Текст книги "Indisputable"

Автор книги: A. M. Wilson

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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Tatum

My chest feels like it’s full of bricks.  The rest of the day drags on, each second ticking by in its own eternity.  Seconds pass like minutes, minutes like hours.  Wyatt has been texting my phone nonstop, even after my attempt to bitch him out.  If Mr. Ryan decides to snoop through my inbox, I won’t be getting my phone back today.  He’ll be too busy killing Wyatt to make it to sixth period.  I should have tucked the damn thing into my bag instead of handing it over.  I’m just so tired.

I’ve had more drama in my life this past week than I’ve had in over a year.  If I was smart, I would have known Mr. Ryan was serious about holding my phone hostage.  Naïve little me thought I could weasel my way out of it.  Fuck, was I wrong.

Emerson and I went out to lunch at the diner to take my mind off the looming disaster, formerly known as calculus.  She chattered on about her date with Grant, how amazing it was, and now the two are officially an item.  Facebook official.

I’m so happy for her.

Really.

But my newfound feelings stirred something deep inside of me.  Something that until now has been quietly sleeping, hibernating, biding its time.  Something that has me wondering when it will be my turn.  To have someone want me.  To love me.  To need me.  Desire.  Love.  In my relatively short life I can’t remember a time of ever feeling genuinely loved.  Or having someone to love.

Regardless, I am happy for Emerson.  I just need to keep my green-faced gremlin under control.

The second fifth period ends, I practically sprint to Mr. Ryan’s room.  I weave in and out of students like some NASCAR pro, dodging backpacks, legs, people making out.  I don’t even have the heart to tell them to get a room, I’m so intent on being the first one to class.

Skidding to a halt, I attempt to regain composure before bursting into his room.  Wouldn’t want to scare anyone by barreling through the door, hair a wild mane, heaving in oxygen like my life depended on it.  Slowing my breathing to calm my racing heart, I pull open the heavy wood door and waltz inside.

The room is empty.

You have got to be kidding me.  He is seriously going to make me wait until the end the day.  No clue as to if he’s scanned through my messages or not.  Damn literal men.

I’ll have to sit through his entire lecture trying to determine if my privacy has been breached.  To figure out if I’ll have more on my hands than a reprimand for texting during class.  If he goes through my inbox, I’m screwed.  He’ll see how much Wyatt has been trying to talk to me and the bitchy, antagonizing responses I’ve sent back when I probably should have ignored him.  This is not going to be a happy class, and Mr. Ryan is not going to be happy with me.

My skid out from under me when Keith Torres flings open the door and slams into my back.  It wasn’t the smartest idea to have an internal argument standing in front of the door.  I’m jostled forward onto a desk, flopping over the seat with Keith leaned over my back.

“Oof,” I cry out, trying to ignore the compromising position we’re in.  That is, until another voice brings it front and center to my attention.

“What is going on here?  Get off her!”

Keith’s weight shifts, the pressure releases, and my lungs fill with air.  Well, this is fucking embarrassing.  Slowly, I right myself, turning around to find Mr. Ryan staring daggers at poor Keith, his face colored with deep red splotches.  He’s pissed.

“Are you okay?” Mr. Ryan asks me, his concern-filled eyes searching mine for signs of distress.

“I’m fine.  It was an accident.”  Anger simmers within my blood when Mr. Ryan doesn’t look convinced.  I’m not some weak, helpless victim.  I can take care of myself seeing as I’ve been doing it my entire life.  The last thing I need is Mr. White Knight coming to my rescue all the damn time.  I start stomping off in the direction of my usual chair, done with this conversation.

“Hold up, Tatum.  Keith needs to apologize.”  Mr. Ryan pauses, his eyes sweeping intently across Keith’s face.   “This an accident?”

Keith’s face turns a sick shade of pale.  He’s not the type to go around harassing girls.  He’s the type to worship them.  He wouldn’t know a friend-zone from an end-zone and spends most of his time with his nose stuck in a book.  I feel truly sorry for his predicament.  I’m just glad the whole class wasn’t here to witness it.

“Yes,” Keith whispers.

“Apologize or I’ll have you hauled out of here for sexual harassment,” Mr. Ryan snaps.

“I’m so sorry, Tatum,” Keith stammers, staring holes into the floor.  “I swear, I didn’t mean to-to fall on you.”

Hoping to save him from any further embarrassment, I quickly reconcile.  He offers a small, albeit embarrassed smile before taking his seat.  Exasperated by the entire exchange, I walk to my chair for the second time when Mr. Ryan stops me…a second time.

