Drunk on You

  Nothing else is said as both of us are lost in our own thoughts. I have to wonder if maybe he's feeling the same way I am right now. Confused. A little hopeful, maybe. Or resigned to the fact that neither of us are really in control while we play this dangerous game.

  All I know is, this doesn't feel even a little fake.

  Her body relaxes against me. I keep my eyes trained on the fan, watching as the blades turn, blanketing our bodies with cooler air. Inside, though, I'm on fire. Not because I just came hard--though there's no doubt in my mind that I just came harder than I have ever before. No, I'm on fire because of the tiny little woman who hasn't once in almost a month done what I thought she would.

  When I thought she would become clingy and start showing up around Dirty, she went silent and avoided me for three weeks. When I thought she would play games and act coy in her attraction to me, she gave me her awkward honesty. When I thought she would be a meek partner in getting my ex off my back, she fought back against her and for me. And when I thought my past would push her away, not wanting to be controlled, it only made her say things that made me question everything I thought about having a relationship and the job that I love.

  She's thrown me for a loop, for sure, and I'm not sure what to do about it.

  Do I want her? Fuck, yeah.

  Do I think I could walk away tomorrow? Fuck, no.

  Do I think she could handle my life? Well, if that isn't the million-dollar question ... and I'm honestly not sure how to answer it. Not anymore.

  And even more confusing of all, I'm actually hoping she's the one in the end to throw all my carefully voiced warnings back in my face.

  She stirs, her leg coming up over mine and rubbing the heat of her sex against my thigh, and I wait while she settles. When she finally stops fidgeting in her sleep and I hear my name leave her lips on a breath of air, something shifts inside me, and for the first time in a long damn while, I want something more.

  All I know is, this doesn't feel even a little fake.

  * * *

  1 Even better than before

  2 Even better

  I PULL MY CAR INTO my spot, smiling and feeling as if I could take on the world. When was the last time I woke up on a Monday--when it wasn't summer break--and felt excitement for the day ahead of me? Don't get me wrong; I love how rewarding my job is. It gives me satisfaction beyond words, but something is completely different today and it has everything to do with my time with Shane.

  When he dropped me off at my apartment two weeks ago, the Sunday afternoon after our first 'date,' neither of us seemed happy about parting ways. He walked me to my door, made sure I was safely inside, and then kissed me goodbye. We made plans for the next day, and ever since, it feels like we're slowly becoming inseparable. One thing's for sure--none of the dates we've had since seem to be for anyone else's benefit than our own.

  And I've been riding the high every day since.

  "Ms. Clark," I hear the second I walk into the faculty entrance. "If you don't mind, I'd like to have a word."

  "Of course, Mrs. Worthington," I answer, keeping the smile on my face despite the fact that I know our headmaster has never liked me and this can't be good.

  It's early. I'm always early for work. Being late is something I go out of my way to avoid. There aren't any students here, thankfully. I keep my back straight, head forward, and follow the clicking of my headmaster's short heels. Her gray hair is pulled back into a bun low on her head, but it looks so painful, I subconsciously reach up and push my loose hair behind one of my ears.

  Her secretary, Mrs. Brown, gives me a sympathetic smile, and I know, I just know, that this isn't going to end well.

  "Close the door, Ms. Clark."

  My hand shakes with a nervous tremor as I reach out and shut the heavy wood door, enclosing us in silence. When I turn, I see that Mrs. Worthington has already sat down at her desk with her hands folded in front of her. She keeps her narrowed eyes trained on me while I move away from the door and place my schoolbag next to one of the visitor's chairs and sit. My black slacks dig into my stomach, making me hyper aware that I might puke at any moment.

  "Do you know why I asked you in here?"

  It's on the tip of my tongue to correct her and point out that there wasn't any asking about it, but instead, I mutely shake my head.

  "As I'm sure you're aware, your contract with us is very specific about"--she pauses, one brow arching and lips pursing before continuing--"the way you conduct yourself outside school hours. We have a certain standard that we at Rosefield will uphold at all costs. Do you know how I spent my valuable time the past week, Ms. Clark?"

