Not So Nice Guy
Page 21
“So I’m going to let you slide off this desk and we’re going to walk to the parking lot like we always do, as friends.”
Is he kidding? I thought this was leading somewhere. My panties are wet because my entire body thought this was leading somewhere.
He tries to step back, but my fingers clench the front of his tuxedo shirt in a vice grip and I drag him closer. “Ask me another question.”
“No.”
“Fine, I’ll ask. Sam, do you want me to kiss you right now?”
Then I tilt my head and press my lips lightly to his.
11
S A M
He’s so shocked, and for a second, neither of us closes our eyes. We’re just two friends with our mouths pressed together. I could be resuscitating him for all anybody knows. But, from this angle, I can see his eyes are eclipsing. For three long seconds, we don’t move a muscle. I fall into the Ian ocean, letting those blue eyes completely drown me. We’re frozen in time, and I realize we still haven’t moved.
He’s going to make me do the heavy lifting. That’s okay. Years of dating poor kissers have ensured my mastery of the one-sided smooch. One hand skates up over his chest (nice), collarbone (nicer), broad shoulder (nicest), and then it loops around the corded muscle at his neck. My nails drag along the base of his hair and he relaxes against me. I resist a smirk. Step one is complete.
Step two is harder because I have to break the kiss. It’s like opening the airlock in space; either the outside door is sealed and we survive intact, or all the air gets sucked out of the moment and I die. For a moment, I keep our foreheads pressed together, but our lips aren’t touching. We’re oh-so-close and I’m building the suspense by threading my fingers in his hair and wetting my bottom lip. When his hands tighten on my waist, I know I have him, but I have to be sure. The uppercut is when I take his full bottom lip between my teeth. He groans. Yes, Ian, you’ll want to take off that nice suit because I play dirty.
What the hell are you doing to me? he asks silently.
Beating you at your own game, I mentally reply with a smirk, and then I kiss him again. This time there’s no stoicism on his part. He hauls me up against his chest and slants his mouth against mine. It hits me like a ton of bricks that we’re kissing. IAN FLETCHER AND I ARE KISSING. I would exclaim this out loud if my mouth weren’t currently occupied with something much more important.
Here’s the thing: Ian might have been frozen a few moments ago, but he’s not anymore. His hands dip under his coat and he pushes it off my shoulders. His palms burn across my neck and then lower, skating the outer edges of my breasts. My nipples tighten. His touch sears. I have no doubt my dress is charred and moments from disintegrating into a pile of ash at my feet.
We’re best friends, kissing the exact same way we do everything else: we take liberties, we go too far, we blur and redraw the borders of our comfort zones.
His hands tighten around my waist and he rocks his hips against me, grinding. My fingers curl against his skin and the same adjective from earlier comes to mind: BIG. There’s a new one, too: HARD. Full sentences will come later when my brain isn’t going haywire.
He rocks his hips again and the gesture says, Feel this, Sam? That’s for you.
I make a sound in the back of my throat that I’ve never heard before (a guttural moan mixed with the word “please”) and he delivers, gently coaxing my lips apart and touching the tip of his tongue to mine. Oh yes. Our PG kiss has turned X-rated. I’m glad to see he’s retaliating with vigor.
Don’t stop, don’t stop.
I’ve been deprived of this kiss for so long, and now that it’s happening, I’d like it to last for at least one to two decades. We’ll barricade the windows and door. We’ll tear the pages from the English textbooks stacked against the back wall and make a cozy sex nest. We’ll survive by taking little nibbles of each other every now and then, like little love cannibals. I’m aware it isn’t the most well-adjusted thing to think about during a passionate kiss, but it’s just the kind of joke Ian and I would crack up about for hours. It fits.
In an attempt to bring my body completely flush with his, I nearly fall off the desk. He grins against my mouth and I growl in warning. He must be thinking funny thoughts in his head too, which suddenly irks me. I won’t share this newfound lust with the old Sam and Ian—they have plenty of things to sustain them, but this red-hot fire is the only thing keeping this moment going.
To prove my point, my hand hits the top of his suit pants. His smile disappears in a millisecond and our kiss ratchets up another few degrees. As a reward for his superb skills, I think I’ll let him peel me out of this slip of a dress so we can fulfill every fantasy I’ve ever had. What a genius idea. Let’s get to it.
I slide my hand farther into his pants just as a loud shrieking bell blares overhead, piercing the walls of my quiet classroom. We leap apart so fast I have to reach out to stabilize myself in order to not tip backward off the desk.
Principal Pruitt’s voice sounds over the PA system next. “Those were some excellent dance skills, Oak Hill students! I wish we could party all night, but it’s time to head home. Please proceed to the carpool lane if you have a parent or friend picking you up. No loitering!”
Then his voice cuts off. Ugh. Imagine if your boss had the ability to pipe in his stupid voice while you were in the middle of life-changing sex. Mood officially killed.
