Booster
I’ve had my eyes on her for the last few weeks. I’d seen her around town, and when my curiosity got the better of me, did a little digging to figure out where this dame worked, her general schedule, waiting for my opportunity to be able to get her and talk to her.
She’s a fine thing. Supple curves and soft brown hair I’ve learned she keeps up in a ponytail more than she lets it down. That’s how she has it right now, tied up nice and tight, which is just fine; it shows off her neck, and it’s a smooth, pale curve of flesh that I’ve been dying to sink my teeth in ever since the moment I saw her.
But it’s her eyes—she’s got these gray-blue eyes like a sad sky and I watch as she sits across from me with them darting around, looking cautiously at her surroundings.
I chuckle. I told her not to worry. These are my people and she’s my girl—even if she doesn’t know it yet. No one but me is gonna touch her.
“What do you drink, doll?” I don’t know her name yet, but I will. Her eyes snap to me, and a doe-brown brow raises up at the nickname; I think it takes her off guard, but I like that she doesn’t correct me.
“Just a beer.”
I wave someone over. A waitress, a pretty thing, comes over. She pays me more attention than the woman I’ve brought with me.
“Hey big guy, what’ll you be having tonight?”
“Two beers,” I tell her. I don’t even look at her. She’s not my focus tonight. “And a pitcher.”
“Oh—that’s not necessary.” Doll-Face speaks up. “I’ll only be having one tonight.”
Smart girl.
I smirk, and nod.
“Just two beers, then.”
The waitress flits off, and my attention is taken wholly once more. I lean onto the table as Doll- Face speaks again.
“So. You wanted to talk,” she says. I can tell that now that we’re here, she’s more apprehensive than she was before. I like this. She’s cautious despite the fact I was able to pick her up off the side of the road.
I knew she would be perfect.
“I did. I’ve watched you for some time,” I tell her. “You’re a teacher, aren’t you? You don’t have a boyfriend, not a lot of friends—”
“You’ve been stalking me?” The idea makes her balk, and I see her visibly put more space between us than I’d like.
“Collecting intel,” I correct. “On the woman that I want to carry my child.”
I’m not really about beating around the bush. I figure that I’ve done it long enough now, and she wanted to know what I wanted to talk about—so there it is. I sit back, waiting for her response. Any woman would be happy to get a fuck from me, let alone carry a baby for me—
She starts laughing.
“Oh … wow, okay. I thought that you had some … I don’t know. Serious thing that for some reason you needed to talk to me about but. Oh my gosh.” She giggles some more. “Is this a prank? It’s a very … wow. Odd prank, I’ll give you that. Did my mother put you up to this to finally convince me to get a car instead of walking? Honestly, you can tell her I’m working on it; this was entirely unnecessary—”
“I’m not joking.”
Her face blanks.
“What?”
“I said,” I repeat, leaning onto the table. “I’m not joking. I’m in need of an heir. I want you to give me one.”
She sits across from me, staring at me blankly, trying to process. I allow her the time, this time, because it’s something that I’ve had to think about for the last few months. But a childless president of a club that runs on hierarchy is as good as replaceable. My boys wouldn’t turn on me, I know that for a fact.
It’s the security of the thing. The principle. And I can’t just fuck a kid into some club girl and call it the future president. I need a woman that nurturing and motherly, one that lights up a kid’s heart as much as she sets fire in my loins.
That’s this woman across from me. I knew it the moment I laid my eyes on her.
She’s mine.
“I—what? You don’t even know me,” she says finally. “I don’t know you. What even makes you think—”
“A hundred thousand dollars,” I say. “On top of anything else you want.”
“Excuse me?”
“You walk home, which means you don’t have a car. You’re a teacher, which means that on top of not having a car, there’s probably a lot that you want, that you’re not getting because your salary sucks.” She flushes, and I know that under the indignation, there’s truth.
No one can say I don’t know how to get what I want.
