Pieces of Perfect (5 page)

He gave a single nod of his head and followed me out.
God, why did he have to keep walking so close to me?
I felt like he was nearly on top of me, invading my personal space. But he hadn’t touched me. Not once the entire tour. My skin prickled with anticipation at the thought that he might graze against me at some point. Damn skin. Who needed it?
 

Directly behind the pool doors were the boys’ locker room doors. I pointed them out to him and kept moving. But he didn't follow this time. He swung the doors open and went inside, returning about a minute later.

“Just wanted to take a look. The lockers are small. It must be a tight fit, trying to get all of your equipment in there.”
 

I couldn’t be sure if he had actually just winked or if I had imagined it, but his eyes definitely twinkled at the ingenuity of his comment. I was a jumble of contrasts. I kept telling myself that his comments were inappropriate, that I should be angry. But I didn’t feel angry and it was becoming increasingly difficult to feign emotions that were not there. Almost as hard as it was becoming to repress emotions that
were
there. Part of me, a big part, was flattered by the
attention he gave, turned on by the eroticism that laced every word he spoke, and longed for the touch that he was clearly withholding intentionally.

But, I wasn’t a person of contrasts. I couldn’t survive in this paradox. I would suffocate here. So, I had to choose, and I chose the easier, less messy route: loathing.

I ignored his last remark, pretended that I hadn’t recognized it for what it was:
a proposition.
 

“We have to speed this up. I have a third period class.” I strode briskly away from the locker room, back up the stairs, and out of the gym. He again mirrored my movements, seeming to be magnetically pulled to me.
 

I showed him the auditorium and got some comment about “putting on a show” and our media room, which got me a mention of how he “would love to do something worth recording.” I also showed him the library, nurse’s office, guidance office, and assorted other offices he may have to locate throughout the rest of the school year. He must not have been witty enough to come up with any innuendos for these places. Or maybe he had finally given up.
 

Our last stop was the cafeteria. It wasn’t a lunch period, but kids still occupied the table
s. The heat had broken in one part of the building, displacing some of the teachers, so some were assigned to bring their classes here. I could feel eyes on us as we moved through—and not just students’ eyes. Teachers, cafeteria workers.  Everyone stopped to drink up the sight of Max.

“This is it, the last stop on the tour.”
 

Max walked over to a table filled with Mr. Garretty’s biology class. He gripped the edge of the table with his hand and gave it a firm push toward the ground.

“Tables seem mighty sturdy. They can probably take a real pounding.”
 

Nope, he hadn’t given up.

I groaned irritatedly and stormed out of the cafeteria. Halfway back to my classroom, I realized that he was still
behind me. Instead of continuing to my room, I led him around to a back stairwell that wasn’t used often, so that I could effectively give him the piece of my mind that he deserved. I was so overcome with fury, frustration, and annoyance that I flew around and directed my hard glare at him as soon as we arrived.
 

“Listen, asshole, I have to work here.
 And I can’t do that if you’re going to be making these ridiculous fucking sexual comments to me all of the time. It has to stop!”

Max looked at me intently, seeming to ponder his reply. Then, he smiled, drew a hand to his chest, and said, “Have I been making sexual comments?”

What. A. Dick.
 

I couldn’t respond. There was no point. He wouldn’t truly hear me anyway.
 

So I shook my head, and left him standing there in the stairwell. This time he didn’t follow me.
And I was almost grateful for it. Almost. I wasn't capable of any positive feelings toward him or anyone else at that moment. I just wanted to get through the rest of my day and get the hell out of this place.

When I returned to my room, I found Tina sitting in my chair, one elbow was resting on the arm as she used her hand to support her chin. She just stared at me for a moment and I knew from her expression that she had observed me and Max at some point on our route.

“You need a drink. Meet me out front at 3:15,” was all she said. I nodded my head.  Then, she rose and walked out without saying another word.
 

Finally alone, I threw myself into my chair and buried my face in my hands. I only had three minutes before the third period bell, so I needed to pull it together. I dropped one of my hands to my mouse and gave it a slight jiggle to wake up my monitor. When the screen remained black, I realized that my monitor had been turned off. Dread moved through me as it dawned on me that Max had been sitting here only 40 minutes prior. As I hit the button, I inhaled deeply.