  I shake my head, my palms sweating and my heart pounding. "No, ma'am," I answer honestly, not sure what she's getting at but feeling the dread of what's to follow all the same.

  "No, I imagine you wouldn't," she bluntly continues. "I'm going to be very honest with you, if you don't mind?" She pauses for me to respond but clearly didn't actually want the words from me because she continues before I can even get a word out. "I didn't want to hire you. The board, however, thought we needed some fresh, young, and quite frankly, inexperienced minds. I felt differently, but I had hoped you would prove me wrong, and that, perhaps, you could actually give us something here at Rosefield that we hadn't had. It seems, however, that my concerns about your level of professionalism were justified."

  "I don't understand," I fret, confusion mixing with my nerves.

  "Allow me, then. Did you have an incident two weekends ago? One where there was a very public altercation that ended up with the police being called?"

  My stomach drops. Never, not in a million years, did I imagine that I would end up in this situation. I don't get in trouble. Not once in my life have I been in a situation like this, and it's completely throwing me for a loop. I don't know what to say or how to convince a woman who has never liked me that I am not the villain here. That what happened isn't what she thinks.

  "I can see by your reaction that you're starting to understand why you're here right now."

  "Mrs. Worthington, please, it's not what you think," I plead, shifting my body so that my bottom is almost off the chair. I can hear the desperation in my voice, but if she can, she isn't showing any outward signs of it. "I was defending myself."

  She clicks her tongue, scorn and something that looks a lot like disgust clear in her study of me. "Tell me, do you think that it's acceptable for you to be engaging in public brawls, food fights, and public displays of affection?"

  "It wasn't like that," I attempt again, trying to get her to understand it wasn't some filthy altercation like she's making it out to be. "My ... my boyfriend and I were just trying to enjoy our dinner, and well, the woman who's been causing him some issues happened to be there and caused a scene. Shane, my boyfriend, defused the situation as quickly as possible."

  Something that sounds somewhat like a laugh comes from Mrs. Worthington, but her scowl only deepens. "There is zero tolerance for that kind of behavior. Do you know how it makes Rosefield look when a member of our faculty is involved in such ... distasteful behavior?"

  "Please, Mrs. Worthington, you have to understand, the only thing I'm guilty of is protecting myself."

  She shakes her head, moves from her stiff position, and reaches down. I see her reach into a drawer and pull out some paperwork. When she places it in front of me, the dread that had been climbing and clawing up my spine explodes, and it takes everything inside me to keep from breaking down.

  "Do you recognize this?"

  "Yes, ma'am," I wheeze.

  "And you understand what this is now, just as you did when you signed your contract three years ago?"

  I swallow a thick lump of emotion and nod, incapable of anything more.

  "It's unfortunate that the board had to learn that I was, in fact, correct in my reasoning for not wanting to bring such a young and inexperienced teacher on because you lack the moral compass of someone more mature, Ms. Clark. However, they'
ve decided to ignore my recommendation of letting you go in favor of a probationary period. Until I feel that it can be lifted, you'll have a board member present during all your classes. Make no mistake; we will continue to investigate the complaint filed against you by another member of staff, and if we find we're unsatisfied with the reality of the events in question, you will be let go without appeal. Do I make myself clear?"

  Mutely, I stare at her. There is so much I want to say. Conflicting words trying to push their way past my lips. I want so badly to tell her to take her pretentious position and stick it up her butt, but I don't. Reality is, she's got the upper hand because she's caught me unaware. The fact that my first inclination is to quit should tell me everything, though. Aside from the fact that I love the work that I do here, I hate the people I work with. I come here for the kids. As much as I love them, right now, at this moment, I'm not sure it's enough.

  "I understand, Mrs. Worthington. I'm sorry for the trouble I've caused you and the school." The words taste wrong coming out, but until I get my head on straight, I know it's what needs to be said.