“A hundred thousand, and whatever your heart desires,” I reiterate. “The only strings attached are that I’m the only one allowed at you, before, during, and after you’re pregnant—”
“Whoa there.” She puts her hands up. “This is—you’re assuming a lot!” she exclaims. “I just said we don’t know each other and—and you think just because you’ve watched me a little—which, by the way, is super weird—that you’re just going to tell me that I’m going to do this for you.”
“I’m proposing an offer to you,” I tell her. “But I don’t want to take no for an answer. You won’t have to change anything else about your life. You can still work. You can have your free time. Just give me a child under those conditions. It’s simple.”
Before she can reply, our waitress comes back. She sets down a beer for each of us, and then sashays her ass away again. Doll-Face eyes her beer, but doesn’t drink. Apparently, she’s thought better of doing so. Shame; she could probably go with being a little loosened up.
I see her struggle with this—her head turning over in her mind the figure and conditions that I just laid out. A hundred thousand is change to me, but to a small-time teacher? It’s a little more than a fortune. What’s carrying a baby for nine months in comparison?
“I—” There’s hesitance, but I think for a moment that she’s going to take me up on the offer. That she’s going to give me what I want and what I need.
“I can’t.”
What?
“What do you mean, you can’t?”
“I mean, I can’t. I don’t know you. This is … entirely out of the blue, and while it’s tempting, it wouldn’t be right of me, and it’s certainly not right of you to ask. Now, please. I would like to go home now.”
She’s telling me no. Me, no! I would be infuriated if the fact that her apparently high moral compass wasn’t so impressive, and it wasn’t just presenting another challenge to conquer in front of me.
I can’t force her to carry my child. I’m not that kind of man.
So … I will just need to convince her.
“All right,” I say. I don’t finish my beer, and she hasn’t even drunk hers, but I stand up and straighten out my kutte. “If that’s your answer, then—”
“It is.”
“I’ll take you home.”
She doesn’t look like she trusts that I’m going to do just that. But she’s way out of her element here. And at the very least? She knows me more than she knows everyone else in this bar. After a moment, she stands too, and tugs her jacket around her some more.
“Will—are you giving me a ride?”
“I drove you out here, didn’t I, doll?”
“My name’s Lena,” she corrects. “And yeah, I suppose …”
“I’m not gonna take you anywhere but your house, all right?”
Again, there’s this furtive glance to me as she weighs her options. I just offered her a hundred grand just to have a baby for me; I’m not about to hurt her.
She resigns herself to this being her one option, shy of having to pay for a taxi to come get her and take her home.
“All right. It’s already late … Let’s go.”
She’s a firecracker in spurts, but I like her timidity. The way she’s unsure—she questions and second guesses. It means that there’s hope. I haven’t lost my opportunity. And as I drive out back to that deserted little road to take her home, I hold onto the fact that I still have a chance.
I just have to hit Lena at the right angle, is all.
The next day, I’m out on a little business. The Wylde Ones are just that—wild. But I like to think we have a bit of structure and purpose that other clubs don’t. We channel our wild into something useful. Constructive.
This morning, constructive was knocking the teeth out of some punk that was harassing Ms. Anders’ granddaughter. Ms. Anders is a sweet lady, owns one of the few family grocery stores in the city; no one messes with her and hers if we have something to say about it. Later in the day it was collecting some dues from people that owed them, standard shit. I can send other people out to handle that kind of shit—I have something more personal to attend to.
I’m standing in the lot of a dealership, looking at cars. How Doll-Face—Lena—doesn’t have one isn’t that surprising considering she’s a teacher, but I figure if that’s the first thing that I rectify with her little issue, then it’ll get me a little closer into her good graces. I need her to give me what I want; I’m not opposed to taking when the situation calls for it, but a leader, a man, knows when to take and when not to.
Right now, I have my eye on a little four-door. Gunmetal silver, almost close enough to match the color of her eyes. It’s got all the fixings inside: Bluetooth connection from phone to the speakers, navigation, heated seats—it’s definitely a pretty penny, but it’s something that I can afford.
