“No take-backs. It’s our rule…girlfriend.”
* * *
Me: I just wanted you to know I’m alive.
Python: I was starting to get a little worried.
Python: How was day three?
Me: Much better than the previous two days.
Python: Good. I’m glad to hear that.
Python: Can I call you tonight? Will you still be up after about 9? I have some things to do first, but I should be available after that.
Me: Yes. I’m still at work anyway. Looooong day.
Python: I’ve got something long for you.
Python: DOWNLOAD ATTACHMENT
Me: I was really scared to open that picture at work but I’m so glad I did. I needed that laugh.
Python: HOW DARE YOU LAUGH AT MY WIENER!
Me: Wait a second, YOUR WIENER?
Me: You’re my boyfriend now—doesn’t that make it MY wiener?
Python: So you’re telling me I just acquired a pussy?
Me: Oh my gosh. Don’t say it like that!
Python: Fair’s fair, babe.
Me: I gotta ask, why does it look so weird?
Python: Good gravy, Monty. You CANNOT just ask a man why his wiener looks weird. Do you have no class?
Me: Just answer me.
Python: It’s a turkey dog. I try to eat healthy.
Me: That sounds…disgusting.
Python: No. Class.
Python: Listen, I gotta run—have to feed my kid. We have someplace we need to be soon. We’ll continue this sexument later.
Me: This what?
Python: S-E-X-U-M-E-N-T: a fun, flirty argument that’s bound to lead to sex.
Me: You just made that up, didn’t you?
Python: I can neither confirm nor deny that.
Twenty
Robbie
“But I don’t want to go. First you made me go to day camp here and then regular school and now I have to go at night. Again.” He crosses his arms over his chest in a huff. “No thanks.”
“And I don’t want to work and pay bills and do all the other stuff I have to do but it’s part of growing up, so pull those pants up and let’s get moving. We’re going to be late.”
“That’s your fault. You were on your phone at the dinner table.”
“And you were eating slower than a snail.”
“You cooked dinner late.”
“It was a hotdog! Those should take like two minutes tops to eat. I didn’t know I had to give you a thirty-minute window of time.”
He shakes his head, his curls bouncing all over. “You don’t even know your own son.”
“I know I’m gonna stuff him in the nearest trash can if he doesn’t walk faster.”
“You wouldn’t.”
I side-eye him. “Test me.”
His eyes spark with worry and he takes off running down the hall.
“Walk!”
He skids to a half stop, his shoes squeaking across the floor.
“Thank you,” I call out as he disappears around the corner.
Little shit.
I hustle to catch up with him, because I wasn’t kidding—we are running late because he took forever to eat, and being late is so not my thing.
Sure, some of it had to do with me texting Monty like a goof, but let’s just shift the blame to Xavie. It’s totally his fault in the end anyway.
I barrel around the corner and come to a dead stop when I nearly collide with the last person I expected to see standing at the end of the hall with my son.
“Monty?”
Her head shoots up at my voice and our eyes collide.
Shock. Confusion. Worry.
So many reactions in such a short amount of time.
“No,” she mutters.
“Beat ya, Dad! Guess who’s getting stuffed in the trash can now,” Xavie taunts, doing a little dance.
“Still you,” I tell him.
“No way! I won fair and square. Didn’t I, Mrs. Andrews?”
There it is. The confirmation I needed.
Monty Andrews, the girl I’m steadily falling for—the one I just asked to be my girlfriend last night—is my son’s teacher.
Fuck. Me.
When Xavie mentioned his teacher’s name was Andrews, I immediately thought of Monty. But he said Mrs., and there was no way that could have been Monty because she’s not married. Plus, I was certain she was teaching middle school, not first grade, so I pushed it out of my mind any time he said her name.
There was no way this beautiful girl standing before me could be my son’s teacher.
But, I was wrong.
So fucking wrong.
“Miss,” she corrects. “It’s true, he did.”
“Who’s side you on?”
“It appears I’m straddling quite the line,” she comments, the double meaning in her words clear as day.
“Why don’t you head into the room, son? I’ll be there in a moment.”
He races inside, leaving just me and Monty standing in the hall.
I want to run.
I want to scream.
I want to kiss the hell out of her.
I want to do so many things right now, and none of them are the appropriate reaction.
She takes timid steps my way, her uncertainty showing in the way her shoulders square as her eyes harden.
“What are you doing here?” she asks.
“What are you doing here?” I echo.
“This is where I work.”
“This is where my son goes to school.”
“I…” Her hand flies to her head as my words sink in. “But how?”
“Um, because he’s seven?”
“I mean, how is your child seven? Aren’t you my age?”
“I’m twenty-six,” I tell her.
