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She’s clearly younger than me, maybe by twenty years.
But it doesn’t matter, not as I think of our future, of pulling her into my arms and possessively kissing her, my hands sliding down to her hips, squeezing greedily.
“These belong to me, these beautiful hips. Your body’s so perfect…you’re going to give me so many children.”
I haven’t even seen her hips, but I could tell how delectably curvy she was.
“It’s important our students get what we promise them…a second chance. Most of them, as you all know, have suffered some kind of trauma in their past.”
It’s part of the scholarship program, helping students who have experienced the dark side of life. It’s one of the reasons the college offers classes in essential life skills, like budgeting and time management.
Many of them don’t have parents to learn all that from.
“Think of being one of these young women. Paul, this authority figure, has shown you some attention. Maybe it’s the first time an older man has ever shown you positive attention. And then he tries to take it to the next level. Do you stop him? And, after it’s done, are you ever able to focus on your studies again?
“Or are you – and this is far, far more likely – sitting in the class, hoping he’ll notice you, thinking of your next meeting…or wondering why he’s no longer returning your calls?”
Jocelyn looks at us all sternly, paying more attention to some of the male teachers. Her gaze skims over me.
Everybody knows, as Mary pointed out, I could probably sleep with any number of students.
But I wouldn’t.
Partly it’s because of all the reasons Jocelyn listed.
But it’s also because I’m simply not interested.
All my life, I’ve been waiting for a woman who would make me care, a woman who would provoke something meaningful inside of me.
It’s a sick joke I found that woman, fleetingly, and now I have to accept….
I’ll never even learn her name.
CHAPTER3
Della
I sit at the small desk in the corner of the living room, the math textbook open, struggling to make sense of the numbers.
Math has always been the most difficult subject for me.
It’s because you’re stupid.
There it is again, Jess’ voice, but I press on anyway, stubbornly staring at the page.
It’s early morning, several hours before I have to be at school. Sleep tries to make my eyelids heavy.
Last night, it was impossible to rest, my mind too full of the man, his confidence, his body brimming with protective muscles.
As sleep finally came, I flitted in and out of dreams. In some, I was kissing him, gasping in pleasure as he passionately smoothed his hand up my leg.
Or he was on top of me, his firm chest brushing against my breasts as he shifted, and I moaned, and I somehow knew how to please him.
In others, we were walking down a beach together, holding hands, our children running ahead of us. Or we were playing in the yard, children’s laughter dancing in the air.
Our children.
What is this, some weird distraction technique so I don’t have to learn the numbers?
