Pieces of Perfect (8 page)

Fourteen

My decision had fluctuated all morning. To go or not to go, that was the question. And as I pulled on my coat and locked my apartment door behind me, I still wasn’t sure of my answer. I had been up since five, unable to force myself to pretend to sleep any longer. And since I couldn’t stand staring at the walls in my apartment for another second, I decided to leave around 7:15 and walk the three blocks to the coffeehouse.
 

But the three blocks did nothing to firm my resolve. As I approached the shop, I still wasn’t sure I wanted to be there. Well, that’s not true. I definitely wanted to be there, but should I have been there? I passed the giant window at the front of the store and my eyes immediately homed in on him. I looked at my watch. It was only 7:35. I stood there, locked in place as I gave serious thought to dropping to the ground and crawling out of eyesight before he saw me. But, as usual, I was too late.
 

His radiant green eyes glanced up, recognized me, and instantly warmed. Adam waved to me and I smiled in return, resuming my pace to the door. As I stepped inside, I was met with the heavenly smell of coffee beans and the intense warmth of the blazing drinks. I walked over to where Adam sat, at a high table in the middle of the seating area. He watched my entire approach, his eyes glued to me. When I reached him, I wasn’t quite sure what to do next. Thankfully, he rescued me from my indecisiveness.
 

“Miss Hamilton, I’m glad you made it. Please,” he said as he motioned to the vacant chair across from him. I shrugged off my coat, revealing the pink Under Armor sweatshirt beneath. I hadn’t wanted to overdress, nor look like a hobo. The sweatshirt was casual, but pink always added a hint of femininity to any ensemble
—or so I hoped. But, I didn’t sit.
 

“I’m going to get myself
. . .” I started.

“Oh, I hope you don’t mind. I already ordered for you.” He turned and pointed to a young barista behind the counter, who nodded and began preparing a drink. “Caramel macchiato, right?”
 

Just then, the barista brought over my drink and a blueberry muffin and placed them in front of me.

“Thank you, Rachel,” he smiled kindly at her. He then turned his attention back to me. “I didn’t want to order it before you got here.
 I thought it would get cold. I
come here pretty frequently, so when I was in line obsessing over the decision of whether to order it now or wait and see if you came, Rachel offered to bring it over when you arrived.”
 

His action was so incredibly thoughtful, but my brain had such inexperience with “thoughtful” as of late, that the only thing he said that really struck me was the “see if you came” part.
Jesus Christ. I was becoming a real horn toad.
 

“Thank you so much,” I finally spilled out as I took the empty seat. I glanced down at the table and then eyed him incredulously.
 

“You’re really reading that?” I asked with a smirk.

“Of course. I said I was starting a book club,” he replied with feigned seriousness as he touched the cover of the book he brought.
Fucking
Water for Elephants.

I shook my head, “So who’s in this book club?”

“As of now, just me.”
 

“It can’t be a club if you’re the only member,” I pointed out, picking at my muffin.
 

“I’m very particular about who I include in my clubs.”

“You have more than one club?”

“Well, no, but since this is my first, I plan to be selective."

“Always good to have a plan.” I could barely hold back my smile. This banter came so easily with him, like we had known each other for years.

“Would you like to join my book club?” he offered.

“Nah, reading sucks.” He nearly spit out his coffee at this comment and I sat back, pleased with myself.
 

“Aren’t you the one teaching my little giraffe the finer points of
The Outsiders?”
 

I laughed at his words.
 But for some reason, it struck me that he knew about the book we were reading. I felt that most parents really had no clue what their child was learning in school, and I found this to be a great tragedy in the parent-child relationship. I was impressed that he knew, appreciated him for it.

“Yeah, but I haven’t actually read it. That’s what SparkNotes is for.”

“Valid point, Miss Hamilton, valid point.”

I almost told him to call me Lily, but I didn’t. I liked hearing his deep, raspy voice call me Miss Hamilton. I also liked that he didn’t assume he could call me by my first name, like some other arrogant man, who shall remain nameless, had. Maybe I felt a little power in it, with my calling him Adam, but his referring to me more formally.

“So, you come here often, huh?”
Very original, Lily.
 

“
Pretty frequently, actually. It’s on my way to work,” he said as he sipped his coffee.

