“LANDON, WHY WERE YOU POKING Tara with your pencil?” My knees cramp as I kneel, watching one of my favorite students as his face gets red with embarrassment. I peek around him, making sure the other students can’t hear. “You’re not in trouble, sweetheart. I just need your help to understand what happened.”
“I like her,” he whispers, big brown eyes wide. “And she looks really pretty today.”
“I’m sure you do, Landon. She’s a sweet girl.”
He nods, looking like a pint-sized bobblehead.
“That’s nice that you like her, but you shouldn’t poke your friends with pencils. Maybe next time you want to get her attention, you can try using your words?”
“But that’s not what Daddy does.”
My head turns slightly as I regard my student. “What does Daddy do?”
He takes a huge gulp of air. His little body rocking with the force of it. “When Mommy is pretty, she gets the tip. Daddy says so. He doesn’t use his words with Mommy all the time either. He just pokes her with his finger and tells her she’s gonna get the tip later. I didn’t want to hurt Tara, so I just gave her the pencil tip kinda like Daddy.”
Oh. My. God. This isn’t happening.
“Landon, honey, how about next time Tara looks pretty, you just tell her. Leave all that other stuff to your daddy.”
“So tell her she’s gonna get the tip?”
“No!” I hold my breath and say a quick prayer for some kind of divine intervention. “Sorry, Landon. I didn’t mean to raise my voice. I thought I would fall over.” I wobble my balance, my knees still protesting while I keep myself at his level. “Maybe just say ‘you look pretty’ and leave it at that. No need to bring any tips into it.”
I can’t believe I just said that.
“Okay.” He nods and smiles, but that smile quickly slips. “What happens when I wanna tell her I like her booty?”
Lord, kill me now.
“You know what? How about we color a picture?”
“Ms. Clark, you’re really funny.”
“Thank you, Landon. If it’s okay with you, can I talk to your mom? I bet she would be able to tell you all the sweet things a girl would like to hear from a boy who likes her. I’m afraid I won’t be much help, honey.”
Please buy it. Please buy it.
“How come you wouldn’t be able to help?”
“Well,” I say with a smile. “I can’t help because I haven’t found my prince.”
Landon smiles and nods. “I can catch you a big frog then! I’ll get my daddy to help, and then you’ll have your prince!”
“That’s okay, honey. My prince is just waiting to hop his way to me, so we have to let him find his path.”
“I guess.”
“Thank you for thinking about helping me, though. That was very sweet.”
Landon nods again, his shoulders straightening as pride fills his tiny body. I lead him over to a group of kids drawing silently and help get him settled before walking over to my desk. My second graders are the best kids in the school, no doubt, but this whole week, they seem to be possessed by little demons. Landon is the fifth boy to discuss what his daddy does. Carpool line hasn’t been the same since. Just yesterday, sweet little Cara-May Jenner asked me what bum fun was, and I honestly didn’t think it could get worse than that. Looks like I’m in for another awkward as it gets chat with another parent tonight. I scribble a note to myself in my planner to give Landon’s mom a ring later. Thankfully, she’s one of the parents I’m closer to, and it will ease a little of the tension, but regardless, it isn’t a chat I want to have with any parent.
The rest of the day passes without incident, thankfully. I make quick work of tidying up the room and getting the following week’s lessons in order before packing up. After a week of craziness at work, I can’t wait for this weekend. Much like my past couple of weekends, I plan on spending time doing a whole lot of nothing. Only this time it’s because my students have broken my brain and not because a man broke my body … deliciously. It was hard enough getting through the Friday after Shane’s visit, but it took almost two weeks for me not to shift and feel like he was still touching me. I spent the whole weekend after he had shown up just lying on the couch with a sore body, watching reality television. His touch was as intoxicating as a drink to an alcoholic.
As much as I would love to have another round with Shane, I’ve had way too much time since that explosive night to think. About him. Just as I had worried, he’s deeper under my skin after sleeping together than he had ever been with just a simple lust-filled crush. I would be a big fat liar if I said I didn’t want another round with Shane, but is it worth getting hurt in the process? Plus, Shane’s been keeping his distance as well, so maybe he wasn’t actually interested in playing our little game anyway. Or I was just as bad in bed as Seth had always said.
Unfortunately, that reprieve I had just felt while packing my stuff was short-lived. The second I step out of the back door and into the faculty parking lot, I see him—Seth—leaning against my car with a stupid smile on his stupid face. And of course, he’s here. I might as well have just conjured him up. This isn’t the first time he’s been here. Since I hatched my fake boyfriend plan, he’s been annoyingly around—only without said fake boyfriend, he wasn’t taking no for an answer.
“What do you want, Seth?” I ask in a dull tone, unlocking my car, popping the trunk, and dropping my schoolbag in before shutting it and crossing my arms, holding his gaze.
“Wanted to take my girl out.”
I look around the almost empty parking lot, a trickle of unease making me fist my keys. “Unless you’re waiting for someone else, I don’t see your girl.”
“Oh, come on, Nik! Stop playing hard to get. I fucked up; I know. I’ve said I was sorry, baby. Let’s just put it behind us and move on.”
“Sorry doesn’t cut it. I don’t know why you have such a hard time realizing that I’m not joking. You didn’t just cheat on me, but you had been doing it for years, Seth. That isn’t anything I would ever be able to forget. You made your choice, just as I did when I ended our relationship. I won’t change my mind, buddy!”
His face goes hard, the carefree boy next door mask slipping off completely. “So you’re just going to throw away years together because of my mistake?”