There on my screen was a picture of Max, dressed in a hockey uniform from the waist down, shirtless from the waist up. His hair hung in his strikingly blue eyes, his muscled torso sweaty and delectable. I’ve never wanted to fuck a picture so badly in my life.
 When I clicked out of the Internet, I realized just how sadistic he was. It wasn’t an image up on just Google. The fucker had made this my wallpaper.  
 

*
              *              *
 

The rest of the day passed and my agitation waned as my students reminded me of what my true focus was supposed to be. The truth was, that despite the fact that I jokingly called the kids animals and nerds and complained about my job, I loved being a teacher. And I was damn good at it. I certainly wasn't going to let one man ruin all of that for me.

I decided to check my email one last time before heading out to meet Tina. As I clicked Outlook open, my eyes fell to one email in particular. I eyed the sender’s name curiously:
Carter, Adam.
The subject line was blank, so I was forced to click on it to see what it was about.
 

Dear Miss Hamilton,
 

I just wanted to follow up on our meeting yesterday and make
sure that you had my email address so that you could readily contact me about Eva’s progress in English.  Also, I was thinking about starting up a book club and wanted to run my first book selection by you.  Have you ever read
Water for Elephants
? ;) Though, I think it’s about a circus, so maybe that doesn’t quite pique your interest.

Hope to hear from you soon,

Adam

P.S. Am I too old for the winky face above? I put one in a text to Eva and she told me I
was too old for emoticons. The nerve!
 

Once I finished reading Adam’s email, I found myself grinning like the Cheshire Cat. So, maybe there were men left in the world who could hold appropriate conversations with women. It was refreshing. I quickly tried to think of a witty reply.

Dear Adam,
 

Thank you for your email, and I will be sure to keep you u
pdated about Eva. In regards to the book club, I didn’t know parents of giraffes were all that into reading.  Learn something new every day.

Sincerely,

Lily Hamilton
 

P.S. I thought old men were the only ones who still winked anyway. Therefore, I think
you’re safe.
 

I hit send, hoping he would find my email humorous. I mean, granted I basically called him old, but he’d see the humor, right? I was obviously being sarcastic; he couldn’t have been more than 35.
Now that I was thinking about it, maybe he wouldn’t see the humor because it wasn’t funny. And what if he didn’t remember that Miss Mason had called Eva a giraffe? Was that the sort of thing someone would forget? I was pretty damn sure I’d never forget it and it hadn’t even been said about my kid. Questions plagued my mind as I contemplated all the ways he could react to what I had written.
 

My cell phone buzzed. I glanced down to see a text from Tina.
 

I’m waiting!!!!
was all it said. I looked at the time. 3:17.
Christ, impatient much?

I shutdown my computer, grabbed my stuff, and walked toward the door. I suddenly thought that I should email Adam again and thank him. For the first time all day, I wasn’t obsessing over Max.

Nine

Tina gazed at me hard. “Okay, spill it! You’ve been a complete wreck since Mr. Sweet Ass Samson got here yesterday. How do you know him?”

“I don’t,” I snapped back quickly. The truth was I
didn’t
know him. I hadn’t wanted to know his name, and he didn’t even know mine until yesterday. Now he was going to be in my life for the next few months, whether I liked it or not.

“Bull
shit
you don’t know him! I saw you showing him around the school earlier today, and you looked pale as a ghost when he was trying to talk to you. Something’s up.”
 

“I need a drink," I replied, resting my elbows on the table and collapsing my head into my hands so my palms could rub my eyes. “Or two or three.”

“I’ll get you as many drinks as it’ll take for you to let me in on all the juicy details.” She looked at me expectantly. “You know him. And when I get back, I wanna know how.”

Tina headed toward the bar, giving me a brief respite. I breathed in deeply, taking in my surroundings. The bar was more crowded than I expected for a Wednesday afternoon. It was a casual place, a local haunt that teachers often frequented because of its close proximity to the school. It had a certain
Cheers
quality to it, which made it all the more appealing. She returned a few minutes later with two shots of tequila and two beers. I drank both shots immediately—before realizing that one of them had probably been for her—and then chased them with a lemon wedge and a few gulps of my Miller Lite. “Thanks.” I glanced up, massaging my temples and contemplating what to say next.
Okay, here it goes
. “I met him in the Aspen airport when I was heading home from my parents' over break.”