And something that I’m sure Lena will love.
The dealer tries to talk me into some sporty deal, two-door death trap, but I decline, settling on this one here.
“Buying for someone special, then?” he asks me. His eyes rove over me; I don’t exactly look like the kind of man that would end up settling on a car.
“Yeah. You can say that.”
I get all the paperwork finalized and make plans to have the car delivered to Lena’s house at the end of the week, as a surprise. In the meantime? I keep to myself. I don’t do anymore nights tailing her on the way home. I don’t even pop by the school to see how she’s doing. I don’t give her a hint that I’m still banking on her being the mother of my child.
I want her to come to me. So, one task down, one more to go.
There’s a lot that you can pick up just from listening around town. Talking to people. People are always willing to talk to me, either because they’re intimidated, or because they’re dazzled by me. Either or works for me.
A few weeks ago, before I even spoke to Lena myself, I’d been sitting around the school, seeing if Lena had a boyfriend or something equally tedious that would get in my way. She had nothing of the sort, of course, but she did have an argument with some old guy I pieced together was the principal of her school. Real tool, if you ask me; Lena’s pretty passionate about her kids and their learning—it’s one of the reasons I want her to have mine. She needs books—up-to-date books—for the English department. I walked up to the principal after she stormed off, pretending like I thought her little display was funny.
“Damsels, eh?” I said to him. “Always barking and yapping at you, huh?”
The asshole agreed with me, laughing off how her tittering was cute to him, and how that was part of the reason that he wouldn’t cough up the funding for books for her. I let him think that I agreed with him, after getting a little more information that I would need out of him. A little digging … a little researching … It didn’t take me all that long to hunt and find just what Lena needed, and now that I’ve put myself on her radar, I set the delivery for that little purchase for the next day.
I satisfy her kids’ needs; I satisfy her needs—then she can satisfy mine. There’s no way she can tell me no.
Lena
Period doesn’t go there … that’s not how that word is spelled … there needs to be an indentation there … come on, you know how to write an English essay—
It’s just a little after four, and I’m still at work. My odd, wild night of surprise has been shoved very forcibly into the back of my mind. And now? Now I focus on grading English essays that were clearly done the evening before.
Not like I can blame the students. The material is terrible that they’re learning from, and they aren’t interested; I still haven’t found a solution to my book issue.
One hundred thousand dollars.
My red pen stops moving as if of its own accord.
Well. There is a solution to my book problem, but it’s so ludicrous I don’t dare even consider it.
Okay, that’s a lie. I’ve considered it. It’s just insane.
But it doesn’t matter. I haven’t seen hide or hair of Booster Wylde since I turned him down on his offer to have me carry his child. I don’t believe that I’ll be given a second chance to say yes, and even if I was given a second chance to say yes, is money enough to justify something like that?
But it’d give you a child, too. One of your own. Not someone else’s to take care of.
“Ugh!”
I set my pen down on my desk with a hard snap. I’m getting nowhere with these essays with all these stupid, intrusive thoughts of mine. Money … a baby …
“Lena, get a damn grip. You’re not going to justify this to yourself just because he could give you things you want!”
Jeez. I’ve taken to talking to myself out loud, and there’s nothing but silent judgement to answer me back.
I take a moment to calm myself. It’s just the stress, I tell myself. That’s okay. The weekend will be here soon, and hopefully I can relax a little before needing to revisit the impossible situation that I’ve found myself in. When I think I’m ready to get back at the task at hand without weird bikers clouding my otherwise sound judgement, I pick my pen back up.
Knock, knock, knock!
There’s a rapping at my door, and I sigh.
“Come in!”
I think that perhaps it’s going to be Principal Walters. He always somehow manages to come in at the worst of times to bug me (despite hating when I take the time to bug him over things that actually matter.) Instead, the door opens and it’s not Principal Walters here to bug me or harass me, but a delivery guy.
“Ah, are you Lena?” He glances at a pad in his hand. “Lena Hedlund?”
I look behind him, seeing a ton of boxes on a rolling cart.