“I…I thought your son was younger, like two, three max…not seven.” Her brows scrunch together. “How old were you when you had him? Eighteen?”
“Nineteen,” I correct.
“Oh. Wow.”
There’s judgment in her eyes. It’s something I’m used to, but not from Monty.
She realizes the way her words sound, and her mouth drops open. “Crud. No. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that to sound so…well, rude. I am not judging you for being a teen father.”
“Good, because I refuse to be ashamed of it.”
“You shouldn’t be.”
“I know.”
The hall grows quiet and I’m worried as shit she can hear my heart trying to pound its way out of my chest.
How in the fuck is this happening right now?
“How come we never talked about this?” The words tumble from her mouth so fast I almost miss what she says. “I mean, in all the conversations we’ve had together, how did none of this ever come up?”
I shrug. “We made assumptions and stuck to them.”
“I’ve never been one to make assumptions.”
“You also weren’t the kind of person to make out with a stranger in the bathroom, but you did.”
“I did.” She smacks a hand to her forehead, the other clutching her stomach. “I take one step out of my comfort zone and this happens. Karma, that’s what this is—for leaving my family, for not following rules, for—”
I grab her pacing form, stilling her movements.
“Stop. You’re making me dizzy.”
Her eyes are brimming with unshed tears and worry as she glances up at me. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “This is all my fault.”
“No, Monty. It’s just a weird-as-shit coincidence.”
“Why weren’t you here last week?”
“Why wasn’t I where?”
“Here. Parent-teacher meetings. You weren’t here.” Her eyes widen. “Oh gosh, I met your ex—Holly. She was so nice, so pretty…so not me.”
“I like you better.”
Though the comment is true, it’s also a tactic to get her to calm down. She doesn’t laugh.
“I’m sorry. Last Wednesda
y was my Wednesday to cover the late shift at the center. You knew that.”
“I knew that when you were just Robbie, the guy from Lola’s, not my boyfriend and father to one of my students.”
She sucks her bottom lip between her teeth and I want to reach down and pull it out with my own, but I can’t.
“It’ll be okay, Monty.”
She shakes her head, trying to pull out of my grasp, but I don’t let her go. I can’t—not yet.
“How? How did we not talk about all this?”
“Well, to be fair, this all started out as just sex, nothing else.”
“But it evolved.”
“It did, but we were supposed to still be light and fluffy.” I pull her closer, wrapping my arm around her waist and bringing my lips to her ear. “You weren’t supposed to be so addicting.”
“Robbie…what does this mean?”
Our entire relationship so far flashes through my mind.
I met her in a bar. I fooled around with her on top of a bathroom counter. I had my fingers buried inside her sweet pussy. I charmed her via text for weeks, kissed her against a brick wall, had countless dirty dreams and cold showers with her in mind.
And then, I fucked her, again and again and again.
All over my apartment. All over hers.
I bent her over the couch, the bed, and though we swore we hated shower sex, I even had her in there.
She’s my son’s teacher, and I can’t keep my goddamn hands off her.
I blow out a heavy breath and step away from her, missing the contact as soon as she slips from my fingers.
“It means you’re my son’s teacher and we had sex—a lot of sex. We just committed to a relationship last night, and it means…” I rub at the back of my neck, the tension building and building. “It means things just got a whole lot more complicated.”
* * *
“Finally, I want to thank you all again for coming. I appreciate you taking the time to meet with me. I look forward to working alongside you all this year.”
My heart swells with pride.
My girl did good.
Ha. My girl—I don’t know how much longer that will be true after the discovery we made tonight.
How did we miss that? How did we not even think to check? I’ve been so wrapped up in getting her naked that it didn’t even cross my mind to ask her what grade she taught. Besides, what were the chances anyway? How is it even possible that the random girl I met in a bar would turn out to be my son’s teacher?
One by one, the parents shake Monty’s hand, exchanging pleasantries and asking about a few things she didn’t address.
Then, it’s just me, Monty, and my son.
She eyes me from across the room and I can see the trepidation in her green gaze.
I’m scared too, I want to scream.
She crosses the room to stand in front of me, clasping her hands together, looking every bit like the teacher she is.
“Did you have any questions, Mr. Cross?”
There’s a stirring in my pants at the way she says my name, and I want to punch myself in the face for having that reaction.
“Several.”
“I have a few myself.”
“Perhaps we can discuss things later?”
“9 PM work for you?”
She’s referencing when I said I’d call her earlier, and I nod.
“Good. We’ll talk then.” She turns to the kid. “Xavier, it was great seeing you again. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Good night, Miss Andrews,” he says through a yawn.
I guide my son to the door without another word.
I can’t say anything. I’m too worried about what might come out of my mouth.
The drive home is short, way too short for my liking tonight, and our bedtime routine seems to take half the time it normally does.
