Outside the Lines (13 page)

Rob

My dick, apparently, is impervious to both danger and common sense. Despite the fact that I'm very late for my first day at my new job, I couldn't say no when Adri asked me to wait. I'd hoped my impromptu rendezvous with the brunette at the bar last week would curb my libido when it came to the sexy schoolmarm I can't stop thinking about. My thickening cock says otherwise. With every flash of frustration in those baby blues, every lick of her lips, which is her tell when she's nervous, it's grown stiffer.

She thinks she has me all figured out. She thinks she's in control. The image of throwing her on her desk, taking her right here, proving to her just how wrong she is, makes my dick throb so hard I'm sure I'm going to explode.

I press myself harder against her. Those blue eyes, usually as cool as the ocean, blaze back into mine.

And then I'm devouring her gasping mouth. I don't close my eyes as my tongue invades the soft heat inside, but she does. When she moans and twists her fingers into the hair at the sides of my head, I know she's going to be my total undoing.

I've had every variety of woman in my bed, from hookers to Hollywood stars. Never have any of them turned me inside out the way this sweet, simple teacher does. Maybe it's because she somehow sees past all my defenses. Maybe it's because she's the most honest and open person I've ever known. Maybe it's because she doesn't play any games and she's not scared to call me out. Whatever it is, I only know I need more.

I lift her by the waist, set her on her desk. She parts her knees as I press between them, hiking her skirt and exposing a swath of delicate white lace between her legs. When I grind my hard length against all the wet heat there, she gasps and hooks her knees over my hips, letting me have even more of her. I grab the back of her head with one hand, deepening our kiss, and her ass with my other, yanking her closer.

She sucks my lower lip into her mouth, flicks it with her wet tongue. A groan rolls up from the deepest part of me. One of her hands glides over my shirt along my shoulders and chest, lighting me on fire. Her legs pull my straining hard-on tighter against her molten core.

There's only the thin lace of her panties and the denim of my jeans separating us. I curse them both. At this moment, the one thing my mind, body, and soul all agree on is that I need to be inside this woman. In my entire pathetic life, I've never wanted anything as much as I want to bury myself to the root inside all this wet heat.

Finally, I let down my guard, close my eyes, kiss her with reckless abandon, and lose myself in all of her. With my eyes closed, my other senses heighten. Every inch of her soft pressed against all my hard sets my blood boiling. The scent of Ivory soap that always lingers around her is now laced with a hint of sweat and sex that sends my libido into a tailspin. Her hungry mouth tastes sweeter than anything I've ever had as it licks and bites and sucks my tongue. The fingers of the hand that's not tugging my mouth greedily against hers by the fistful of hair she refuses to let go, have slipped under the tails of my button-down and are dancing ever so lightly over the taut skin of my abdomen at the waistband of my jeans, urging my cock to lengthen toward them. I want those delicate fingers wrapped around me, squeezing and stroking. I need to feel her skin on mine.

Our mouths grind greedily against each other as my right hand slips from her ass, over the fabric of her skirt to the silky skin of her thigh. I trace the lace edge of her panties with my index finger over the curve of leg toward my target—all that blazing heat at the apex of her thighs. But just as I'm slipping my finger underneath, there's a sound. I barely register it, but she gasps and that honey mouth is gone from mine. Her hands push against my chest, but it's not until she pants, “Rob, the bell.” that I gain my senses and open my eyes.

Her eyes are wide, but they don't leave mine as she drags the back of her knuckles under her mouth, wiping away our kiss.

I back away as she tugs the ponytail holder out of her hair. I've pulled it most of the way loose in all my pawing and groping. She looks totally ravaged. Her hair falls loose, those silky blond waves spilling over one side of her face and cascading around her shoulders. At the fleeting image of her in my bed, that hair strewn loose over my pillow, I feel my dick threaten to burst through the zipper of my jeans.

Christ, she's sexy. And what makes her even sexier is that she has no fucking clue.

She combs her fingers through her mane, sweeps it back from her face, tames it into the holder again. When she slips off the desk and smooths her skirt back into place, I can't help wishing it were my hands gliding over those hips. A second later, other than swollen lips, there's nothing about her that says she was within a hairsbreadth of being fucked on the edge of her desk not one minute ago. But as she reaches for the doorknob, reality intrudes on my fantasy. A spike of unexpected fear stabs through my gut.

What I just did was so far over any reasonable line. She's already digging into places she has no business. In my mindless lust-fog, have I just given her leverage? An advantage? But shock reverberates through me like the crash of cymbals when I realize the knot in my gut has nothing to do with my family's safety and everything to do with whether I've just blown any chance with her.