Ian and I stare silently at one another.
I’m breathing like I just climbed Everest. I think my heart is palpitating.
I want to pick up right where we left off, but I’m frozen.
Ian looks perfectly relaxed. His breathing isn’t even labored. You’d never know I just assaulted him except for the fact that his hair is adorably tousled and his shirt is extra wrinkled thanks to my greedy little pincers.
When I push off the desk and try to stand, my knees decide to function less like bones and more like jelly. I play it off by acting like I wanted to crumple to the floor anyway. I do need to put my heels back on.
He steps forward and helps me to stand. Then he grabs his suit jacket and rights it on my shoulders with gentle care.
“Come on. If we don’t hurry, they’ll lock us in here overnight.”
He makes it sound like that’d be a bad thing.
“We have snacks, right? I think I still have one of your Clif Bars under my chair…” I trail off.
He shakes his head and turns to walk out into the hall. I have no choice but to follow.
We barely make it a few steps before a security guard aims an accusing flashlight at us. The hallway isn’t even dark. It’s a little overkill. “Hey! You kids were supposed to stay in the cafeteria.”
“We’re teachers,” Ian says smoothly.
The security guard purses his lips in disbelief and grumbles under his breath as we pass, “I’ll be the judge of that.”
“I think we’re going to get detention,” Ian jokes.
I don’t laugh. My sanity is crumbling.
He glances over at me, and whatever he sees makes him shake his head with annoyance. What? Do I look that bad?
“Just remember when you go home and freak out, you did this to yourself.”
“What?”
“You’re spiraling.”
I laugh like a shrill lunatic. “No, I’m not!”
I am. A soft breeze could topple me. I don’t let him touch me when we get to my car. I’m scared I’ll latch onto him again, which would be terrible because we aren’t alone anymore. There are other people out in the parking lot—teachers, chaperones, Principal Pruitt. He waves at us as he and his wife head to their car. Ian and I smile and wave like plastic figurines. Our body language says, No kissing here! None at all! Just two well-behaved employees!
“I thought you two left after you finished your chaperoning duties?” he shouts from a few cars over.
“We were going to, but then Ian got sick.” The lie sails off my tongue effortlessly. I want to pat myself on the back.
“Oh no.” Principal Pruitt frowns. “What do you have, son?”
“Food poisoning,” I supply for him. “You know how it goes—out both ends, pretty bad. I had to unlock the supply closet to get more toilet paper for him.”
Is he kidding? I thought this was leading somewhere. My panties are wet because my entire body thought this was leading somewhere.
He tries to step back, but my fingers clench the front of his tuxedo shirt in a vice grip and I drag him closer. “Ask me another question.”
“No.”
“Fine, I’ll ask. Sam, do you want me to kiss you right now?”
Then I tilt my head and press my lips lightly to his.
11
S A M
He’s so shocked, and for a second, neither of us closes our eyes. We’re just two friends with our mouths pressed together. I could be resuscitating him for all anybody knows. But, from this angle, I can see his eyes are eclipsing. For three long seconds, we don’t move a muscle. I fall into the Ian ocean, letting those blue eyes completely drown me. We’re frozen in time, and I realize we still haven’t moved.
He’s going to make me do the heavy lifting. That’s okay. Years of dating poor kissers have ensured my mastery of the one-sided smooch. One hand skates up over his chest (nice), collarbone (nicer), broad shoulder (nicest), and then it loops around the corded muscle at his neck. My nails drag along the base of his hair and he relaxes against me. I resist a smirk. Step one is complete.
Step two is harder because I have to break the kiss. It’s like opening the airlock in space; either the outside door is sealed and we survive intact, or all the air gets sucked out of the moment and I die. For a moment, I keep our foreheads pressed together, but our lips aren’t touching. We’re oh-so-close and I’m building the suspense by threading my fingers in his hair and wetting my bottom lip. When his hands tighten on my waist, I know I have him, but I have to be sure. The uppercut is when I take his full bottom lip between my teeth. He groans. Yes, Ian, you’ll want to take off that nice suit because I play dirty.
What the hell are you doing to me? he asks silently.
Beating you at your own game, I mentally reply with a smirk, and then I kiss him again. This time there’s no stoicism on his part. He hauls me up against his chest and slants his mouth against mine. It hits me like a ton of bricks that we’re kissing. IAN FLETCHER AND I ARE KISSING. I would exclaim this out loud if my mouth weren’t currently occupied with something much more important.
Here’s the thing: Ian might have been frozen a few moments ago, but he’s not anymore. His hands dip under his coat and he pushes it off my shoulders. His palms burn across my neck and then lower, skating the outer edges of my breasts. My nipples tighten. His touch sears. I have no doubt my dress is charred and moments from disintegrating into a pile of ash at my feet.