“Um … Yes? Yes, I’m Lena Hedlund.” I get up and go over to him, seeing a larger selection of boxes sitting outside my door, as well. “How can I help you?”
“I’ve got your delivery here.” He holds out the pad for me to sign. “Just need an autograph and you’ll be good to go.”
I’m … so confused. I didn’t order anything, especially nothing of this magnitude!
“Can you tell me what all this is?” I ask him. Maybe it’s some sort of scholastic packages that I ordered and forgot about in all the hectic comings and goings of the school year?
The guy shrugs.
“I just deliver things, ma’am. Go ahead and sign.”
I can tell that he’s just wanting to get on out of here, and I don’t really feel like keeping him longer than he’s willing to be here—I’m more curious about what’s been delivered to me. So I sign for these mystery boxes, much to the man’s delight. He takes his pad, unloads the rest of the boxes from the rolling cart, and makes his way down the hall. I watch him until he rounds a corner, and then I start bringing the boxes in one by one.
They’re heavy, and I almost consider getting help when I begin to break a sweat carting all of them in. But that would bring more questions, and considering the fact I haven’t even figured out what’s in these boxes to begin with?
Yeah … I’m keeping that to myself for now, until I figure out what’s in here.
When all the boxes are in my classroom, I close the door behind me. I mean, I know it can’t possibly be anything sinister. Probably. But I don’t want anyone peeking in here and trying to be nosy about what I’m doing. I get a pair of scissors from my desk and randomly choose a box. Carefully, as if defusing a bomb instead of cutting packing tape off a box, I cut the box open.
Oh …
Oh my god.
Inside are stacks and stacks of books. Brand new literary classics. I can see some are ones that I even looked for when I was doing my research for the books I’d like to buy my class—others are ones that I hadn’t even considered, but are still otherwise invaluable to the classroom.
I go through each of the boxes, one by one, losing count of the number that I open. Inside each box is nothing but books—novels, English textbooks, grammar manuals and guides, study texts—
This is … everything that I had intended to buy, and more.
Who on Earth sent these to me?
I’m on the verge of tears, because this solves a huge problem for me. I can feel my gut bubbling in elation, my throat threatening to seize up from the sheer happiness running rampant through my veins. This is the answer to years of problems that I have had teaching at this school. This is—
Tap, tap, tap!
Not at the door this time, but the window. I jump, my hand coming to my chest as I look over to my open classroom window to see none other than … Booster …
He has a gloved hand drawn up, knuckles rapping on my window, getting my attention. There’s a huge grin on his face, and he nods me over. I think that he wants me to come to the window, but as the dots connect in my head, I do him one better.
I leave my classroom and seek him out in the parking lot.
My mind is reeling. Did he orchestrate all of this? How? And … and why? Does this have to do with our conversation at the bar?
These questions are heavy on my tongue when I come around to the parking lot. Those, and more. I’m pretty sure that I’m going to ask every single one of them when I see Booster leaning against his bike, his helmet off and his grin crooked and cocky.
I come up with nothing as I stand before him, however. My mouth opens and closes like I’m a fish out of water, and truly, I am. I’ve never met a man like Booster Wylde, and I don’t know whether to hug him or slap him in the face.
“I see your books arrived safe and sound,” he says.
So it was him!
“What did you … why did you … how—”
“I told you. Anything you wanted.” He tilts his head, making his expression look even more dashingly cocky than it already was. “I can make a lot of things like that happen, Lena.”
“How did you even figure out my last name? Or my classroom—”
“I’m resourceful when there’s something I want.” Booster leans forward as he cuts me off. His proximity makes his cologne waft up into my nose, making me blush and my breath hitch in my throat. Then, before I can even think about what he’s said, he takes my chin in hand and draws me closer to him.
He’s strong—powerful. His mouth presses to mine and with a gasp, my lips part, allowing his tongue access to deepen the kiss. My eyes widen, and my mind blanks. There’s nothing that fires off in my brain, except the fact that I’m caught utterly off guard, and I really, really like the way he kisses me.