Before she opens the door, she glances over her shoulder and arches her perfect blond eyebrows at me. “You might want to do something about yourself.”

I glance down and see the bottom three buttons of my wrinkled shirt are undone, exposing the sizable bulge in my jeans. When did she do that?

I tug a hand down my face, rub away the evidence of my lapse in judgment, button up, and will my dick to behave as I yank at the wrinkles in my shirt.

She opens the door, and kids stream into the room.

In my life I've had plenty to feel guilty about, but I never expected feeling guilt like this. Watching Adri smile at Sherm as he passes her and takes his seat, I realize that somewhere along the way I've grown some morals . . . and maybe a conscience. Everything about what I just did to these kids' teacher in their classroom was wrong. And on some warped level, it feels like I'm taking something that's Sherm's.

Adri was closer to the truth than I'll ever admit. Sherm
is
afraid of me. After what he saw, he's right to be. But he trusts Adri. I also think on some level, he has feelings for her—a schoolboy crush. Even if Adri and me together wasn't impossible for every other reason, it would devastate him if it ever happened.

She straightens the papers that we pushed across her desk and my stomach tightens . . . until she looks up and gives me a wicked little half smile. Just that hardens my softening dick again.

Fuck. I am so screwed.

I tug my eyes away from her, move to Sherm's desk. “How's that arm, champ?” I ask, giving his hair a ruffle.

He looks at me and shrugs.

“You'll be okay here?”

He glances to Adri and his eyes light up, confirming my theory. He adores her.

“Okay,” I say, my gaze involuntarily following his. “I'll see you after school.”

I make my way to the door. Just as I pull it open, Adri steps up next to me. Her scent starts the riot in my gut all over again.

“That was an interesting diversion tactic, but the conversation's not over,” she says under her breath, then turns for the class. “Okay, everyone. We're splitting into reading groups. Bring your copies of
James and the Giant Peach
to your reading circles.”

I slip through the door. When it closes behind me, I nearly sprint for the car. She's like a truth detector, stripping away everything that's not real until she's left with nothing but my quivering heart and greasy black soul in her hands.

Maybe I was wrong. Maybe she
is
in control.

Maybe it's me who's kidding himself.

Adri

We haven't talked about what happened last week. We haven't talked at all, actually. The only time Rob's come into the classroom since the kiss was to bring Sherm's new puppies in for show-and-tell on Friday. Otherwise he's been dropping Sherm off and picking him up in the parking lot.

We haven't talked about it, but that doesn't keep me from dreaming about it. I have never, in all my life, been kissed like that. I've never felt my whole body burn with desire. I've never felt passion totally take control of me. But the weird thing? It was
his
passion I was feeling.

I didn't know it was possible to feel someone else's emotion, but it came through loud and clear in the way his whole body was coiled tight, the way his mouth devoured mine, his tongue finding all the deepest recesses of my mouth, the way I felt totally ravaged when it was over. Every time I look at my desk, I remember that feeling and I almost can't teach.

But I'm also embarrassed and ashamed. I've never done anything so irresponsible in my life. Rob brings out a side of me I didn't know existed, and it scares me a little. I am the queen of control. The “ice queen,” one guy I dated went so far as to say. Rob makes me feel sexy—more like a woman and less like the girl Dad and Chuck think of me as. I feel desirable and recklessly out of control when we're together.

And more confused than I've ever been.

So I've given him his distance while I've tried to sort out my feelings. But that doesn't mean he's off the hook. He evaded every question I asked that day before he literally swept me off my feet. When I can look at him without blushing, we are going to finish the conversation.

Just not today.

Today, I'm out the door right behind the children. I got word on Friday that Mrs. Martin has decided to officially retire, so I have a formal interview for her position at three at the district offices in Loveland.

Rob is just loading Sherm in the passenger seat of his car, four parking spots up from mine, when I jump into Frank and turn the key. There's one chug then a loud bang, and a plume of black smoke wafts out of Frank's tailpipe.

Rob's head jerks my direction, his keen eyes darting, already looking for the threat. I'm getting out of the car with my monkey wrench when he strides up and looks me over with concerned eyes. “Are you okay?”

“Fine. Hopefully, Frank just has a case of indigestion.” I lift the hood and prop it, and immediately, I know it's not going to be as easy as tapping the alternator. I swipe my finger over the trickle of dark oil leaking down the side of the crankcase. “Damn.”

Rob looks at my finger, then at me. “I don't know much about cars, but that doesn't look right.”

“It's not.” I blow a strand of hair off my face and pull out my phone.

“Hey, Ade,” Chuck says when he answers.

“Hey. What are the chances you're free for a little Frank time later on?”