“I want you to sit up front today,” he says, motioning to a desk with a jerk of his head.  My eyes are drawn to the way his soft brown hair falls over his forehead rather than meet his eyes.

“Why?  I always sit here,” I respond to his ridiculous request.

“I think you’ll be much more focused in the front row.  Where I can keep an eye on you.”

“Are you joking?”

“No.  Now move or get out of my classroom.”

Holy crap, Mr. Ryan is a jerk!

I bite my cheek hard to hold in my retort and move into the desk he indicated.  The last thing I need is to push him into kicking me out of class.  As if I haven’t seen enough of Mr. Stephenson this semester already—a whole one day into the second week.

After removing my notebook and pen, I rest my chin in my hand, casting an innocent glance upward.  Mr. Ryan is perched in front of his desk, leaning casually against the front.  One black Oxford shoe crossed over the other.  His posture looks relaxed, except for one thing—he’s glaring at me.  Hard.  The hollows of his smoothly shaven cheeks are stained pink.  His normally chocolate eyes almost black.

What the hell is he so pissed about?  The extent of the text messages have been Wyatt harassing me to see him, wondering who my sudden new attack dog is, and half-assed loose apologies.  After ignoring him for 24 hours, I sent a few replies this morning.  Mostly fuck you’s and empty threats to call the police.

I can’t imagine Mr. Ryan is this upset over what’s currently in my phone’s inbox.  Something else must be grinding his gears.  By the way he’s staring me down, it’s hard to convince myself I’m not culpable.

I don’t miss the few stares directed my way as the rest of my peers take their seats.  The majority of them probably haven’t seen me ever sit in the front of the room for the past four years.  But if I want to get to the bottom of Mr. Crabby Pants’ attitude, then I need to play the part of a good little girl.  Then I can get my phone and haul ass out of here in order to avoid any more awkward encounters.

I may be able to admit to myself my attraction to him, but I’m done.  The lines have been etched into stone; there’s no more blurring them.  I’m not going to attempt to push the boundaries any more.

Compared to most days—okay, the one other calculus class I’ve actually attended this semester—Mr. Ryan’s lesson is stiff, cold, and boring.  He drones through each point, reviewing Friday’s homework, and giving brief examples of what we’ll work on today, all while his eyes continually snap down to meet mine.  He looks like he has Tourette’s; his eyes are so twitchy.

It’s harder than I thought to keep from exchanging glares and rolling my eyes.  Every time his eyes meet mine, I feel a flash of pain in my gut.  I don’t know why he’s mad at me, but he is.  And I don’t like it.  After the weekend we experienced together, I almost feel betrayed.

“Does anybody have any questions before you get started?” Mr. Ryan asks after he’s finished his lesson.

I can’t help myself.  The question rolls off my tongue before I have the ability to choke the words back down.

“What crawled up your ass today?”  I watch as a muscle jumps in his jaw where he’s clenching his teeth.  His eyes flash hard to mine as a round of soft giggles echo throughout the room.

Mr. Ryan swallows thickly.  “I’ll see you after class, Miss Krause.  Anybody else?”  His eyes wander briefly around the room before he continues, “Alright then, please get started.  I’m here if you have any questions.”

While the rest of the room begins on their homework, I let myself watch as Mr. Ryan seats himself at his desk.  I can’t focus on math while I know there’s this impeding conversation, which doesn’t appear to be a happy one.  And I don’t know for certain what it’s about.

My mind strains to work through the possible scenarios that I almost miss when Mr. Ryan mouths, “get to work,” before turning his attention to his computer screen, dismissing my deliberate stare.

By the time the bell rings, I’ve only a handful of problems left, and I’m pleased with myself.  But that quickly fades when I remember the little chat I’m about to have as I attempt to get my phone back.  I remain seated as the rest of the class files out, but as soon as the room’s empty, I stand.  I open my mouth in an attempt to speak when Mr. Ryan breezes past me towards the door.  Oh hell, he’s trying to blow me off!  I chase after him.

“Give me my damn phone back so I can go,” I bite out before he has a chance to leave.

I’m surprised when, instead of leaving, he closes the classroom door and locks the handle.

I’m frozen as I take him in; his rigid posture, his hand clenching the door knob in a white knuckled grip, the heavy rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathes.

Almost inaudibly he says, “What the hell are you thinking?”

“What?” I ask, unsure what he’s talking about.  I thought this was about my texts from Wyatt.

Jacoby abruptly spins around, stalking towards me like a predator until he’s inches from my face.  I scramble back, tripping over my own feet, until my legs knock into a desk, and my balance falters.  “What in the hell were you thinking?” he spits out.

