyes front,” Willow commands, pen in the corner of her mouth.
“What are you doing?”
She removes her glasses while rubbing my cock with her foot. “Continue.”
“Continue what?”
“Quizzing me.”
Holy shit. I breathe out and pick up her notes, firing off a question.
She replies as if nothing out of the ordinary is happening, even as her toes press and curl around my shaft, which grows stiffer by the second.
“Give me a hard question,” she teases.
I play along, throwing out a random question on preliminary biology, her weakest subject.
“Hmm, let me think about that.” She taps the pen against the side of her cheek, looking to the ceiling and concentrating the ball of her foot on the head of my cock. Much more of this and these jeans are about to get seriously messed up.
I can tell by the way she’s smiling she’s enjoying this, turning the tables on me. Who am I to stop her? Whoever this deviant Willow is, I welcome her with open arms.
Her foot moves away. She leans over the table, her pastel breasts compressed together between her arms. “Enough work. It’s time for play.”
“What do you have in mind?” I query.
She flicks her eyes sideways. “I want you to stand against the wall between the window and door there.”
I look to a space of about four feet. “Okay, and?”
Her eyes are locked onto me. “I’m going to suck your cock.”
The way her lips form the word ‘cock’ forces a convulsion through my body. “You what?”
She flicks her eyes to the spot again. “Just do it.”
I stand and make my way over, leaning up against the wall. The position is barely shielded from view of the hallway. There’s also the fact these ‘private’ rooms are public access. Anyone idiot could walk in.
Willow stands and places her pen down, her hips shifting from side to side as she walks over. “Are you ready, big boy?” She’s nailing this.
“Big boy?” I laugh. “And how would you know?”
She thrusts her hand forward and cups my crotch. “I don’t know. Feels pretty girthy to me.”
She kneels and unzips my jeans, fishing inside for my cock.
I almost drop fucking dead when she wraps her fingers around the thick shaft of it, pulling it free.
I can’t believe this is happening. I’m tempted to pinch my arm, spare myself the agony of waking up from this.
There I am, in the middle of the college library, with my cock out and Willow’s hand around it in wait.
“It’s been a while,” she says, suddenly nervous.
“Trust me, you’re doing fine,” I enthuse.
I’ve had some interesting public encounters on campus, but this is insane—my kind of insane.
I watch as she opens her mouth and darts her tongue out, swiping it across the head of my cock. She gives me one final look before timidly taking the tip into her mouth, sucking gently at first—testing it out, so to speak.
Whatever she’s doing, it’s fucking amazing.
I hold her head gently, softly thrusting into her mouth. She takes me deeper, takes me as deep as she can before her gag reflex kicks in.
I was kind of expecting an awkward blowjob at best, the sort you’d get behind the garden shed at school, not… this.
She’s an expert, keeping things nice and wet, the constant, sucking motion of her mouth already tipping me towards the edge. It’s building in my balls—a fucking explosion.
I can’t stop it. I sigh, a deep rumble coming from my chest. My fingers knot themselves into her hair.
I can hear people passing by outside, feet away from us. It only makes it hotter.
My cock starts to pulse between her lips, and that familiar tug of relea
se pulls at my crotch.
But it’s too late. “I’m going to…” I announce. I turn rigid, expecting her to pull away, but when I my eyes open the head of my cock is cradled on her tongue, her eyes shining up at me, begging me for my cum.
The first jet pulses against the back of her throat. She swallows it down and waits, taking it all, holding me as I continue to jerk and spasm. She remains completely committed, right down to the final, warm spurt.
A hand on the doorknob outside.
With us hidden from view, the room must look empty.
“Occupied,” I call, my voice strained as Willow stands bolt upright, straightening her dress and dabbing at the corner of her mouth with a finger.
“Ah, sorry,” comes the confused reply.
I stuff myself back into my pants and pull Willow into a kiss. I taste my own salty arousal on her tongue. “Thank you.”
I run my hand between her legs, and find the crotch of her panties soaked through.
She gasps, but pulls my hand away. “My pleasure.”
“You don’t want me to…?”
“Later,” she smiles. “To be honest, I didn’t think I could go through with it, that my little mouth and your big…”
“Say it.”
“Cock,” she whispers. “I didn’t think they were going to get along.”
“It seems to me like it worked out just fine. When do I get to return the favor then? Because there’s nothing I want more than to taste you right now.”
She pats me on the chest. “Patience, my dear boy. Patience.”
I’m semi-delirious as we collect our things and head downstairs, still wondering when I’m going to snap out of this.
The second we’re outside the library, I hear “Asher!” across the quad.
Fuck me.
It’s fucking Taylor. I thought blocking her number would have been enough.
Apparently not.
She bounces over and once again acts like Willow’s not there, addressing me. “What the hell’s going on, babe? Why are you at the library with her?”
“I have a name,” Willow begins, but Taylor puts ‘the hand’ up, continuing to speak to me alone. “You’re what? Helping her study or something?”
“Exactly,” I reply.
“Fucking liar,” Taylor spits.
Man, the shit storm that would go down if she knew what had just taken place upstairs in Study Room B.