“Shit, Ade. I'm behind on old man McCreary's Ford. I'll be lucky to finish it tonight. Can you bring him by tomorrow?”

“Well . . . that's sort of the problem. I can't bring him by at all. The gasket finally blew. When can you come by with the truck?”

“Now. Where are you parked?”

“At school. I've got an interview at three, so if you could swing me home on the way back to the shop, that would be great.”

“What interview?” he asks.

“Mrs. Martin is retiring. I'm hoping they'll give me this job for real. If you take me home, I can pick up Mom's car and still get to the interview in time.”

“Awesome, Ade. I'll be by in fifteen. Swing by the shop when you're back from Loveland and, as soon as I've wrapped up McCreary's car, we can get on Frank.”

“Thanks, Chuck. You're the best.”

I disconnect and look up to find Rob studying me. “What?”

“That your PTSD friend?” There's an edge to his voice and I'm not sure what it means. Is he jealous? A prickle of goose bumps sends the hair on my arms standing on end at the thought.

I nod. “Chuck. He's a great guy.”

“Is he coming for you?”

“Yeah. He'll be here in fifteen.”

His lips press into a line. “Okay.”

“Unless . . . ,” I say, a desperate little tingle in my stomach. “Would you mind giving me a ride home? Chuck's busy on another project, so he won't need me for a while.”

“Need you?” he asks, his eyebrows rising.

“To help. We rebuilt Frank together in auto shop when we were in high school. No one touches Frank unless I'm scrubbed in to assist. Not even Chuck.”

A smile tugs at one corner of his mouth. “Really.”

“Really,” I confirm, though it wasn't a question. “So, can you give me a lift?”

He nods slowly.

I dial Chuck again and tell him to take his time picking up Frank because I have a ride home, and I'll meet him at the shop later. I reach in and grab my messenger bag off the passenger seat, then make my way to Rob's car.

“Hey, Sherm,” I say when he steps out of the passenger seat.

“Are you coming home with us?” he asks. Something inside me warms at the adoration on his face.

“My car broke down. Your brother was nice enough to offer me a ride home.”

His gaze flicks to Rob and back, then he opens the back door and hops in. “Sit with me.”

I smile and slide in next to him. “Home, Jeeves,” I say to Rob as he folds his large frame into the driver's seat.

“Where to?” he asks, flicking me a glance in the rearview.

“Take a right out of the lot, then a left on Dunbar in the middle of town. We're about a mile up on a little road off to the right.”

He backs out of the parking spot and looks at me as he shifts gears. “We?”

“Me and my dad,” I answer.

The side of his thumb taps on the steering wheel as he pulls onto the road and he flicks a glance at Sherm in the mirror. He makes the left onto Dunbar at the police station, and the knot in my stomach tightens when I see Dad's cruiser in the lot.

I look down at Sherm. “Which book did you bring home tonight?”

He pulls a hardback book about sharks that I've never seen before from his backpack.

“That's not mine,” I say, taking it from his hand.

“Lee took me to the library,” he answers. “I got three others too.”

I flip open the book and find a picture of a diver in a cage being circled by three huge sharks. I shudder and hand him back the book.

Sherm laughs at me, and I can't help the smile that pulls at my mouth.

“Why are you scared of sharks?” he asks.

“I'm a little wary of things that can eat me,” I say with a wave of my hand at the book. When I look up, we're near the turnoff to my house. “Take the next right,” I say to Rob.

He takes the right onto the narrow road that dead-ends at my house.

“We're the house on the end,” I say, pointing past Rob's head at the white single-story house I've lived in all my life.

We pass by the Bakers' house, where my grandparents lived when I was little. When Grandpa died in a car wreck, Grandma moved in with us until she died three years later from cancer. Sandwiched between their house and ours is Sergeant Dixon's. He was a Port St. Mary cop under Dad until he retired last year. Now he's head of our Neighborhood Watch program, though there's really no need for one. Not too many people are stupid enough to burglarize a street with three houses when one is the chief of police and another is his recently retired right-hand man. He waves to me as he pushes the lawn mower across his front yard, and I see his eyes follow us as Rob pulls into our driveway and stops.

“I'll see you tomorrow, Sherm,” I say with a smile as I push open the door.

He gives me a wave, and when I get out, I'm surprised to see that Rob is also out of the car. He moves around to my side.

“Thanks for the ride,” I say.

He nods, and when I start toward the back door, he keeps step with me. My heart begins to pound, wondering if he's planning on kissing me again. I turn to look at him when I reach the end of the walk. “Was there something else you wanted? A tip or something?”

He takes a deep breath and holds it for a second before letting it out. “I wanted to apologize for . . . crossing a line last week. I don't know what I was thinking. It won't happen again.”