“Me, too. Though, I don’t normally come here on weekends,” I admitted.
 

“I don’t usually either, but I made an exception today.”
 

“Why? What’s special about today?” I questioned.
 

“That you might be here,” he replied casually. I was dumbfounded by how calmly he had revealed this. He was clearly extremely confident in his own skin, which sharply contrasted with how awkward I usually felt in mine. It was such a fucking turn on, I wanted to flip the table over and jump on his lap.
 

“That may be the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me,” I shyly declared.
 

“Well, now, that’s a real shame, because I can think of many nice things I could say to you.”
 

We sat there silent for a long moment, allowing the electricity between us to build until I was sure I could hear a distinct hum. His eyes stared into mine in a totally different way than any other man’s ever had. His pull was so strong and necessary, that I felt myself inching my chair further under the table, trying to close any excess distance between us. It was then that the craziest, truest thought popped into my head.

I could love this man someday.

“So,” he said, breaking our trance, “do you like Italian?”
 

Did I ever.

Fifteen

Monday had begun like any other and I found myself settling back into my normal routine.
 Fifth period arrived before I knew it, and I headed to the faculty lounge for lunch.
 

I took my seat at the middle of the table near Tina and a few of the other teachers.
 I had ordered the only thing that looked somewhat edible: tuna on a whole wheat roll, courtesy of Mrs. Obama’s new healthy lunch initiative. It was between that and a taco salad made with ground chicken instead of beef and infused with some kind of a neon sauce that was meant to make it look more authentic. It instead ended up giving it a radioactive quality that I couldn’t ignore.
 

With everything that had been going on lately, I looked forward to shooting the shit with the other teachers. We usually enjoyed our own version of the game Jeopardy, in which we broke into teams and bet quarters while someone read trivia questions.
 And I was thankful for it. As a new teacher five years ago, I was advised by a veteran teacher never to miss lunch. And he was right. It was a chance to escape the daily grind of my classroom (although lately that daily grind had involved Max).
 

“You’re not really gonna put that in your mouth, are you?” Immediately, I knew who had said it. I would recognize that deep, sultry voice anywhere.
 “You wanna get something real to eat?  Something not manufactured in a lab, perhaps?”

I knew he was referring to my substandard choice in cuisine, but as I turned around to look at Max, with his dick at my eye level, I couldn’t help but picture something else in my mouth.

“Um, maybe I
am
in the mood for something else,” I said, standing up to toss my sandwich in the trash. “What’d you have in mind?” I noticed Tina’s eyebrows rise slightly, and she gave a subtle nod of approval as Max and I exited the lunch room.

We slipped out the back doors and cut across the field on the side of the building, heading to the parking lot. I felt like I was back in high school again, skipping class and hoping no one saw us get into his car and begin to think that our relationship was not purely platonic. As we got to the parking lot, I realized I had no idea what Max even drove.  But as I walked among the rows of Camerys, Odysseys, and Priuses, I spotted Max’s car almost immediately.
The lights on the new black Range Rover blinked as he unlocked the door and held it open for me to get in. It was luxurious in a rugged sort of way. This thing had Max written all over it.  

He climbed into the tan leather seat beside me, and revved the engine before quickly pulling out of the parking lot. “So what are you in the mood for?” He looked over, eyeing me curiously with a seductive smirk.

Oh, I don’t know. A slice of pepperoni and an orgasm,
I thought
.
I reached over to his lap, cupping him.
Might as well get to the point
, I thought.
 
He was already semi-erect and grew even harder at my touch.
 

His only response was a groan as he leaned his head back against his seat and ran a hand through his hair, which always looked as if he had just woken up but had fixed it just enough to make himself look incredibly sexy. He wore khaki cargo pants, a dark gray t-shirt, and a black leather bomber jacket. The look suited him well.
 

I was overwhelmed by my need to touch him.
 To put my mouth on him and feel him grow even larger as I swept my tongue across his tip. He placed his hand over mine and began to move me faster, more vigorously against his shaft.

“Just drive,” I instructed quietly as I reached over with my other hand to unzip his pants. Pulling his thick cock out with one hand, I took a moment to close my eyes and imagine how it felt inside me. I grew wetter at the thought of straddling him while he accelerated faster down the road. It crossed my mind that I might need this image for later, but right now I wanted it to be about him, just as he had made it about me last time. I wanted to return the favor.