Xavie’s conked out by eight thirty and I’m left pacing the small apartment, question after question floating through my mind.
My heart races as I stare the clock down, the minutes ticking by too fast and too slow all at once.
What am I going to say to her? What will she say to me? How in the hell are we going to fix this mess we’ve gotten ourselves into?
At nine on the dot, my phone rings.
“Hey,” she says quietly when I pick up.
I fall back onto the couch, all my muscles suddenly so tired I can’t seem to hold myself up any longer. I sigh heavily and take a sip of the beer that’s helping calm my nerves right now.
“We’re a goddamn mess, Monts.”
She laughs lightly. “I know.”
“What are we going to do?”
“I’m not sure.”
“What do you want to do?”
“I’m not sure about that either,” she admits.
I don’t know what I want to do.
I don’t want to give her up, but I’ll do whatever makes her feel comfortable.
We sit in silence for a long time, so long I worry she’s fallen asleep on me.
“Are you still there?” I ask in a hushed tone.
“Yes, just thinking.”
“About us?”
“Of course. How can I think about anything else right now?”
“I don’t know. I was hoping you found a distraction that was working and could share it with me. Nothing, not even alcohol is working. I’ve been sipping on a beer for the last half hour.”
More silence.
Long sighs.
Exhaled breaths.
“We should quit while we’re still ahead, right?” she asks.
“We should, but I don’t want to.”
“I…I don’t either.”
“Are we allowed to date? Does the school have any policies against it?”
“I’m not sure. I didn’t exactly look for information in the handbook when I received it. I never thought it was something I’d have to worry about.”
There’s a bite to her words but I know she’s not directing it at me, rather at the situation we’re currently in.
“Can I say something kind of weird?”
“Go for it.”
“When your son walked into my classroom, there was something familiar about him, but I couldn’t put my finger on it,” she tells me.
“His eyes—they’re the exact same as mine.”
“That’s it, because other than that, he doesn’t look like you at all. Why don’t you share the same last name?”
“His mother’s request.” I sigh. “I regret agreeing to that every day. At the time, I didn’t care, didn’t think I’d mind my kid not having my last name. Now I want it so fucking bad.”
“Can you change it?”
“Yeah, but I want to make sure it’s something Xavie wants too.”
“Xavie? Is that what he normally goes by?”
“Outside of school, yes.”
“Xavier Levy.” She says his name with such wonder.
“Xavier Zachary Levy. I got to pick the middle name at least.”
“He’s named after your goat-loving bestie?”
I chuckle at her description. “The one and only.”
“That must really go to his head.”
“You have no idea.”
I listen as she shuffles around on the other end of the call.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Getting into bed.”
“Are you naked?”
“No!” She laughs. “You can’t talk to me like that anymore.”
“Why not? We’re still dating, right?”
She goes quiet. I can’t hear her moving, but I can still hear the faintness of her breathing.
Two full minutes pass before she speaks again.
“Yes.”
My heart swells at the three-letter word.
So small, simple, yet packed with so much power.
“How are we going to navigate this?”
“Carefully, and together. It’s not illegal to date you, and it’s not en
tirely unethical either. We have to be careful, though, tread lightly, and probably not let Xavier know about this. We also shouldn’t have sex again until we can figure this out.”
I spring forward on the couch in shock.
Oh hell no. There is no way I’m giving up sex. Not going to happen, not when I know how fucking good it feels to be inside her.
“I’m sorry, did you just say what I think you just said?”
“Yes, Robbie.” She sighs loudly. “No more sex. It’s too much.”
“But we’ve already had sex. That’s the dumbest argument I have ever heard.”
“I…” She clicks her tongue. “Ugh. Fine. You’re right. I just wanted to feel like I had some control over this situation. Let’s just…be careful, very careful—like, no one can know we’re together.”
“We’re sneaking around then?”
“In a sense.”
“Huh. I kind of like the idea of that. Sounds…sexy. Fun. Dangerous.”
She giggles, and the genuine happiness I hear in it puts me at ease for the first time this evening.
“Hey Monty?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m glad you’re still my girlfriend.”
“I’m glad too.”
Twenty-One
Monty
Me: Rule #1, no more dirty texting me when I’m at work and YOUR SON is in my classroom.
Python: It’ll be hard, like me, but I can live with that rule. Next.
Me: Rule #2, I can’t come to your apartment anymore. It’ll feel weird now. You and Thumbelina will have to come over here, or we can meet somewhere public.
Python: Stop trying to get me to have sex with you in public, Monty.
Me: I’m not!!!
Python: You just keep telling yourself that, babe.
Me: Rule #3, no calling me babe. I like it too much.
Can’t Text This Page 18