“Oh. That's too bad.” I don't know where the burst of confidence is coming from, but the minute it's out of my mouth, I'm glad I said it, just for the reaction.

Rob's eyes go round and he takes a step back. For the first time since I've met him, he seems truly flustered. “Meaning?”

I'm feeling brave today, I guess, because the next thing out of my mouth surprises me more. “Would you like to go to dinner sometime? There are a couple of good restaurants off-island.”

His eyes soften a little, just for a second. Or maybe I imagined it, because the next second he's shaking his head and backing away, his expression back to its usual stone. “I don't think that's a good idea.”

I can almost feel myself deflate, all of my bravado leaking into a puddle at my feet. “Oh . . . okay. I guess I'll . . . I mean, I've got that interview, so . . .” I turn for the door and twist the key before he can see the color I feel rising in my cheeks.

“Good luck,” he says from behind me. “You deserve the job. I hope you get it.”

I look over my shoulder at him as he backs down the walk. “Thanks.”

His eyes glint with some emotion I can't identify. “You're an amazing teacher, Adri,” he says. “In case no one's told you that, you really need to know.”

He turns and moves to his car. Sherm waves from the backseat as he slips in. I watch from my stoop as they pull away.

I grab Mom's keys off the hook in the kitchen and look at them for a long time before going out and pulling open the garage door. I pull the car cover off the T-Bird and almost can't make myself get in. I've sat in that car for hours, talking to Mom. She's never answered. Just one more empty shell of her life.

But if I want to make the interview, I have no choice. I slip into the T-bird and head to Loveland.

*   *   *

It's almost ten and Frank is in pieces all over Murdock & Son auto shop. Chuck and I have spent the last four hours pulling him apart. I intend to keep going until I'm too tired to think anymore, because what I keep thinking about is Rob shooting me down and that the interview afterward maybe went okay but maybe didn't.

“It's really not worth fixing, Ade,” Chuck says, looking over the destruction under Frank's hood. “Replacing the intake and gasket will cost you nearly a couple hundred in parts and maybe last you another year, tops. It's just a Band-Aid. What you really need is to have the cylinders bored out and to rebuild the entire engine from the ground up, but we're talking thousands. Frank's not worth it.”

I sink onto the cold cement floor and lean against the workbench. “How can you say that, Chuck? Frank is like a member of my family.”

He wipes his hands on a towel and lowers himself down next to me, pushing the blond mop off his forehead. “Your mom's T-Bird is in great shape,” he says, gesturing out the roll-up door to where it's parked in the driveway. “You should just drive that.”

“I can't afford to buy it from Dad.”

He brings his knees up and rests his forearms on them. “He gave it to you when you came home. It's yours. There's nothing to buy.”

“He's been feeding me since I got home,” I say, tossing a hand in the air. “And he paid my college tuition. I'm already freeloading. I'm not taking his car too.”

He tips his head back against the workbench and stares up into the cobweb-laden rafters. “What you've done for him is worth way more than the price of food or tuition, Ade. He knows that and so should you. If there's something he can do in return to help you out, like giving you your mom's car, you should let him. It'd help him to feel better about the whole thing.”

I shoot him a look. “What whole thing?”

He lifts his head and looks at me. “He's always felt guilty about you coming back home.”

“And you know this because . . . ?”

“He says it every time he and Dad are drunk in Mom's kitchen.”

I shake my head. “He comes home from being drunk in your parents' kitchen and tells me I should marry you.”

He blows out a laugh. “Guess he thinks even that would be better than dying on the vine.”

“I am not dying on the vine!” I say, shoving his shoulder.

He shrugs. “That's another one your dad throws out there every once in a while.” He circles my shoulders with a strong arm. “He just wants you to have a life.”

I tip my head into his chest. “I have a life . . . sort of.”

“I know,” he says with a hint of irony. “Doesn't get any better than this.”

I snort a laugh. “We're so pathetic.”

“That we are.”

We sit for a minute in contented silence. All joking aside, I really am doing okay, but I worry about Chuck. “Are the nightmares getting any better?”

I feel him shrug against my cheek. “As long as I don't sleep.”

I know what he does a lot of nights to keep from sleeping, but I've never asked for details. Suddenly, it feels important that I know. “Where do those girls come from?”

“Girl. Singular. She's just someone I work with at Spencer's. She knows what I need, and there are no strings, so it works out for both of us.”

“What do you need?” I ask cautiously. “To hurt her?”

There's a long silence. “Do you really want to talk about this?”

I shrug off him and sit up, turning so I can look into his eyes. “I just want to know that you're okay. I see the cuffs and the chains and . . . I know it's part of your marine training, but I don't like that you feel like you need to hurt people.”