Schooled

by RaeLynn Blue

  Carlita’s crimson stained mouth became a harsh line of irritation. “I don’t give grades, Scott, you earn them.”

  Mr. Pearson’s intense gaze now pinned Scott to the point the boy fidgeted. Apparently Mr. Pearson’s intense stare unnerved everyone, though Harper knew hers was for a different reason. Scott shuffled from Nike-clad foot to Nike-clad foot, eyes studying the tree rings embedded in the flooring. Harper saw the glare and her heart pinched in pity for the boy.

  “Scott, I have had about enough of your foul language. You will stop and you will stop now!” The voice spoke of the authority the way only a father could. Scott was well and truly chastised.

  Never thought that would happen.

  “Mr. Pearson,” Harper began, drawing his eyes back to hers, and instantly her clit applauded with rapid pulses against her panties’ cotton fabric. Already a slick thirst glazed her pus and she fought with amazing restraint the impulse to yank up her ebony skirt, glide her index finger to part her swollen lips and touch the button that controlled her rising fire. “Scott is also failing language arts. His report card is a call of alarm from our entire team. We have sent correspondence to his home address, left messages at the number given and sent our school social worker to said address.”

  When nervous, revert to professional teacher speak. Yes, Harper knew her nerves were shot through with a huge dose of lust.

  Mr. Pearson nodded, but the lips hosting his smirk had crumbled into a frown. Scott fidgeted under his father’s scowl.

  “Yes, I’m sure you have.”

  “We’re interested in helping Scott achieve,” Harper added, with a smile that would flake off with too much scrutiny.

  “Two to one,” Mark muttered from the corner of his mouth, a hint of amusement tickling Harper’s ears. Annoyance drained her attempts to remain professional.

  Damn it. I need one more good thing to say about the boy. Actually, I’m in a deficit because Carlita gave one negative too.

  She took in another deep breath and put both her palms on the table for stability, God help her. Leaning forward a bit, she summoned seven years of teaching experiences.

  I can do this. He’s just a man. A man like any other…

  Something from the rear of her mind, where all the naughty things were locked up tight, escaped and whispered in glee, not like any man you’ve met.

  Mr. Pearson’s furious gaze strayed from the sulky look on his son’s face and returned to hers. Locked onto hers, the fury spilled out of his eyes like water from a damn. His lips cracked into a soft smile—one filled with something bordering on relief. His eyebrows relaxed and his hands, those massive, wide hands, came to rest on his chiseled hips, drawing Harper’s attention down to the waist and inspiring visions of locking her long, cocoa legs tight around them.

  “He is not a stupid child,” Mr. Pearson said, voice rolling out of his mouth like an approaching storm. “My son is much smarter than this.” He shoved the clutched report card at her. “And he is much more capable than, than this.”

  He shook the report card clutched in his fist at Carlita.

  “No, no, he isn’t stupid,” Harper heard herself saying, though until that very moment she hadn’t given it any thought. Scott was the type of student you hoped would make it through each day without causing disasters big enough to warrant in-school suspension. She hadn’t focused at all on the boy’s potential, as he never tried to do anything in the way of academics. “I’m sure once we get the behavior under control, we can focus on his academics, uh, in both content areas.”

  From the corner of her eye, she spied Carlita’s face scrunched down in a furious scowl. Her lips quivered at her—not at them. Harper pulled back and glanced at her co-worker. “Right, Ms. Rodriguez?”

  Carlita’s angular face relaxed into the delicate make-up on her face and grinned—the faked, artificial one given to parents she disliked. Harper swallowed, but a rise of hot irritation stained the air between them. Already the storm clouds drifted across Mr. Pearson’s face again, and something primal and protective shot up from someplace deep within Harper.

  Stop it! You’re not going to keep making him angry, Carlita. He needs to hear good things about his son too, not the gossip glob from other teachers.

  Harper blew out a sigh instead of the cross words, and resurrected a grin of her own. Yet when Mr. Pearson swung his eyes back to hers, a shudder so severe ripped through Harper it left her breathless. Each taunt fiber of her bearing longed to erase the displeasure marring his face. Mr. Pearson’s fierce gaze melted the frost of Carlita’s waxy grin.