He takes control, takes charge, leading me through the kiss, and I follow as my eyes slide shut. My lips move, reciprocating, tongue tentative as I touch it to his. He growls at me, pulling me closer still, and he bites my lip, making me shudder.
There’s a tingling, shocking kind of interest that courses through me at the sensation. It has me almost limp against Booster as our kiss slows and he eases off of me. He’s completely taken my breath away; I’ve never been kissed like this by another man before. I don’t know what I’m supposed to think.
Luckily, Booster doesn’t give me much time to try.
“There’s more where that came from, doll,” he says, going back to that nickname he used with me before. I don’t correct him. I don’t know if he means more things he can get with money or more of those insane kisses—I think he might mean both, and I don’t find myself opposed to either. I stand there, my lips still parted and my face hot. I watch him, wordless, as he climbs onto his bike, secures his helmet to his head, and rides away.
I am … completely flustered. It takes me a few moments to get back to myself and collect my thoughts, which right now are centered on how utterly crazy this man likely is—and how much his actions have turned me on.
I stand in the parking lot for a few more moments, trying to compose myself. I remind myself that I have things I need to do … yes. The books!
I run my hands down my front, smoothing out my clothes as if that will set me straight. I realize it’s very likely that someone’s seen me—we were in the middle of the parking lot, for Christ’s sake! Hoping to avoid the prospect of facing an audience to my surprise indiscretion, I hurry back inside.
In the safety of my classroom, I throw myself into organizing my new books. I separate them between what will be for my classes and what will be suited for the other English teachers in the department. I find that there are enough additional materials for everyone at all grade levels, with some spare materials for those occasional overachieving students, when we get them. I organize everything based on this, and make a plan to surprise the other teachers the next day with my spoils.
All the while, Booster’s word keep running through my head.
“There’s more where that came from, doll.”
My mind whirls as I lock up for the night and make my way home. I’m reminded of the first night I met Booster, with how late it’s gotten and how chilly it is. My thoughts wander deeper into that territory.
He’s so serious about wanting me to carry his child. That’s not normal. Why doesn’t he just get a girlfriend? Why me? Why this way?
As a teacher, you start to pick up things about other people. Take high school students, for example. Sometimes they do outlandish things that make no sense from the outside looking in. You have to look inward, figure out their motives—and to high school students, those motives tend to make a lot of sense. The same logic can be applied to adults—though what’s outlandish in adult-world tends to be bigger than what’s outlandish in kid-world.
“I’m resourceful when there’s something that I want.”
I felt it in his kiss.
He wants me. The only problem is that his motives are still so very unclear, and they leave me reeling. I’ve never been in a situation like this before.
By the time I get back home, I’m a mix of curious and flustered. I shut my door with a snap, as if I’m trying to hide my state from the outside world. I can’t stop thinking about Booster’s words and our strange encounter, and try as I might to do so, I can’t forget about the way that he touched me and kissed me earlier. I can’t forget about why. He handed me my biggest dream for my students like it was nothing—and he’s offering me something even more. Something that he doesn’t even know I want too—
No. Stop right there. It’s still insane.
I head to my room, knowing that I don’t have the brain to grade anything tonight—I leave my bags downstairs without even bothering to unpack them. As soon as I hit my room, I begin to undress.
“He’s unhinged,” I mutter, trying to convince myself. “It doesn’t matter what he could give me. No sane man does something like that.”
My words to myself don’t go very far as I fall back onto my bed in nothing but my panties and my bra.
“There’s more where that came from.”
More. Heh. If his kiss was any indication, I can imagine what more from a man like Booster would be. Those hands of his, so big and strong …
I touch myself. It shouldn’t be, but it’s so easy to bring my hands to roam over my breasts as I think back to the way that his hand grasped my chin to pull me into the kiss. I bite my lip—I squeeze one of my breasts, hard.
A breathy sigh leaves me, and before I can stop myself, I whisper out his name.
