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This, of course, sets the Kid off, and Otter follows suit, and in turn it sets me off, and even though I can’t really explain why it’s so funny, there’s just something about the three of us, in this kitchen, in this house, able to laugh like nothing had ever gone wrong, like things weren’t still so uncertain, that we still didn’t have the fucking fight of our lives ahead of us, something that just rights itself and locks into place.
So we laugh.
UNTIL we meet Tyson’s new teacher, who seems to know Otter a whole hell of a lot better than I would have thought. Or hoped. Or cared to know. I’m not laughing anymore.
We’re sitting in the principal Judd Franklin’s office, a short squat man with tiny eyes that are spaced too far apart and remind me of a goldfish, along with the superintendent, a woman by the name of Leslie Parker, whose gigantic boobs look like they are about to burst out of her tight suit coat and send the buttons flying at us like pornographic shrapnel. Every time she takes a deep breath, I think about ducking, but somehow, I’m able to restrain myself. It’s probably not helping that I’m staring at her chest (not in a sexual way at all, just amazed) so when I hear a polite knock on the door, I’m thankful for the distraction.
“That’ll be Mr. Trent,” Principal Franklin says, rising from his desk and walking over to the door. He smiles slightly at Tyson, but it comes out more as a grimace, and I wonder at it for a moment, until the door opens and in walks the Kid’s new teacher.
I am startled, if only for a moment, to see a handsome man walk in, his stride confident, his smile wide and flashing white, even teeth. His short brown hair is perfect on the top of his head, nary a hair out of place. The stubble on his face is on its way to a full-blown beard, and it adds to the masculinity that seems to ooze from this self-assured man. He’s big (almost as big as Otter), the muscles of his thighs tight against his dress pants, his shirtsleeves catching on the rises and ridges of his biceps, straining and pulling. I sit up straighter and puff out my chest a little bit, unsure why I’m doing so even as I do it. I know when I speak I’ll have dropped my voice an octave to make myself seem more manly, and when I shake his hand, my grip will be tight and strong. Stupid, I know, but I’m a guy. It’s what we do.
But what strikes me the most about Mr. Trent is how young he looks. I doubt he’s older than Otter is, maybe just a few years older than I am. That would mean he’s just graduated from college and must have only been into the job a year or two. I don’t know why I expected Ty’s new teacher to be some old guy. It bugs me, for some reason.
But then it’s made worse when the teacher smil
es over at us, first to the Kid, then myself, and then it hits Otter and the grin gets wider and becomes knowing, almost intimate. I wonder at this for a moment until I look back at Otter and find him staring back, his eyes wide, that crooked grin in full display. Oh man, does it hit then. Shit.
It starts in my toes with a little buzz. My feet tingle as it moves onto my ankles and calves. My knees feel itchy and then my thighs. My groin hurts, and then it hits my stomach and ignites like fire to gasoline. It roars up through me, encapsulating my lungs and heart, my esophagus. It burns past my eyes, which harden, and then it starts to scald my brain, and only then do I know what it is, only then can I give it a name. This whole process has only taken mere seconds, but when it hits me, I can do little about it.
Jealousy. Good Christ, I’m feeling jealous of some guy I’ve never met, but who my stupid fucking boyfriend can’t stop smiling at and why has no one said anything yet and why is everyone just fucking staring at each other!
I clear my throat, but Mr. Trent beats me to it. “Oliver?” he says, pleasantly surprised. “Wow, what are you doing here?” His voice is exactly as I’d thought it would be, deep and whiskey rough, as if he’d smoked two packs a day for thirty years. It’s kind of hot. If you like that sort of thing. I don’t.
“David?” Otter says, the smile still on his face.
Neat. David. His name is David. How wonderful for him. How absolutely biblical. Apparently the heavens have opened up and choirs of angels are falling from the sky in a big fat ray of sunlight, all singing,
“Daaaa-viiiiid, ” and all I want for him is to be smote (smited? Smoted? One of those things that means fiery death pain) for staring at my boyfriend.
Oh come on, Bear, it laughs. Did you really think that there was only you and Jonah for Otter? That Otter hadn’t been with anyone else? Of course he was with other people. You weren’t his first anything.
The fight for you is all I’ve ever known, he whispers from somewhere in my head.
It sighs. Well, whatever. So Otter loves you and blah, blah, blah. But isn’t that look on his face right now just a hoot? Jesus Christ, this David guy must walk on water or something.
Or something, I agree darkly.
David Trent ignores the Kid and me completely as he walks over to Otter, his hand outstretched. Otter stands, and their hands and fingers touch and grip, and that knowing look is still in David’s eyes, and before I can stop myself, I picture David’s hand wrapped around Otter’s cock, and the blood rushes to my dick, making me feel like a pervert. An angry, jealous, stupid pervert who is wondering why his boyfriend and his little brother’s future teacher won’t stop shaking hands, and it’s like they’re holding hands, and how sweet for them. How awesome for those two. I’m pissed off now, even though it’s literally only been twenty seconds since the guy walked into the room, this guy who looks perfect, has the perfect body, the perfect smile, the perfect ass that I seem to be staring at. Why the hell am I checking out this guy’s ass? I don’t check out other guys asses, that’s not who I am.
Maybe I just need to see if it’s better than mine.
It is. Of course it is. It looks like you could bounce a quarter off it. A whole roll of quarters, if you were into monetary kink. I bet Mr. David Trent, fifth grade teacher at Seafare Elementary, knows it too. The slut. He’s not going to be Ty’s teacher. Ever. I’ll fucking home school the Kid if I need to. I’ll quit my job and stay home all day with Ty and teach him stuff about… well, whatever it is that fifth graders are supposed to learn. I don’t care. He’s not coming here. Maybe we should move too. Like, to the other side of the country. And stay in our house. Forever.
Finally (after what feels like days) Otter and Captain Ass Muscles stop shaking hands and drop their arms back down to their sides. Otter seems to realize that he’s gazing lovingly into another man’s eyes, and he darts a look over at me. I attempt to school my face from the scowl I’m sure is there, but he catches it before I can make it disappear and has the decency to look at least moderately guilty. I squint at him and tilt my head slightly to the left, sending him the message, Um, what the fuck? without actually saying the words. We’ve perfected this form of silent communication to the point it’s almost scary.
He shrugs subtly. Later.
I cough. Oh, you better fucking believe there’s going to be a later.
He smirks. Knock it off, Bear. It’s not like that. I can hear you thinking from here.
I scratch my cheek. Oh you can, can you? Then you should know I’m thinking about punching you in the balls.
His smirk becomes evil. You being jealous is so fucking hot. I want to bend you over the principal’s desk and fuck you like you’ve never been fucked before—
“Why is everyone being all quiet?” the Kid asks. “Are we having a staring contest? If so, you should have told me because I wasn’t quite ready yet. Otter?” I can almost taste the sarcasm in his voice. I glance over at him and see him glaring mutinously at Otter, like he’d done the worst thing in the world and had betrayed everyone he holds dear. I should have known the Kid would have been smart enough to pick up on the same things I had. It’s scary, really, how perceptive he is. I look back to Otter, and Otter has seen the same thing in the Kid that I have and takes a step back from Mr. David Trent.
David, of course, takes notice. “What are you doing here?” he asks again. “Last I heard you were down in California.”
