Pieces of Perfect (11 page)

              After missing the lock a few times, I finally managed to get my door open.  Max carried me in and asked me which room was mine.  I threw my arm up in the general direction I thought my room was and plopped my head down on my shoulder.  He nudged open my bedroom door with his foot and gently lowered me onto my bed, pulled back the covers, and tucked me in.  
 

             
“You need anything before I go?”
 

             
I grunted into my pillow.

              “I’ll take that as a no.  Text me if you need anything.”
 

             
I think I was already asleep again, because I don’t remember responding.  

Christ, that harlot at the club really had been the better option.
 

Twenty

             
I didn’t hear from Adam the rest of the weekend, and I tried not to care.  I was busy nursing a hangover all day Saturday, and I wasn’t about to make my headache worse by attempting to talk to him.  I thought back to what I could remember from Friday night.  Dancing, drinking, those bitches leaving me.  Calling Max.  More drinking.  Telling some girl she was a “cunt.”
Real
classy, Lily.  Way to go!  
  

But what I couldn’t remember was why I had chosen to call Max instead of Adam.  I tried to dissect my decision in my mind.   I mean, I didn’t really have any reason to be mad about what Adam had done.  Or in this case,
not
done.  Plus, I must have known that Adam would have Eva at home and wouldn’t have been able to get me even if he’d wanted to.  What would he have said?  
Eva, honey.  You have to wake up, sweetheart.  We have to drive into the city at 1:00 in the morning to pick up your shit-faced English teacher from a nightclub.  No need to worry; she’s clearly just upset because I wouldn’t let her jerk me off in public last night.  
 
 

I mean, obviously, I couldn’t let Eva see me like that.
 And if I were completely truthful with myself, I couldn’t let her father see me like that either.  

Max, on the other hand, wouldn’t judge me.  He didn’t have room to.  Though we had never actually discussed it, it was common knowledge that he was only starting up the hockey club to advance his career.  Apparently, he had been offered a broadcasting job with a local sports network but needed to clean up his image first.  If anyone knew what it was like to make mistakes and be vilified for them, it was Max.

Monday morning rolled around, and I brewed my own coffee at home—a task I hadn’t completed in months.  I couldn’t risk seeing Adam at the coffee house before I had a chance to gauge his opinion of me.  Did he think I was a slut?  Was he second guessing if he even wanted to be with me?  I had no idea.  

By the end of first period, I was a hybrid of emotions.  The kids were taking a test today, so I was hoping to get some grading done during class, but I just couldn’t focus.  I sat at my desk, red pen in hand, staring at my phone hidden inconspicuously on my lap, checking it over and over for a text that never came.  I was no better than my students.  

The bell rang, and I realized I had lost track of time, despite the fact that I had been doing absolutely nothing all period.  Chairs screeched and my desk was suddenly bombarded with tests.  When I finished organizing them, I looked up to see Max standing over me.  He wore ripped jeans and a gray vintage Philadelphia Flyers T-shirt that clung to his chest and hung just below the waist of his jeans.  “Just checking to see how you survived the rest of your weekend.  You were pretty banged up Friday night.”
 

“I don’t even wanna think of what a hot mess I must have been,” I said, putting my head in my hands.

“You
were
a hot mess.  But
my
emphasis is on the ‘hot’ part.”  
 

I looked up to see him wearing a teasing grin.
 “It’s just an expression,” I snapped.  “I’m not really in the mood right now, Samson."

“Doll, don’t kid yourself.  You’re always in the mood.”
 

“You know what
I mean."  I rolled my eyes.  "I’m not having a good day.”
 

“You wanna talk about it?” he said tilting his head to the side, obviously concerned.

“That’s actually the last thing I wanna do.”

“Well,” he said seductively as he took my hand and pulled me to my feet, “come with me.
 I have something that'll make you feel better.  And lucky for you, I’ll be the one doing all the talking.”
 

Yup, he was right.
 I
was
always in the mood.

*              *              *

              We strolled quickly down the hallway, and Max led me down a flight of steps and then took a left toward a part of the school I rarely used.  It dead-ended at the entrance to the backstage area of the auditorium.  How did he even know where this was?  I had never gone back there myself, and I had worked at this school for five years.

              He opened one of the double wooden doors and hurried me inside.  Backstage was a mess of cardboard props, costumes, and painted plywood structures that would be used in the spring play.  But once the door shut behind us, it was so dark, I could barely see my hand in front of my face.  

“You have to stay quiet,” he said.  
 

I could hear a man speaking on a microphone just beyond the black velvet curtain toward the front of the stage.
 
 

“The eighth grade is having an assembly,” Max whispered.
 “Some shit about making bad decisions or something.”
 

The speaker droned on monotonously for a few moments about the dangers of drugs and alcohol before directing the students to watch the video on the large screen.
 I wondered if the presentation would mention any of the dangers that came with getting fucked in a middle school auditorium.
 
Certainly,
I
hadn’t bothered to consider
any
of them.

My eyes were still trying to adjust to the darkness when, without warning, Max’s tongue penetrated my mouth, its softness exploring me deeply, almost violently.  I gasped, suddenly feeling the need for air.  My heart was already racing.  The blackness.  Van Halen’s
Right Now
coming from the video on the other side of the curtain.  The uncertainty of who was around.  It was thrilling; unlike anything I had experienced before.  
 

His strong hands traveled down my back to my ass, squeezing it roughly.
 “God, I could fuck you anywhere,” he groaned into me as he bit my earlobe.  “I can’t get enough of you, Lily.  You’re like a fucking addiction.”
 