“Booster …”
I squeeze my breast harder, pinching my nipple over the top of my bra. Booster would—
No. No, Booster wouldn’t squeeze on top of my bra.
I lean up and reach around my back to undo the hooks of my bra. I toss the offending piece of clothing away without a second thought and lay back down. Booster’s proven that he’s assertive … an alpha male. And an alpha male takes what he wants. He’s not tentative. He’s rough.
I arch from my bed as I pinch my nipple between my fingers, rolling the already hard bud between them, tugging. My other fingers knead into the supple flesh around it; my chest rises with a deep breath as pleasure pools quick between my legs.
Is this how he’d have me? Rough, working man’s hands on my soft, womanly flesh, not caring about bruising or pain? I see it as my eyes close and I can’t help but fall further into the fantasy … yes …
He’d toss me back on this bed, barely clothed, rip off my bra, and latch onto my breasts. He’d pinch and squeeze—bite them and suck them—until I was moaning his name and writhing against his mouth and hands.
“Booster … more …”
Usually I take my time with myself, but I know—I fantasize—that as soon as I let those honeyed words fall from my mouth, Booster wouldn’t hold back. My thighs fall apart, quivering. My free hand slips down my soft belly and over its button, down to play over cotton-clothed lips. I’m so wet. So hot.
Usually, I take my time with myself, but not this time. Booster wouldn’t. Booster would grab my legs and pull them apart—so instead of taking my time I shove my hand down into my panties, rubbing my fingers hard against the bud of my clit.
“Oh, god!”
There’s no god in this room; there’s the thought of Booster with his hard, manly body hovering over me, his fingers playing against my clit until I’m bucking against him like I am now.
More, more! Give me more.
Booster would oblige; his fingers would plunge into my open slit, forced in so easily with how much I want this.
Yes, yes, don’t stop!
In, out, the wet, sultry sound of my pleasure mingles with the unabashed moans and cries that fall from my lips.
“Oh—oh!”
Panties—off. I don’t need them anymore. Booster wouldn’t want me covered, so I lie in my bed, spread out with this phantom idea of him, readying my body to be taken, and taken good. Four fingers in, so full … so stretched. Booster would go hard, maybe even harder than I am right now. I press my fingers deep and hard against my g-spot, sliding against sensitive flesh against my walls—
I find that it’s not enough. I have a thumb on my clit, four fingers in, rutting and writhing against them. I pant as I pull my fingers out of me and roll over onto my belly to reach into the drawer of my bedside table.
Inside is a cocktail of fun things every single girl needs. Lube, condoms that need to be used—and a couple of toys that have gotten me through frustrating nights like this in the past. I take out the biggest one, imagining that a man Booster’s size has to be carrying a lot between his legs. I don’t roll over onto my back. As soon as I have the toy in my hand, I press my face down, rear up. My thighs are spread and shaking and I don’t even need lube to make sure that the toy will go in easily; my pleasure slides down my thighs hotly.
Toy in hand, fantasy back. Booster flipping me, gripping me by the hips to jerk me back. The toy nudges against my hole where fingers used to be and I push in, hard.
“Oh!”
I quiver around the length and girth, hitting as far as the toy can go, filling myself. My eyes roll, and in my head I see Booster claiming me roughly from behind, having me mounted like an animal since he wants to breed me like one.
The thought is filthy, but it makes me tighten and rut back against the toy.
“Harder, harder.”
My walls are obliged; I plunge the toy deeper and hard and faster, just like I know Booster would fuck me—because he’s not the making love type, I know. It wouldn’t be making love. It would be primal and disgusting and—the funny part?—I actually want it that way.
I imagine what it would be like to have his hand fisted in my hair, shoving my face into my pillows where my pleasured screams are muffled. To have it be the flesh of his cock I feel gliding in and out as I’m pounded into from behind instead of impersonal silicone.
Still. I clench around my toy. Deeper, deeper—hard. Spasms wrack my body and I shove my free hand between my legs to rub my clit.