“Uh-I-um,” I struggle for a response, trying to remain upright.  I’m frozen by the anger radiating from his body.

“I thought you were a smart girl.  You didn’t want to go to the police, and I still don’t know why.  But I trusted you had a good reason.  I thought we had made some connection after what you went through.  Hell, I thought we had a connection the first time we met!  I thought you trusted me, too, Miss Krause—“

“Don’t start with that ‘Miss Krause’ shit,” I retort out of anger.

“Shut up!” he shouts, making me do just that.  “Are you not listening to a word I’m saying?  I thought you trusted me.  I’ve been there for you.  We had a few unpleasant moments, but I thought I made it clear that I care about what happens to you!”

The color rises in his cheeks as his eyes flit back and forth between mine, searching for…what?  I’m so confused.

“I do trust you, but honestly, I don’t know what this is about.  If you can just give me back my phone, I’ll leave you alone.  For good,” I add, because it seems where this is headed.  I don’t need to sit around and wait for the inevitable.

He shakes his head, the dark brown silky strands drifting across his forehead.  I’m mesmerized by the rapid rise and fall of his chest as he struggles to slow his breath.  “I tried so hard to ignore the incessant vibrations your phone was giving off all morning.  Eight times by the time you left my class second period.  By lunch, you had seventeen messages.  Damnit, I tried but my curiosity was too much.  I knew it was that punk bothering you, even after I’d told him off.”  He pauses, gauging my reaction.  I knew Wyatt wouldn’t just back off.  What did he say to make Jacoby so mad?

“But when I sat down at my lunch period and pulled out your phone, do you know what surprised me?  Do you?” he asks softly, expecting an answer I’m not sure how to give.

My lungs can hardly expand as I watch him run his hand through his long hair, stopping to squeeze the back of his neck.  He looks away from me, trying to collect himself, to reign in the emotions so clearly ruling his thoughts and actions.

I’m not afraid he’ll hurt me, but I’m afraid for him.  And for us.  Honestly, I don’t know what has him so worked up, but it’s terrifying to watch.  That something I did has gotten this reaction from him.  I’m scared, and I think he might be too.

This time, when he brings his eyes back to mine, my heart feels like it crumbles right there in the space behind my ribs.  Little pieces of the hardened shell reduced to dust by one look.  The hard glare from earlier is gone, replaced by soft eyes holding more concern than has ever been directed my way.  By anyone.

“Not only am I pissed and hurt that you didn’t think you could trust me, but you’re out there trying to defend yourself in a world full of piece of shit people.  I don’t know how you could be so stupid as to buy yourself a back alley gun, but you should have come to me first.”

My hands shoot to my mouth, but a gasp still escapes from behind my shaking hands.  “What did you just say?  How do you know that?” I ask, as my body begins to tremble.  This is bad.  Really fucking bad.

“What I was surprised to see when I clicked on your inbox, were half of the messages came from your little blonde haired friend, Emerson.  I told myself I was only going to read one.  Do you know what her message said, Tatum?”

I shake my head no, unable to speak as the magnitude of the conversation overwhelms me.

“It told me that she’s smarter than you.  Because she has the balls to question you.  That’s one fucking good friend you have there.  One who stands up to you and doesn’t blindly have your back all the time when you’re making stupid decisions.

“After I read the first one, which caught my attention when she asked if you’re really going to threaten Wyatt with a gun, I couldn’t stop myself from scrolling the thread and reading the rest.  And you want to know the truth?”

I give him a small nod, trying to swallow the thick lump in my throat.

“The messages terrified me.  For the rest of the day I kept picturing you going to meet some dirty thug in a dark alley to illegally buy a gun.”

“It wasn’t like that,” I whisper, finally finding my voice.

“Are you really that naïve?  It could have been a trap!  You could have been actually raped this time, or killed.  Christ!  What do you plan on doing now?  You gonna just walk up to his house and wave the gun around in an empty threat?”

“Don’t be a dick, that wasn’t my plan!”  My newfound anger at his insults propels the words from my mouth.

“Then what was, Tatum?  Tell me.” He takes a step closer.  Jacoby wraps his strong hands around my shoulders and shakes me.  Hard.  “What is your plan?”

“I don’t know!” I cry, so many emotions tumbling around in me like a vortex I can’t grasp just one.  “I just wanted to be protected in case he tries again.  I can’t rely on you for everything!”  We’re both yelling now, breathing hard, and staring each other down.