She raised her right eyebrow to let me know that she damn well knew there was more to it than that. “And?”
 

I briefly gave her the gist of what had transpired: my embarrassment at check-in, running into him at security, his sexual innuendos and forward advances at the bar.

“Aaaand?”

I breathed in deeply and kept my eyes down, preparing myself mentally for what I was about to say. “And
. . . I may have let him finger me during the flight,” I said, before raising my eyes slightly to gauge her reaction.
 

“Oh my God, Lily! You go, girl! I didn’t know you had it in you.” She wore a smile that I couldn’t have blowtorched off her face.

I sped up my words, hoping that somehow the last part of what I
had said might get lost in the air on its way to her ears. “And I may have begged him to make me come while he fucked me up against a wall in the Philadelphia airport.” I shut my eyes tightly for several seconds and then finally opened one when she hadn’t responded.
 

For the first time in my life, I saw Tina Nielson speechless.
This can’t be good.
 

“He wants you again, doesn’t he?” She answered her own question, so caught up in the excitement. “That’s why you seemed weird on the tour today! He was hitting on you, and you didn’t know how to react.” She paused only to catch her breath. “Lily, you
have
to fuck him again. You can’t just let that fine piece of ass walk around the building for the next five months without banging the shit out of him on your desk or something.” Clearly, this dilemma was not as difficult for her as it was for me.

I let out a sigh and allowed myself to sit back, becoming slightly more relaxed in the vinyl booth. “It’s not that easy. He’s bad news.”

“What do you mean ‘bad news’?”
 

“You know he was a professional hockey player, right?” I looked at Tina and she seemed to be listening closely. “Well, he was pretty good. Really good actually. He was drafted into the minors out of high school and made it to the pros within two years. He played for the Avalanche for five years until his contract expired and
. . .”

“Yeah, he’s a hockey player who looks like a fucking God. So what? Get to the point,” she interrupted eagerly.
 

“He couldn’t get picked up by another team. He’s had a couple short stints, but nothing lasting for the past three years. He was too much of a
. . .” I struggled to find the right word. “. . . a liability, I guess. He wasn’t showing up to practices. He stayed out late partying, going to strip clubs, gambling. No team wanted him. And for good reason. He clearly has issues controlling his behavior.”
 

Tina stared at me, taking it all in. “I thought you said you didn’t really know him. He told you all this?”
 

Shit
.
Busted
. Out of all of the embarrassing things I had experienced in the past few weeks, somehow this was the only thing that made me feel a hint of shame. “I Googled him.” It felt worse to admit it than it had felt when I was actually doing it.
Great. Not only was I becoming sexually reckless, but now I was a stalker too.

“So what? So he’s a playboy who likes to have a good time? You’re not marrying him. You’re just screwing him.” She paused to examine my response. “Please tell me you
are
still planning to screw him."

I said nothing.

“Look, you haven’t really been in a serious relationship since you broke up with Chris. I know it was hard for you, but that was like five years ago. I mean, Christ, that’s what your twenties are for: fucking hot guys with no strings attached. Have a good time. Enjoy yourself.” She raised her voice a bit, clearly enthusiastic about the subject. “For God’s sake, if you don’t do this for
you
, at least do it for
me
. Now that I’m married, I need some excitement in my life. I need to hear some good stories. It’s not every day you get to hear how your friend got finger banged at 30,000 feet. And that’s the kind of thing I’d like to hear about. Every day!”
 

“Jesus, keep your voice down.”
 

She stopped to take a few sips of her beer before continuing. “All I’m saying is that you need to get back on that horse
. . . or, I guess in your case, that big dick. Because if you don’t, you better stop at the drugstore on your way home and pick up some more batteries for your vibrator. Come to think of it, you better get that sucker a charger because it’s going to get a lot of use for the rest of the school year with all of the sexual frustration you’re going to be experiencing.”
 

All I could manage was, “I don’t own a vibrator.”
 

“Well,” she said, as she rose to get us more drinks, “you either take my advice, or you better fucking invest in one.”