“I know the feeling,” I managed to expel between labored breaths.
 
 

“Shh, no talking.
 Remember?” he reminded me, putting a finger to my lips.  He let go of me with one hand, and I could hear him frantically fumbling with his belt buckle.
 

I reached in front of me, feeling my way down his firm stomach to undo his jeans, and I smiled internally at the appropriateness of the music.
 I needed this.  
Right now.  
But before I could pull his pants down, he scooped me up, and I wrapped my legs tightly around his waist as he carried me a few feet to my right, closer to the curtain.  When he placed me down, I expected to land on a table or desk of some sort, but I was surprised to feel hard wooden steps digging into my back.  

He had put me on a makeshift staircase of some kind.  Leaning over me, he pulled his pants down just enough.  We were hurried.  And frantic.  I heard him tearing the foil package, and then his hands removed my shoes and pants in one swift motion.  
Swift.
The word brought me back to where I actually was: our middle school auditorium with students no more than 20 feet from us. Maybe our school had been intended for actions such as this. The thought made me smile.
Well, maybe not actions exactly like this.
 

I leaned back as he slid my thong to the side forcefully, not even bothering to remove it.
 As he thrust himself deep inside me, I wondered how wooden steps could possibly feel this good against my spine.  He stood in front of me and dug his powerful fingers into my hips, pulling me back and forth.  
 

“Is this what you fucking want?
 You want me to make you come like this?  Huh?  Thrust my fucking dick in you so far that it practically hurts?”

I knew he didn’t want me to answer.  All I could do was feel him as he tugged at my nipples under my shirt and pushed into me more rapidly, more urgently, his lower abdomen rubbing up and down against my clit.
 I smelled his fresh body wash mixed with sweat.  Already, he smelled like sex.  I felt the pressure build like a rush inside me.
 

I dug my nails into his
shoulder blades, gripping his T-shirt tightly until I couldn’t scrunch it any more firmly inside my sweaty palm.  With my other hand, I pulled on the curtain, letting the soft velvet brush against my forearm as I held on tightly.  As I felt him swell even bigger, the gentle pain on my back mixed with the pleasure deep inside me made me lose control.  

I couldn’t wait any longer.  And I didn’t want to.  My orgasm pulsed through my entire body, and I urged him even further inside me as my legs clamped around him harder, pinning him in place.  I wanted to cry out.  To moan.  And to yell every vulgar word I could think of.  Instead, I bit delicately into his bicep.  Not hard enough to break the skin, but hard enough to leave a mark that would hopefully remind him of me when he got undressed for bed later.  
 

He sped up, pounding into me more vigorously.
 I felt him tremble as he cursed under his breath and moaned a deep, raspy sound.  Our muscles weakened and our bodies went limp as we collapsed, a heap of tangled limbs, to the bottom of the stairs.         

When we were finally ready to get up, he stood first and put out his hand to help me rise.  A strange feeling of Déjà vu coursed through me. Though it was the same hand that had reached out to me a month and a half ago when I was on an airport floor, it felt like a different man extending it.  This man knew exactly what I always needed: whether it was a friend, a phenomenal lay, or something that now seemed strangely in between.  
 

I placed my hand firmly inside of his, and I spoke the only words that came to mind.
 The only words that I knew for sure he'd let leave my lips, despite my backstage vow of silence.  "Thanks, Max," I whispered just loudly enough that I was sure he had heard me.
 

*
              *              *
 

             
Max had done a sufficient job of helping me forget about Adam—at least for a little while.  I made a pact with myself that I wouldn’t check my phone again until after school, and to my surprise, I was able to keep it.

              But barely.  When the last bell rang, I looked at my phone immediately and saw a text from Adam.

             
Lily, sorry I haven’t called.  Things have been crazy at work.  I’ve been on a job site off and on since Saturday morning.  Having some issues with some of the contractors.  Boring stuff, really.  Thought we should talk.  I’ll be done here by 3:00 or so and thought you might be able to meet me outside for a few minutes before I pick up Eva from mural club.  3:30?  Let me know.

              I looked at my watch.  2:47.  I had to make a decision.  My mind spun.  Were we really going to talk about what happened on Thursday?  Outside of his daughter's school?  By now, I just wanted to move on with him. What was there to discuss?  Maybe he was going to tell me he didn’t want to see me anymore.  But he wouldn’t tell me that in the parking lot, would he?  The whole thing was just plain awkward.  I was hurt, embarrassed, and really had nothing to say.  
 

             
But I decided I had to see him and give him the chance to talk, even if I felt uncomfortable doing it.
 

             
Sure.  I’ll meet you out front around 3:30
, I wrote back.
 

             
I didn’t want to seem too eager, so I waited until 3:34 before heading down to the lobby.  
Real smooth, Lily.  Show him who’s boss.
 I spotted Adam’s Yukon waiting for me out front.  He reached across to open the door for me, and I climbed inside.  
 

Though I made every effort to look straight ahead once seated, I couldn’t help but notice him as I pulled myself into the seat.
 In ripped, faded jeans and a green and tan plaid shirt rolled at the sleeves, I was suddenly conscious of how sexy he looked without even trying.  He’d been working outside all day, and though it was still pretty cold outside, his face looked flushed, and I could tell he’d been sweating.  I wanted to jump him right here in the parking lot.  But I wouldn’t make that mistake twice, so I kept my eyes directed on the windshield.  
 

“I think I owe you an explanation,” he began.

Yup, we’re really gonna talk about this.
 
“You really don’t owe me anything,” I said, and I meant it.