I wasted no time leaning over to envelope him in my moist mouth. He moaned deeply as I swirled my tongue around him greedily, taking all of him at once. The muscles of his ass and thighs tightening with every subtle and insistent thrust into my mouth.  With more pressure, I tugged his length with my hand and sucked urgently. I could sense him fill, feel how close he was to climaxing.

“Fuck, this feels good. I’m gonna come,” he warned, pushing gently on the back of my head while he flexed his hips toward me.

I was glad. I wanted this to be quick. I wanted him to lose control so I could know for sure that I had the same effect on him that he had on me. With his warning, I was more impatient than ever. I flicked my tongue across his head and pulled powerfully with my clenched hand.
 

In a rush, he let go, pulsing in rapid spurts into the back of my throat. I slowed my pace, becoming increasingly gentle as his orgasm tapered off. I didn’t pull away until I knew he had finished completely, licking every drop off of him and swallowing hard.
 

             
“So do you like hamburgers?” he asked casually.
 

             
I just shook my head and laughed at his comment.  “Sure.”

Sixteen

For some reason I couldn’t really explain, I had been nervous since Saturday. It took three days for it to sink in that I was going on a date, a real date, with Adam, and I’d begun to obsess over every minute detail.
 What would I order to drink? Would he think I was no fun if I just got water? Maybe he’d think I should be a member of AA if I ordered some kind of martini. What would we talk about? Him? Me? Eva? Our jobs? Hobbies? It had been so long since I’d been on a
real
date with someone I didn’t already know. I couldn’t be certain, but I was pretty sure giving road head during my lunch break didn’t exactly qualify as a date.

And what would I wear? I didn’t want something too revealing, but I wanted him to look at me, to really notice me and find me attractive. Should I wear something bright? I wanted to appear cheery, but it
was
the middle of winter. Pastels were definitely out. Black was too dark. And what about my heels?  Though he wasn’t quite as tall as Max, maybe 5’11”, I could still get away with a pretty high heel. But how high? I didn’t want him to think I looked like a streetwalker. After all, I was his daughter’s teacher. “Christ, his daughter’s teacher,” I said aloud to no one as I dressed for our date, finally deciding on a navy blue wrap dress and two inch heels that I hoped screamed sexy but sophisticated.

What am I doing?
  Was it even ethical for me to be dating a student’s dad? After a few minutes of silent rationalization, I decided that it had to be okay. I mean, it was too late to cancel the date anyway. He would be here any minute, and that would just be plain rude. I wasn’t rude, was I?  And if I were being completely honest with myself, I did not want to cancel it. Plus, it’s not like I was going to sleep with him. At least not tonight. But since I clearly had become sex obsessed as of late, I couldn’t rule it out forever.

And that thought had been
confirmed when I’d opened the door to greet him. He was more beautiful than I’d remembered. And if one of us was pulling off sexy-sophisticated, it was definitely him. He wore crisp black slacks that fit snuggly in all the right places, a dark gray button-up shirt, and a vest. His hair was freshly cut, trimmed neatly on the sides and short but slightly messy on top.

He flashed a confident smile and handed me a single pink rose. “You look absolutely beautiful.”

My first reaction was to say
You too
, but I decided on a more humble and less aggressive “Thank you” instead.

I followed Adam down the stone path, careful not to trip in my heels. He opened the door to his red GMC Yukon and helped me in. “So where are we headed?”
 I asked as we pulled away.

“A new place in the city. Everything’s supposed to be great there. A friend of mine and his wife went a few weeks ago, and they loved it. I figured we’d try it out.”
 

*
              *              *

The restaurant was two stories, with a bar on the main level and dinner seating on the lower level. Dimly lit with small cozy tables sprinkled throughout, it had a kind of comfortably intimate quality to it.

Adam checked in with the hostess, a girl who look
ed to be in her early twenties and was dressed in a black skirt and black top. She was pretty, and I suddenly felt self-conscious of the way I looked next to her. She led us downstairs, seated us at a small table against a brick wall, and handed us our menus. “Your server will be right with you,” she said.