  The man made her legs weak, and she gripped the table once more for stability. Goodness, she needed a long drink of icy cold water. No, something much stronger—wine, white and chilled.

  “We should schedule a conference,” Mark said, bursting through the thick thong of tension.

  A small grouping of parents had pooled behind the fabulous Mr. Pearson. Murmurs filtered in from the cluster of concerned adults, and Mark gestured to those behind Mr. Pearson.

  I bet they’re all staring at his ass and wishing they could palm it. Just like me.

  “So, if you could step over here…” Mark was saying to Mr. Pearson. The differences between the two men struck Harper as cosmic parody. Mr. Pearson, all chiseled and stone-hard body, ready to be dissolved beneath her sexual fervor. Mark, on the other hand, was all wiry and lanky, to which her thighs would snap into pieces.

  Mr. Pearson’s eyes never left her face as he guided his son over to the side of the clothed table. He seemed caught between his anger at Scott and giving her his attention.

  Scott remained silent, not meeting anyone’s eyes. He’d shut himself off. Mr. Pearson didn’t actually touch Scott, and Scott’s folded arms, pout and tight lip of discontent quivering in angst gave non-verbal cues to leave him alone.

  “What day and time works best?” Harper asked and instantly flushed.

  It sounds like I’m asking him out.

  “Uh, for the conference,” she added with a nervous smile. “I’m free Monday.”

  That smirk again appeared on his face followed by a quick flush as if he had got himself doing something naughty. “Are you?”

  Mark coughed and said dryly, “We are all available Monday, Mr. Pearson. That’s our designated conference day. From 9:30 to 10:50 we’re available to meet.”

  Thankful for her caramel-toned skin, Harper straightened her pencil skirt. Seeing Mr. Pearson again in the confines of her classroom—seated snugly behind a student desk—conjured a new round of tightening in her stomach and a gush of wetness in her panties. Yes, this pair of panties is fodder for the trash.

  “Yes, we,” she said, a giggle escaping her mouth yet again. She didn’t sound like herself at all and the fluttering nervousness didn’t sit well with her. Steeling herself to steady her shrill tone, and grabbing the last bit of professionalism in her grasp, she added, “Would that work for you?”

  Mr. Pearson leaned in close to her, closing the distance between them and invading her personnel space in a way that suggested he knew it unnerved her. To her surprise, she didn’t move away from him, but held her ground. She even dared to inch closer to him, compelled by her attraction to him. This close she saw his lips, and they curved as she stared at them.

  How would they taste? Salty? Dusty? Sweet like gum or fresh like peppermint? Would you whimper if I bit that lip? Suck it? Would you whisper my name and demand for more, Mr. Pearson?

  “Yes,” he said. “I will be there. Nine-thirty?”

  “Uh huh,” she replied, unable to form words as the cornflower of his eyes threatened to drown her in their heat, in their deep puddles of stirring arousal.

  “Excellent,” Mark said, louder than necessary, and the intense knot around Harper and Mr. Pearson shattered. Mark returned her flash of annoyance with a wide grin.

  Bastard knows what he’s doing. Wait until that mom with the extra, super-sized boobs shows up. I’m going to rattle his cage—turnabout
is fair play, Mark!

  “See you then,” Harper managed around the thick lump in her throat. “Monday.”

  Mr. Pearson glanced at Mark and then said coolly, “I want to have answers about Scott, too. I’m willing to do what’s necessary to help my son.”

  Carlita nodded in their direction, but couldn’t reply. A set of parents battled her with questions about the advanced math program. Harper had known her long enough to know Carlita hadn’t missed a thing.

  “Ms. Perry,” called that voice which wound every point of her body to tight tips of hardness. Her nipples pressed impatiently against the fabric of her silk bra and no doubt on through the cream blouse.

  “Yes?” she asked, breathless as her eyes once more locked onto his. She felt as if Mr. Pearson had pressed that marble-marvelous body against hers—such strained passion. And it was only his damn voice!

  “I look forward to Monday,” he said, eyes burning through her professional demeanor.