That’s it, doll. Cum for me.
“Ah—ah … Booster—”
With it shoved into the hilt, I cum hard around the toy, flowing around it in an orgasm with an intensity that I haven’t brought myself to in a long, long time. I keep moving the toy in me, stimulating sensitive, tight walls—wanting desperately to drag out an orgasm from a partner that isn’t there, to be filled to the brim with seed and let it take …
After a few moments, my hand stops, slowing the motions. My panting becomes deep, deep drags of breath, and I lie there soaking in the pure bliss of my orgasm.
No one has to know about this, and no one ever will. I’m almost inclined to be embarrassed—but in my mind all I can think about is if fantasizing about this was that good, how amazing would the real thing be?
Am I really considering Booster’s offer?
Lena
The morning comes with a delicious ache in my lower half. I’ve never woken up from a night of sex aching, let alone a night of masturbating aching. There’s a soft, dull thud as I roll over in my bed, the morning light not quite yet peeking through my window.
God … What is this man doing to me?
I lie in bed for a little, thinking about the day and the night before. Though I have a lot of thoughts, they’re decidedly calmer than they were before. Maybe it was the insane orgasm—I’m chalking it up to the orgasm—but there are a couple of things I at least admit to myself as I shower and get ready for the morning.
One? I’m attracted to a man I know I shouldn’t be.
Two? I’d like to talk to him more about this little arrangement that he wants to have with me.
I know, logically, that it’s insane. You don’t just jump into bed with a man because he offers you something—especially not when he wants to essentially use you as a broodmare. But the more I think through the logistics … the more I think about where I am in my own life …
I’m fast approaching thirty. It’s not the end all, be all. I still have a lot of life ahead of me, but there’s only so much of that life that can be used to have a child. And I want one. I’ve always wanted one. Growing up in a foster home, surrounded by people that loved me unconditionally, I was always so very, very grateful for my mom—adopted or not—and my siblings.
There was a point where I thought I would foster and adopt as well. But I always knew that I wanted to do what my own mother hadn’t, and carry a baby, keep it, nurture and love it, and let it know that it was the most cherished thing in the world.
But for a person that desperately wants a family, there’s always been blockages. Schooling. Working. My students are so important to me, and most men don’t like not having your full, undivided attention on them. That’s something I can’t offer.
But Booster said I wouldn’t have to do anything differently from what I do now. Just not be with any other men.
As I walk on my way to work, I snort. No other men. There hasn’t been another man in so long it’s almost easy to forget what having sex is like …
Something tells me, though, that sex with Booster would be very, very, memorable.
“Lena! Oh my god, where did you get all of this!”
We’re in my classroom—I and the other teachers from the English department. We always get in at least an hour before the bell, as teacher do. I made sure to call them all in for a meeting. Little did they know …
I beam out at them, gesturing to the boxes.
“Someone was kind enough to donate all of these to the department yesterday,” I say. I don’t want to give away that a biker who wants to knock me up is trying to vie for my favor and that’s why they’re here—that would be asking for gossip. This is a safer option. And to be honest, I like it more.
Mrs. Cunningham, one of the older teachers, thumbs through the books.
“We’ve been trying to get things like this in for years,” she says, amazed at the titles and the brand-new quality of all the books that are in the boxes.
“I know. Principal Walters wasn’t having any of it … But at least now he doesn’t have to worry about this eating into his precious budget.”
We all laugh, and together, we get the boxes of books distributed between the teachers. We get done a little before the first bell rings, and I go into the rest of the day with a pep in my step.
If nothing else, this little interlude with Booster has helped more than just me. When I see him next, I plan to thank him for that. He might have personal, possibly selfish, reasons, but the results are utterly selfless.
The week goes by, and we get good use out of the new materials for the classrooms. I haven’t gone by to tell Principal Walters about the donation, but word gets to him anyway. He gives me furtive, somewhat annoyed looks in the hall when I pass him, but he dares not say anything against the donation—too many of the teachers and the students, even, are appreciative of the new materials. He wouldn’t dare speak against them after having called the investment a waste.