“Yes, you can!  I care about you, more than you know.  I wouldn’t be so upset if I didn’t care!”  I don’t think he realizes he’s shaking me.  His deep brown eyes search both of mine.

“Bullshit.  Nobody cares about me.  That’s why I have to take care of myself.  I can only rely on myself!”

 His voice takes on a low throaty sound I haven’t heard from him before, and he says, “When I finished reading those messages, I practically ran in here.  I was so angry that you’d hide this from me!  I was half planning to head you off and march you straight to Mr. Stephenson’s office.  Because. I. Care.” He punctuates each word with a shake of my shoulders.  I try to shrug him off, but he holds on tighter.

My stomach flops as his eyes bore into mine.

“And when I opened the door and saw Keith on you?  Touching you in a way nobody but me should ever touch you?  I was terrified it was happening again.”  His voice shakes.  “Damnit, Tatum, I fucking care,” he growls.

We’re at a stalemate.  As if time is standing still.  Eyes locked.  My hands clenched along the hem of my shirt.  His hands gripping the tops of my shoulders so hard I’ll probably bruise.  I don’t care.

All I can think about is the heat now radiating from his smoldering stare.  The awareness of his chest brushing mine with each deep breath he takes.  The way his tongue pokes out to swipe at his bright red lips.

I don’t know who moves first.

His mouth crashes into mine as I jump, his hands slide down around my ass to hoist me up.  My legs cinch around his waist, and he holds me firmly against his muscular frame.  One hand around my back, the other slides up to grasp the back of my head.  I gasp when his tongue prods the seam of my lips, and I open for him.  It dips into my mouth, hot and smooth, sliding and flicking against my own in a sensual dance.  Heat blossoms between my legs, and all thought of right or wrong disappears.  Because something that feels this good can’t possibly be wrong.

Passion and sexual tension engulf us like a tornado.  Even if we knew it was coming, we wouldn’t have had time to get out of the way.  Not that I would have wanted to.  What he’s doing to my mouth feels incredible.

Jacoby’s hand cups my ass, kneading and gripping as we pull moans and gasps from each other’s mouths.  I thread my fingers through his silky locks and tug his head downward.  He takes the not-so-subtle hint, breaking the seal of our lips to press kisses along my jaw and neck.

My head tips back as I moan, giving him access to the low V-neck of my shirt and the cleavage therein.  He nuzzles my chest, the slight scruff of his stubble scratching the sensitive skin in the most delicious way, sending a frisson cascading down my body.  I almost forget to breathe.  My eyes slam closed.  Oh, God.

  His tongue swipes against the tops of my breasts, and I pull myself tighter against him.  Why does he have to feel so good?  I want him to lay me down and have his way with me.  Fuck the consequences.  I open my eyes to scope out the area and spot the desks…

Shit, shit, shit!

“You have to stop,” I attempt weakly, hating that I need to end something that feels so good.  More than good.  Amazing.  I don’t want to stop.  He just groans at me while continuing to lick and torture my chest.  If he keeps that up, I won’t be able to stop.  My willpower is only so strong.

“Jacoby,” I whisper, “we’re still at school.”

The word ‘school’ breaks the spell.  He whips his head up so fast, he catches me in the chin, slamming my jaw shut, and I bite down on my tongue.  The coppery taste of blood collects on my taste buds.

“Ow, shit!” I cry out from the pain exploding in my mouth.

“Shit, I’m sorry.  Let me see.” He demands while sliding me down his body slowly, inch by sensual inch, until my feet touch the floor.  His firm arms stay wrapped tightly around my waist, and I’m reeling that he doesn’t release me.  What does this all mean?

I wave him off, wiping the blood from my mouth with my sleeve.

He cringes.

“It’s fine.”  Now that I’m back on solid ground, I feel slightly embarrassed.  I just made out with my teacher in his classroom.  Can you say slut?  But I can’t deny I loved it, and I’d do it again in an instant.  Unfortunately, my surroundings remind me that I have to come back to reality.

“I need to get to work.”

Jacoby tears his eyes away from me reluctantly to glance at the clock.  “Do you need me to drive you?”

When they return to my face, his eyes are bright, pleading, and I smile to myself.  It’s because of me.  I bite down on my lower lip to contain a shy smile, scraping my teeth along the surface.  Jacoby’s eyes darken as he zeroes in on my tender, swollen lips.  The look in his eyes is so damn hot, it has my blood simmering.

“I drove myself today.  Thanks, though.  I need to get going.”  Before I lose control and leap back into his strong arms, I gather up my belongings, which are still sitting on my desk.  I really, really don’t want to leave.  I have a feeling Jacoby doesn’t either.