  “As do I,” she breathed, not liking the effect he had on her. He eroded her professionalism as easily as if peeling an orange.

  He smiled at her as he turned to go. “Come on, Scott. P.E. is next.”

  “Good evening, Mr. Pearson,” she said, drawing her teacher voice out to the fullest.

  Mr. Pearson stopped and shot over his shoulder, “Call me, Nathaniel.”

  All around her, life skewed to nothing but the annoying humming of words, polite noises and swishes of papers. For Harper had transcended the madness, exalted to cloud nine, courtesy of Nathaniel Pearson.

  Chapter Three

  Nathaniel’s hands clutched the steering wheel in a death grip meant to break the object into two equal halves. Had it been a living, breathing organism, it would be in danger of dying. The protective rubber squeezed between his fingers and his thick digits ached from the tight hold they had on the circular instrument. He glanced into the rearview mirror, angling it downward so he could capture Scott’s reflection. Again a pressure surged in his chest and his throat, compressing his diaphragm under the emotional pressure of seeing his son so much older than when he’d glimpsed him last. Counting to twenty, Nathaniel peered at the boy with his shade of blue eyes and sandy hair color.

  “Scott…”

  “No, Dad,” the creature that once was his adorable son said. “Don’t. Not. Now.”

  The teenager’s whine grated against his nerves. His muscles flexed in defense to the annoying sound. In quick succession, Nathaniel counted to thirty. Twenty just didn’t cut it anymore.

  With a deep sigh, he dug deep within him and found the patience his father used for him. As Scott’s father, this attitude and rebelliousness had been his responsibility to handle. Then he had to handle it.

  So, sucking down his own rising anger, Nathaniel said in a forced calm, “Yes, now. Your report card demands we address it right this minute. What the hell are you doing? This, this isn’t you. I know sixth grade is a strange beast compared to elementary school, but…”

  Nathaniel faltered, a bit overwhelmed by the tide of questions sweeping over him. He had anticipated some errant behavior; after all, this was his son. Still, this report card showed a great deal of drama and angst. The questions made him release his locked hold on the steering wheel. Scott needed to explain his actions, or lack thereof, to clear the thick fog of confusion clouding Nathaniel’s understanding.

  “I don’t get it. You’re so much more than this, Scott.”

  “Why? Because I’m your son?” Scott snarled. “Ooo, a construction worker’s son. Brilliant.”

  “Yes,” Nathaniel said, a bit shocked at the deep thread of anger in those questions and the venom. “I took off early from work today to get down here to see how you were doing. I know you’re smart and talented, especially in math, so what gives?”

  The frustrated father threw the truck into reverse and backed out of one of the school’s parking spots. His face burned with irritation. Despite the cool fall air and crisp night, he perspired with each mile closer he came to Tara’s house. Scott’s mother, Tara had shoved the steel wall between him and Scott, and he allowed her to do it. Tara the tramp, the tyrant, and the tormentor. It still escaped his comprehension how a love like the one they once shared had melted into rabid hate.

  Yeah, that worked. All the crap about love, marriage, and family—the American ideal of happiness was a bunch of hooey. Right now, I don’t feel the least bit happy, nor did I when harassed by that nag.

  “I’m waiting, son,” he replied at last to the boy in the backseat. Pulling his head above the choppy seas of regret and hate, Nathaniel forced down the bitterness in his mouth. “I want to help.”

  “Help?” Scott’s cold and flat word smacked hard against Nathaniel’s ears. “Now you want to help. You ain’t been around for what? Six years?”

  In the harsh silence that followed, Nathaniel’s heart hung low. Yes, Scott’s cold indifference hinted that he was icing over some secret pain he didn’t want to talk about or discuss. The bond father and son shared had been shattered by time, distance, and an angry ex-wife.

  I wondered when you would get around to that.

  “I’m…I’ve been gone, yes. Not by choice, son, for real. The job—”

  “Yeah. Sure. The job. No wonder mom left you. You’re married to it.”

  Nathaniel’s mouth opened and shut by sheer force of will.