Well. Now he can see that he was very, very wrong, and he doesn’t even get the credit that would have come from boosting the quality of the English department.
With school straightened out, it opens up my mind to more thoughts about Booster. I don’t see anymore of him, and I find myself looking for him intentionally. I’ll head to the café early in the morning before school and sit at the window, trying to see if I can get a glimpse of him. I take my lunches in my classroom, trying to see if he’ll be out in the parking lot at some point, waiting for me.
I have no means of contacting him, and shy of showing up randomly at the bar he took me to, to ask around about him, I’m at a loss.
“There’s more where that came from, doll.”
Maybe he was just saying that? Maybe he found another woman to fulfill his needs quicker and decided not to bother with me. It’s odd how the thought pains me when I know that it shouldn’t.
By Friday, I’m convinced that that’s what’s happened. That I’ve been left in the dust, and I wake up that morning a little annoyed. I’ve gotten all in my head over nothing.
Ugh.
Though the day is gorgeous, my mood is downcast. More so when the doorbell rings, and there’s a knock on my front door.
Who on earth could that be?
I don’t let myself hope that it’s Booster, and therefore I don’t feel disappointment when I open up the door in my bathrobe and see that it’s not him. It is, however, another delivery person. My brow rises as his eyes rove over me.
“Good morning?”
He snaps out of whatever stupor he was in and nods behind him.
“Car delivery for Lena Hedlund?”
Car what?
“P-pardon?”
The delivery man steps aside and lets me see. There’s a gorgeous, gunmetal silver car sat parked in my driveway. Just looking at it, I can tell that it’s brand new, and way, way out of my pay grade. I gape at it, and the delivery man laughs.
“Your husband must love you a lot,” he comments. “Sign here, ma’am.”
I take a few moments before I do so, still gaping at the fact that there’s a car in my driveway that I didn’t even pay for. But I don’t question it. I know exactly who sent it to me.
“Yeah … yeah, I’m very lucky.”
He hands me the keys, which I take with shaking hands. I’m … in utter shock. This is definitely a huge step up in price from schoolbooks.
Booster is very serious about this whole thing.
The delivery person laughs a little before he heads back to the trailer he’s driving—his last glance at me not lost, but utterly unimportant to me. I clutch the keys in my hands. I have the urge to run over there, jump and holler like a child, and another to never touch the car, because what on Earth am I going to do with it? What am I going to tell people?
My inner child outweighs the adult I should be right now.
I bound over as the delivery man pulls away, unlocking the car and sliding in. There’s plush leather inside, and I can scent that it’s new, untouched. Everything is black, from the dashboard to the floor boards. It’s sleek and elegant.
Everything that I would want out of a car, had I bought it myself.
I don’t know the first thing I want to do. Take it for a drive or sit back and admire it. Considering the fact that I’m still in my robe—
I do the adult thing and go inside. But I’m quick in getting ready and getting right back down to the car in question. I’ve had a license since I was a teen, have driven here and there if a friend or my mom will let me drive—but my own car? That’s something that I haven’t actually had for a few years since my last one broke down and I didn’t have the money to replace it.
I’m positively, undeniably floored with how wonderfully she handles. I drive through town, getting a feel for the car, getting acquainted with all the controls and the fancy functions of the car. It’s more equipped than any car I’ve ever driven in; I have to wonder where Booster could have found the money for this, let alone all the books, and come to the conclusion that being president of a motorcycle club clearly has its perks.
I arrive a little late at the school, but it’s all right—I’m still here before the first bell rings. My car gets the attention of students, who eye it with covetous eyes, and I can’t help but blush when I remember what the delivery man said earlier.
“Your husband must love you a lot.”
No, not husband. Not even boyfriend—not even loved from afar. But I suppose that it doesn’t hurt, having Booster’s interest. I wonder what more surprises await me before he’s back around to claim what he wants.
I don’t honestly know if I’ll tell him no.