We’re best friends, kissing the exact same way we do everything else: we take liberties, we go too far, we blur and redraw the borders of our comfort zones.
His hands tighten around my waist and he rocks his hips against me, grinding. My fingers curl against his skin and the same adjective from earlier comes to mind: BIG. There’s a new one, too: HARD. Full sentences will come later when my brain isn’t going haywire.
He rocks his hips again and the gesture says, Feel this, Sam? That’s for you.
I make a sound in the back of my throat that I’ve never heard before (a guttural moan mixed with the word “please”) and he delivers, gently coaxing my lips apart and touching the tip of his tongue to mine. Oh yes. Our PG kiss has turned X-rated. I’m glad to see he’s retaliating with vigor.
Don’t stop, don’t stop.
I’ve been deprived of this kiss for so long, and now that it’s happening, I’d like it to last for at least one to two decades. We’ll barricade the windows and door. We’ll tear the pages from the English textbooks stacked against the back wall and make a cozy sex nest. We’ll survive by taking little nibbles of each other every now and then, like little love cannibals. I’m aware it isn’t the most well-adjusted thing to think about during a passionate kiss, but it’s just the kind of joke Ian and I would crack up about for hours. It fits.
In an attempt to bring my body completely flush with his, I nearly fall off the desk. He grins against my mouth and I growl in warning. He must be thinking funny thoughts in his head too, which suddenly irks me. I won’t share this newfound lust with the old Sam and Ian—they have plenty of things to sustain them, but this red-hot fire is the only thing keeping this moment going.
To prove my point, my hand hits the top of his suit pants. His smile disappears in a millisecond and our kiss ratchets up another few degrees. As a reward for his superb skills, I think I’ll let him peel me out of this slip of a dress so we can fulfill every fantasy I’ve ever had. What a genius idea. Let’s get to it.
I slide my hand farther into his pants just as a loud shrieking bell blares overhead, piercing the walls of my quiet classroom. We leap apart so fast I have to reach out to stabilize myself in order to not tip backward off the desk.
Principal Pruitt’s voice sounds over the PA system next. “Those were some excellent dance skills, Oak Hill students! I wish we could party all night, but it’s time to head home. Please proceed to the carpool lane if you have a parent or friend picking you up. No loitering!”
Then his voice cuts off. Ugh. Imagine if your boss had the ability to pipe in his stupid voice while you were in the middle of life-changing sex. Mood officially killed.
Ian and I stare silently at one another.
I’m breathing like I just climbed Everest. I think my heart is palpitating.
I want to pick up right where we left off, but I’m frozen.
Ian looks perfectly relaxed. His breathing isn’t even labored. You’d never know I just assaulted him except for the fact that his hair is adorably tousled and his shirt is extra wrinkled thanks to my greedy little pincers.
When I push off the desk and try to stand, my knees decide to function less like bones and more like jelly. I play it off by acting like I wanted to crumple to the floor anyway. I do need to put my heels back on.
He steps forward and helps me to stand. Then he grabs his suit jacket and rights it on my shoulders with gentle care.
“Come on. If we don’t hurry, they’ll lock us in here overnight.”
He makes it sound like that’d be a bad thing.
“We have snacks, right? I think I still have one of your Clif Bars under my chair…” I trail off.
He shakes his head and turns to walk out into the hall. I have no choice but to follow.
We barely make it a few steps before a security guard aims an accusing flashlight at us. The hallway isn’t even dark. It’s a little overkill. “Hey! You kids were supposed to stay in the cafeteria.”
“We’re teachers,” Ian says smoothly.
The security guard purses his lips in disbelief and grumbles under his breath as we pass, “I’ll be the judge of that.”
“I think we’re going to get detention,” Ian jokes.
I don’t laugh. My sanity is crumbling.
He glances over at me, and whatever he sees makes him shake his head with annoyance. What? Do I look that bad?
“Just remember when you go home and freak out, you did this to yourself.”
“What?”
“You’re spiraling.”
I laugh like a shrill lunatic. “No, I’m not!”
I am. A soft breeze could topple me. I don’t let him touch me when we get to my car. I’m scared I’ll latch onto him again, which would be terrible because we aren’t alone anymore. There are other people out in the parking lot—teachers, chaperones, Principal Pruitt. He waves at us as he and his wife head to their car. Ian and I smile and wave like plastic figurines. Our body language says, No kissing here! None at all! Just two well-behaved employees!
“I thought you two left after you finished your chaperoning duties?” he shouts from a few cars over.
“We were going to, but then Ian got sick.” The lie sails off my tongue effortlessly. I want to pat myself on the back.
“Oh no.” Principal Pruitt frowns. “What do you have, son?”
“Food poisoning,” I supply for him. “You know how it goes—out both ends, pretty bad. I had to unlock the supply closet to get more toilet paper for him.”