  After several attempts to control his guilt and anger, he managed to croak out, “I’m not married to it. But it keeps both you and your mother fed, clothed, and housed. Right? So don’t be rude or disrespectful of the job.”

  Angry silence filled the truck.

  This isn’t helping, both of us mad. I’m the adult. I can’t let my own son goad me into an argument.

  “So, tell me. What’s going on at school?” he spat each word out to keep from shouting. Each one separate and distinct pelted against the truck’s cab. “I have yet to get an answer on that one.”

  “Nuthin’.”

  “That’s obvious,” Nathaniel retorted. He caught himself, took a deep breath, and tried again. “There are those who care about you, Scott, at the school.”

  Trying to connect to the rage-filled hormones that resembled his son, Nathaniel made himself wait and listen. Sure he had been labeled as father, but he didn’t know anything.

  “Yeah. Right. Ms. Perry hates me,” Scott scoffed bitterly. He folded arms tightened. “Same way with Ms. Rodriguez. All of them suck.”

  Nathaniel’s ears pricked up at her name, Perry. He smiled, but held fast to the hard tone for his son. Damn. He remembered when English teachers were crumpled up, gray haired spinsters. Not the full-bodied babe who taught his son. Her butterscotch eyes flashed in his mind’s eye. Nestled in them was integrity and intellect uncommon amongst the teachers he’d met.

  Not at all like the math teacher, whose cruel eyes held hints of bitterness. Scott probably had little to do with that disgust marring the teacher’s face. That bitch was just mean. And she shouldn’t be around kids. She takes pleasure in deconstructing kids’ self esteem. He could just tell that about her.

  Ms. Perry carried herself in an entirely different manner. She breathed sensuality, but not so a student would notice. No, she reined it in, but it flowed about her, an intoxicating aura.

  “I doubt she is out to get you, either of them really. She’s concerned.” He spied Scott’s apathetic shrug. The anger bowled over his control again, through him, and he couldn’t keep the frustration from seething from him.

  “God, she doesn’t care about me,” Scott growled pounding the seat with a series of quick punches. “She’s all into you.”

  Nathaniel nearly slammed his truck into the minivan at the red light in front of him. Shit! “What?” he barked, twisting around to his son. How had he picked up on that? Was he watching me the entire time?

  “Like you couldn’t tell. She was all ga-ga gross over you.”

  “Umm, okay.” Nathan shifted uncomfortably in his seat
as he searched for a deflection. “Well, that’s not the point.”

  Scott snickered, earning a stern look.

  “Stop changing the subject, son,” Nathaniel said, still hanging on to this authority tone. “Your grades and behavior need to improve.” He was rewarded with a shrug and a sulk.

  Nathaniel caught the next traffic light and blew out a frustrated puff. Women often saw him as a hunky construction worker, a stereotype, but once they knew of his past, they bolted. The calls ceased. The text messaging ended. His desire had made thinking about the sexy teacher very difficult. Celibacy did that to people.

  Distracted for a moment, he grinned into the empty night as it unfolded before him. Nearly vacant streets allowed him to drift between lanes without accident. His mind wandered as restlessly as his driving. Yeah, he’d felt the forceful pull between them the moment their eyes connected.

  More importantly, he had to focus on Scott’s behavioral issues. “What happened, Scott?” he insisted. “I heard their points of view, but I need to hear from you.”

  “Nuthin’.”

  When Scott had been younger, his son loved him and they were buddies. Tight. Two of a kind, but now, as Nathaniel looked back at his seething angry teenager, he pondered who the hell it was in the backseat. Surely it wasn’t his son.

  How could this chasm between them exist after a mere six years? How had he allowed Tara to dig it and fill it with hate and bitterness? Nathaniel sighed. The better question he had to ask himself was how to bridge it and get his son back.

  “Scott, I’m not the enemy,” he said, trying to sound calm. “You’re in middle school and soon, well, soon, you’ll be a man.”

  More stormy silence from the shadow-filled backseat.

  “I will help you. If you need tutors, I will get them. But I need your help. I need you to want it too.”

  He slowed down as he reached Tara’s house, and counted the moments until he could head on home and to the shower.

  Had I said too much? Talked for too long?