  "You'll need to sign this letter stating that I've explained why your behavior has put us in such an unpleasant position and that you understand the parameters of your probationary period as I've explained them."

  When she holds a pen out to me stiffly, I again have to force myself not to react. I wrap my fingers around the pen, wanting to jam it in her nose, but instead, I sign my name and calmly place the pen down on her desk without speaking.

  "Now that we've taken care of that, I think you'll understand that I'm going to have to ask that you use one of your personal days and go home. We wouldn't want the children to be affected by your attitude."

  I want to scream at her, what attitude? I've kept my mouth shut and not stuck up for myself. I've let her railroad me with her highhandedness. I don't deserve this, but I didn't fight her. Instead of arguing, I wipe my palms on my pants and stand.

  Mrs. Worthington doesn't move; her scrutiny follows my every movement, though. I can feel the tears burning behind my eyes. My nose stinging with the effort to keep them at bay. I won't give her the satisfaction of seeing that she's broken a little of my spirit. I don't look at her secretary on my way out. I avoid the main exit for faculty, and instead go out the front doors to avoid running into any of my co-workers. When I get my shaking hands to finally unlock my car, I toss my bag into the passenger seat and make quick work of getting my seat belt on and the car in drive before slowly accelerating out of the parking lot.

  By the time I pull in to my complex and park in my normal spot in front of my apartment, I'm a blubbering mess. I managed to keep it together for all of five minutes after leaving the school before falling apart. If you looked up the definition of ugly crying, I would be the picture beside it. My hands grip the wheel, my eyes focusing on nothing in particular as the tears continue to fall. My chest is heaving as I gasp and sputter out my cries. Somehow, I manage to get myself calmed down enough to send a text to Ember even though she isn't the first name to pop in my mind. I can't think about my desire to have Shane here. Not right now. I'm confused enough after everything that happened this morning. No matter how much I want him here, I'm too vulnerable. After I hit send, my head drops to the wheel and I continue to lose myself in my desolation.

  "Nik."

  I shake my head, my forehead sore, and don't look up when Ember's voice filters through my sobs. I didn't hear my phone chime, unsure of how long it's been since I sent her a text. Knowing my best friend, she probably got here as quickly as she could, though, and it's just the tension in my body that's made me sore and not the time I've spent crying. My back hurts from being hunched over. My shoulders scream in pain from the tension holding my body tight as I cry.

  "Nikki, you're scaring me," Ember whispers in a frantic tone.

  I just continue to cry, not knowing what else to do and helpless to stop. So many thoughts going through my mind. Where will I live if I lose my job and can't find another right away? My savings would keep me here for a few months, but after that, then what? What will happen when I go to work tomorrow? Am I even allowed to go back in tomorrow? Mrs. Worthington didn't say I wasn't, but it was clear she doesn't want me there--heck, it was clear before this that she didn't want me there. Can I continue to work somewhere I'm not welcome, no matter how much I love my students? Is this my fault? Did I bring this on because of my harebrained fake relationship plan?

  I hear Ember talking, but none of her words are registering while I continue to freak myself out more with the questions that just won't stop. I know I need to pull myself together, but for the life of me, I just can't. My chest is burning, my sobs hiccupping through my whole body with giant body wracking bursts.

  When I feel an arm reaching between my hunched over body, I open my eyes and blink through the tears to find a forearm that definitely doesn't belong to my best friend. Do I move, though? No, I continue my pity party for one while blinking through the tears at the hairy, very manly forearm. The arm retreats after my seat belt unhooks, and then I watch as the arm moves under my legs before my body is being shifted. When another arm joins the fun and pulls me out of the car like a baby, I still don't move.

  "Get her stuff, baby," Nate's voice calls to his wife, rumbling against my ear as I keep myself tucked close, knowing my two friends will take over and get me into my home. It feels wrong to be in Nate's arms, but I don't have the strength to think about why.