“Ding, ding! We’ve got a winner, ladies and gents. I’m so glad you’re finally listening,” I sarcastically exclaim.
“You don’t have to be a fucking bitch,” he forces through his clenched teeth.
“And you don’t have to be a freaking stalker. It’s over. It’s been over. Give it up and move on.”
“It’s not over, Nik. If it was over, you wouldn’t still be waiting for me.”
I laugh, feeling a headache forming. “You think I’m waiting for you? That’s rich, Seth, it really is. I’m not waiting on you. I wasn’t the day I walked in on another girl—one who looked like she wasn’t even close to eighteen, I might add—bouncing on your naked lap. I wasn’t waiting the day I moved all your crap out of my apartment. And you’d better believe I wasn’t waiting when my new man showed me just what I had been missing with you!”
Verbal diarrhea. I couldn’t stop it if I tried, and now, with him giving me the nastiest glare ever, I can still feel more bubbling up, threatening to tip over and out.
“You’re lying.”
“Have I ever lied to you?” I ask. I might not have been the best girlfriend to Seth, but he never had to doubt my word because I had never lied to him before. So this is a massive stretch to say I’m not lying now, but Shane did kind of agree to a ‘relationship’—even if it’s been radio silence since—Seth just doesn’t need to know about all the fine print.
“How come you aren’t ever with this man of yours?”
“He’s busy.” I’ve been avoiding him.
“Nik Nac, baby, you don’t need to lie to make me feel bad. I messed up. I know. Stop this and let’s go have some fun.” He reaches out, but I jerk my body away from his reach. “The fuck?”
“Seth … I’ve been nice about it. I’ve told you over and over that it will never happen. It’s been over a year! Enough already. Respect that I’ve moved on and do the same.”
“You say you’ve moved on, yet here you are, lying about it just because you want to play games and make me pay for my mistakes. We both know we’ll get back together. Just cut the act.”
“That will never happen. Look, I’ve had a long day, and I just want to go home. How about you pick your stalking back up tomorrow when I’ve had a full night’s sleep and I’m better equipped to deal with your crazy.”
I push past him, ignoring the nasty things he’s muttering about me, and squeeze into my car with the little space he’s allowed between himself and my door. I don’t look out my window, but I do lock the door before fumbling with my keys. I jump only slightly when Seth bangs his hand against my window, but I keep my eyes forward and put the car in drive, thankful no one is in the parking lot to witness my ex spewing profanities.
The only thing I’m able to process on the drive home is that Seth must be dealt with. Clearly, he really isn’t going to just leave me alone. Why, I have no idea, but months of this after almost a full year of having him out of my life is torture. Torture that I’m over. Not only that, but if he continues to show up at my school, acting like he did today, he’s going to get me fired. It was one thing when he was just being an annoying texter and caller, but now, he’s taking it too far. And quite frankly, it’s getting a little scary. What’s he going to do next? Show up during school hours and cause a scene? He knows just how much I love being a teacher, but he also knows that my position at Rosefield Prep came with a steep morality clause. Having an ex-lover’s spat in public, in the school parking lot, well … you can guarantee I’ll be packing my office up if that happens and someone witnesses it. I wouldn’t put it past him to do it just to hurt me either.
Joke or not, it looks like I need to talk to Shane. At this point, he’s my only hope in scraping off Seth before he does something that changes my whole life. At least with him, the chemistry between us doesn’t have to be as fake as the relationship. No, that’s something we definitely don’t lack.
“Call him,” I mutter to myself, pacing the small area between my coffee table and television. “Just pick up the phone and call him,” I continue, thumping the remote against my forehead.
Since I got home a few hours ago, I’ve called Landon’s mom about her tip-loving son and husband, took a long bath, threw on some lounge clothes—the shirt I stole from Shane that night he danced for me at Dirty—and cooked myself a pathetic dinner for one. Now here I am at ten o’clock on a Friday night, watching Live PD and talking to myself between random rants at the screen to unleash the dogs. This is where my life is. At least Seth didn’t follow me home; that’s about the only thing that could make my night worse. I could call Ember. I should call Em. Other than her, there aren’t any other options, which means she is the sole bearer of my troubles when I need to vent. I’m not proud of it, but she’s probably the only real friend I have. Even with the time that’s passed since my split with Seth, he successfully drove a wedge between any friendships I had because those ‘friends’ got sick of seeing me stay with someone who treated me like crap. Ember was the only one who refused to give up and loved me despite the man I was dating. And I think he only really let her stay in my life because, at the time, she was dating his friend. It’s pretty pathetic that I haven’t at least gained another friend since the breakup.
My life really is sad.
Screw it. I’m better than this.
Tossing the remote on the couch, I stomp to my room where I left my phone charging and make quick work of sending off a text, not willing to let myself think twice about it.
Me: My place. Tonight.
I look at the screen then consider that might have been a little rude.
Me: Please. It’s important.
Ignoring the shake to my hand, I palm my phone and try to calm the nervous flutters. Thank God I changed his contact picture from the erection picture he had texted me, or I imagine I would be even more nervous than I already am at this moment. My eyes remain glued to the television when I drop back on the couch, trying to listen to the words the hunky salt and pepper cop on the screen is saying, but all I can feel is the giant weight of my phone—the phone that hasn’t gotten a response.
Another hour passes before I lie down and continue watching my show, doing a terrible job of ignoring my phone. The workweek doesn’t take long to catch up with me, though. The second my head is resting on one of my many throw pillows, I’m out.