“Tatum?” He calls, and I look up from where I’m packing my bag.

“Yeah?”

“This conversation isn’t over.  I want to see you after work.  Come by my place tonight.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?  Late night conversations between us tend to leave nothing but destruction in their wake.”

His lips tilt up in a half smile, as if he’s remembering some happy memory.  I hope it’s of me.  Jacoby lifts his hand, swiping a rogue hair off my face before cradling my cheek.  The tenderness in his touch seeps into my skin, settling deep in my bones.  My skin ripples with a shockwave of goose bumps.

“My brave, crazy, ridiculous girl,” he says affectionately.  “I need to see you again tonight.”

That’s more than enough convincing for me.  I sort of need to see him too.

“Sure.  I’ll call you when I’m done.”  Turning my head, I press my lips against his palm before I reluctantly pull away.  My cheek feels bereft from the loss of heat.

I don’t know what this means for us.  I’m sure it’ll be the center stage topic tonight.  All I know is having a taste of Jacoby has awakened a pool of need inside of me that I didn’t know existed, or thought I could live without.  But as my body still shivers inside from the loss of contact, I know I was terribly wrong.  I have a newfound thirst that is begging to be quenched.

Because the entire night at work, I couldn’t shake the thought of his hands on my body, his lips on my lips, his eyes staring into mine.  Like a slide show on repeat, I replayed the moments: the fight, the passion, the flood of desire, over and over and over.  I watched, as if experiencing an out of body moment, as passion exploded from my every pore when I leapt into his arms.  As I tried to soak in all that is Jacoby.

The palpable heat from the moment consumed me, wrapping around my heart, and even hours later I can still feel it throbbing along with every life-giving thump.

This is bad.  So, so bad.

The line between hate and love is so damn thin that without even realizing it, without a conscious effort, I flitted from one side to the next.  I danced that silken thread too carelessly and my feet left the zone of safety and traveled into the unknown.

Danger.

Whereas, I thought I hated him, the passion inside me grew into an intense level until it had no choice but to release itself before I imploded.  But that release wasn’t out of anger.  All that came out was the love I’ve fought for years to keep restrained.

I don’t hate Jacoby—not even close.  I don’t think I ever did.  But instead of the cliché static electricity, mind blowing, pulsing attraction I always thought I’d feel, my attraction to him was so thick, so suffocating that I mistook it and used it to fuel an imaginary annoyance.  A fictional hatred I concocted to fulfill the notion that I am unlovable.  I didn’t want to get hurt, so I tried to hurt him first.  I only hope he can forgive me.

Now, my body shudders as I wait for Jacoby to open the door, the September night holding an uncharacteristic deathly chill.  When I hear his feet shuffle from the other side, my heart gives an involuntary leap into my throat.  He opens the door, and his bright smiling eyes catch me off guard, sticking the words I was about to say behind my lodged heart.  Those soft pink lips of his quirk up on one side, and I have to swallow several times before I can speak.

“Hey,” is all I can seem to muster, anxiousness and embarrassment stealing my ability to think.

He chuckles a soft, sexy cadence, opening the door wider to let me in.  “Hey, come on in.  It’s freezing,” he responds.

As I cross the threshold, this feels different from the other times I’ve been here.  The lines are both more relaxed and more restrained.  We’ve crossed one boundary but how far are we going to take it?  Was it enough to just acknowledge the attraction we have for one another?  Is there even a chance for a relationship beyond that of teacher/student?  The map of my moral structure has been so far skewed, I’m not sure I’m capable of making such a decision.  Where is the line between right and wrong, and have we crossed the point of no return?

“Where’d you go, Tatum?”  Jacoby’s soft voice releases me from the questions bouncing around my head.  How long have I been standing in his entry way while my mind’s been off in La La land?

“Sorry, did you say something?”

Jacoby brings his warm palm to my cheek, his thumb caressing the sensitive skin of my temple.  A contented sigh bubbles within my throat.  When he doesn’t speak, I raise my eyes to meet his, and the concern and warmth I see there is overwhelming.

“You seem distracted.  Are you alright?”

I swallow against the emotion blocking my airway.  This feels so, so…like something I don’t deserve.

My chest constricts painfully, and I feel as though I’m not getting enough air.  I nod my head to his question, desperate to keep the direction of my thoughts a secret.  Jacoby doesn’t look convinced, but he smiles and nods his head anyway.

“Come on, then.  Come sit down with me.”  He leans forward, kissing my forehead, before holding his hand out for mine.  Tingles erupt from the contact of his lips, bathing my body in that electrical current I thought was broken.