  For the first time since leaving the school, something other than my own misery floats through my thoughts as he starts walking, his strong arms around my body, carrying me with no effort. It's not Nate who I want holding me. I feel safe, yes, but his touch is almost unwanted. How messed up is that? I've known Nate for over half of my life, yet his strong arms offer no comfort when I'm craving another's touch. It's my 'boyfriend'--the same 'boyfriend' who's made no secret from the beginning that I shouldn't get attached--who I want.

  Right or wrong, I want him.

  I almost texted him before Ember. The only thing that kept me from sending a text to him and not her, though, was the reminder he didn't want anything real, and my problems are just that ... real. Like it or not, wanting him or not, a fake boyfriend shouldn't be the one to dry my tears.

  I peek through my eyes and see Ember rushing ahead of us. Nate keeps his silence, holding me tightly as he follows his wife up the stairs like he isn't carrying a full-grown woman. He waits while she uses her key to my apartment to open the door, swinging it open and holding it so that Nate can pass through while tossing the keys into her purse. He walks to the couch and sits down. I wait for him to relax his hold and let me up, but he doesn't. Nate's known for being a little ... strange in the things he does for the women in his life, but holding his wife's best friend like a baby needing comfort is a new one.

  "Nik," Ember fusses, leaning down over us and placing her face as close as she can. Her concern written clearly all over her face. "Please talk to me. Tell me what's wrong."

  "I don't know what to do," I gasp, words finally bursting free as more tears fall.

  "Is it Seth? Did Seth do something?"

  I shake my head, hitting my forehead against Nate's chin as I do so. I shift my gaze and look at him. "You can let me go." I sniffle, trying to climb free.

  "You're fine, sweetheart," he replies gruffly, tightening his arms and forcing me to stay.

  "Start from the beginning, Nik. I don't know how to help you if you don't tell me what happened. I'm going out of my mind with the worst possible scenarios," Ember continues, grabbing my hands and holding them tightly.

  I sniff, feeling my throat burning, and then my mouth opens and the words start tumbling out. Everything that happened the other weekend at dinner with Shane between us and Lacey. The conversation between my boss and me this morning at the school rushing forth after that. I don't know if she can understand a word out of my mouth, though; my hysterical voice thick with emotion and shaky with help
less desperation. I'm powerless to do anything else but blubber my way through it.

  "That bitch!" Ember screams when I stop talking.

  "Which one?" Nate asks, still not releasing me.

  "I can get up," I tell him, again, my voice hoarse and weak.

  "Humor me," he answers oddly. One thing I know is that I just can't deal with trying to figure him out right now.

  I look over at Ember and find the expression on her face just as odd as Nate's request. Not having the energy to analyze what the two Reids are up to, I just relax in his hold and listen to Ember while she starts to rant and fume over the two women who have turned the euphoric high I felt as I began the day this morning into a big pile of poo.

  "Can she even do that?" Ember screeches, coming to an end of her raging chatter.

  "Who?" I ask, not really keeping up with her.

  "That bitch you work for! She can't just put you on some ludicrous probation with a babysitter. You're better than that, Nicole Clark. I told you the same thing when you took that hoity-toity job full of insane rules, and I'll remind you now; that whole place is full of snobs who do nothing but look down their noses at anyone they feel isn't their screwed-up version of perfect. The only thing that's good about that place is the kids--well, the ones too young to be tainted by their parents' entitlement. I've seen some of those older kids, and let me tell you, they're just as bad as the adults around there."

  I deflate more. "She can, Ember. She's right; I signed my contract knowing there was a morality clause attached to it. What happened falls under that moral turpitude clause. My actions were in public, and even though I didn't start it--or instigate how it escalated--I still played my part by standing up for myself instead of walking away. That, to her and the board, is no better than taunting her. It doesn't matter who is right or wrong. To my boss and the school board, I'm an extension of Rosefield even when outside the school hours, and that's all there is to it."

  "So quit," she finally says as if that's the most easy and logical of answers.

  A bark of laughter erupts from me. "And do what? Sell my body on the street corner to pay the bills and keep a roof over my head?"