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“Think about it, Mr. Pelham.” Danielle grabs her bag and tosses it over her shoulder. “Think aboutme,Holy.”
Hearing my name on her lips breaks me open like a piñata. I need to get out of here, right now. But I can’t go home. Home will just leave me to sit with my thoughts and her temptation. I need to think about something else. I need to distract myself.
As I head for the parking lot, locking up my classroom behind me, I call Saint. “Meet me at Drafthouse. Now.” I need a drink and a good buddy to talk me out of making the biggest mistake of my life.
11
HOLY
Acouple of hours later, I’m drunk. “The world’s just a weird place, ya know?” I lean toward Saint and gesture for him to do the same. With an annoyed look on his face, he leans in, too. “It’s just like, stuff should happen for a reason. But when that reason happens, it doesn’t make sense.”
Saint stares at me blankly. “Why are we whispering?” He asks.
I frown. I hadn’t realized I’d lowered my voice, but that’s a good question. “This is secret stuff,” I decide after a few moments. And the excuse makes sense to me. Everything makes sense when you’re a few beers deep, except for maybe calculus.
“Yeah?” He says with a singular raised eyebrow. “Do you know how drunk you are?”
Both of my eyebrows shoot into my hairline in surprise. “Moi?” I ask in French and press a hand to my chest dramatically. “Drunk?” I give him an exasperated sigh before leaning back in my chair and crossing my arms. “I don’t think so. Not me, anyway.” It couldn’t be me. Just because I’ve had a few beverages doesn’t mean they’ve gotten to my head. Nope. Not me. Not Holy Pelham.
Saint snorts in derision. “You aren’t making a lick of sense, Holy.”
“I don’t lick things,” I sneer at my best friend, transfixed on the word lick.
“Well, that’s a shame.” Saint grabs his beer and sips it at an appropriate speed, unlike my earlier choice to down three in the span of fifteen minutes. “Because I want to die with my tongue in a woman’s pussy, licking until I can’t breathe.”
I wish the waitress had left the beers on the table so I could count how many I’ve had. After those initial three, it went downhill. I think I’m on beer number four. Or five. Or is it six? “I remember women,” I wax poetically. “Women are nice. Women are beautiful.”
Saint closes his eyes and groans. He isn’t used to being the only sober person at the table. Usually, that’s my job. “Jesus, you’re a mess,” he claims.
“No,” I correct, “I’mfine. Danielle is the mess.” That sweet, barely legal teenage girl is ruining my life with her sexy little curves and taunting smile. I don’t know how she expects me to teach when she’s in the room. She stresses me the fuck out. And for what? Because she likes me?
I’ve had dozens of girls like me over the years. Pretty little cheerleaders, the quiet ones, the ones that know how to roll their Rs and use the skill like it’s foreplay. I’ve never been interested. I’ve stayed away because I can resist teenage girls, especially the ones I teach. They’re too young and too immature for me.
So what happened with Dani? What changed? What made me lose control of my faculties and indulge her childish delusions?
“I’m telling you, leave that girl alone. You don’t want to lose everything for her,” Saint warns me again. He’s like a damn broken record; he only plays one song.
Luckily, I’m thinking clearly now. Ever since our little chat after class today, I’ve been thinking the clearest I ever have. Not according to Saint, but life isn’t according to my best friend and his ridiculous notions about who I should or should not date. “You know I jerk off every night thinking about her?”
An older woman at a table beside us scoffs in disgust at my crude language. I lean over to apologize, but she sneers and pulls away, mentioning something about going to a restaurant where the clientele isn’t so rough around the edges. “Well, excuse me,” I roll my eyes.
“You’re disgusting,” she swears as she stomps off.
“She’s right,” Saint agrees. “Do you think it’s appropriate to talk like that about a girl likeher?” He’s trying really hard not to use the word ‘student’. We both know what’s wrong with the way I’m thinking. His disdain for Danielle isn’t even because she’s the Principal’s daughter or because she’s young. He doesn’t like her because she’s my student, and he thinks it crosses a boundary. He’s not wrong, either. “You do it once; you’ll do it again.”
I don’t need his advice. I look around for the waitress, and when we make eye contact, I point at my beer bottle and gesture for another round. “She wears these summer dresses to class every day. I swear, when she bends over, she’s an inch away from flashing her pussy. I’ve never seen a panty line, either. I think she’s in my class, commando, every damn day. And all I can think about is her hot, wet—“
The waitress interrupts us. “Here you go!” She says with a smile as she drops off my fifth, sixth, or seventh round. “Can I get you anything else?”
“The check,” Saint replies. “Cut him off.”
The waitress looks like she’s barely old enough to drink herself. A nervous smile teeters on her lips before she laughs anxiously. “I don’t really make that call. I can get the manager if you want,” she lingers.
I wave her away. “It’s okay, doll; I don’t need anymore after this, anyway.” I hate to admit that Saint is right, but if I’m going to make it to class tomorrow morning, I’m going to need to switch to water. Or, at the very least, stop drinking. I’ve never shown up to class drunk before, and I’m not going to start now.
Mercifully, the waitress walks away. She heads over to one of the computers and prints out the ticket. While she’s getting our drinks and dinner all rung up, Saint pulls out his wallet and slips a credit card onto the edge of the table. “How determined are you to have this girl?” He finally asks.
On a scale of one to ten, I’d have to say an eight. The only thing that holds me back is propriety. And, probably, a little nervous energy that she might go around and tell her friends she got with a teacher and rumors would cause me to lose my job. But I tell Saint, “Ten,” because he doesn’t need to know that I have reservations about the very things he’s warning me against doing.