Our waitress arrived shortly after, and as I studied my menu, Adam ordered a hot seafood antipasto as an appetizer and a bottle of something I couldn't pronounce. He looked up from the wine list and over to me. “Did
you
want something to drink?”

Was he serious? Did he plan to drink the entire bottle of wine himself? I thought it had been for the two of us. “Uh
. . .” I just stared at him.

Thankfully he interrupted my puzzlement. “Just kidding,” he said with a boyish grin. “I figured you’d know I was joking. Do I strike you as a raging alcoholic or something?” He chuckled as he turned toward the waitress. “I think that’ll be all for now.
 Thank you.”

We sat in silence for a few moments before he finally broke it. “So what are you in the mood for?”

My mind flashed back to yesterday afternoon. It was the same question Max had asked me in his Range Rover before our little tryst, but said in such a different way. More innocent, more genuine. But in my mind, no less seductive.

I busied myself reading over the menu, still slightly embarrassed that I actually thought he was only ordering the wine for himself. “Everything looks great here. I have no idea what to get.”

“I guess that explains the name.”

I looked up at him, confused.

“La Scelta,” he said. “It means ‘The Choice.’”

*               *              *

“So you obviously know more about me than I do about you,” I prompted. “Tell me a little about yourself.”

“Well, you know more about me than you think. You know I have a 12 year old daughter, I enjoy coffee, and I like to start clubs. What more is there?” he said with a little laugh.

I loved the way I felt when he smiled.  Like he righted the world with it.  It was the kind of smile that begged to be returned.  So I did.

He continued.
 “I’m really an open book. But I guess I’ll start with the small stuff. I grew up in Montgomery County and went to Drexel for architecture. I’ve worked for a local firm now for about eight years.”

“What do you design?” I was genuinely interested.

“I’ve designed commercial buildings in the past, but now I work mostly on custom homes. People pay us to design the house of their dreams, basically. It’s fun. I design the blueprints and then oversee the construction here and there as well.  It gets me out of the office. I like to get my hands dirty every now and then.”

The thought of this man, who was so well-dressed, so put together, getting dirty was such a turn on.

“Drexel is actually where I met Eva’s mother. Not first date material, I know, but you heard me mention her at the conference, so I figure I’ll just tell you sooner rather than later. Eva was born when I was 20 and we were sophomores in college. Jessica and I . . . we just weren’t good together. We tried to make it work for Eva’s sake for a few months after she was born, but things ultimately started to fall apart. Jessica couldn’t take it. The stress, I guess. She left.” He was struggling to maintain eye contact throughout his explanation, as this was clearly something he seldom discussed.  “The rest is history, really. I started working full-time, and was able to finish school and still raise Eva with the help of my parents.”

The thought of him with a tool belt had nothing on what he just shared
,
and it turned me on thoroughly.  My body and soul felt for him, were attracted to him. This man was a single father and had finished school to make certain that his daughter could get everything she deserved.

“How about you?” he asked, casually. “What’s
your
story?”

“Not as impressive as that, I’m afraid.” I was still blown away. I described my upbringing and my history with my parents, how I’d gone to Penn to become a lawyer, but just couldn’t go through with it.

“Well, I’m glad you decided to become a teacher. Eva really likes you.” He reached across the table and took my hand, stroking the top gently with his thumb. “And I think I’m beginning to see why.”

*              *               *

As Adam walked me to my door, I realized my fears about what we’d talk about had disappeared as quickly as they’d arrived. Conversation with Adam was easy. He'd told me he had a chocolate lab growing up, was a fan of The Killers, Zac Brown Band, and Pearl Jam, and loved to cook even though he wasn’t great at it. I had divulged my secret obsession with
The Real Housewives
and MTV’s
Teen Mom
and told him that the only sport I’d ever really loved was track and field. I had run throughout high school and was training for the next Broad Street Run.

“I hope I can call you sometime,” he said, his green eyes staring right at me.

“I hope so too.” I smiled sweetly at him. I wanted to grab him. Pull him close to me and feel his perfect lips pressed up against mine. Taste his tongue as he moaned inside my mouth. But my attraction to him was deeper than the sexual one I had become so comfortable with as of late.

“Would it be weird for me to kiss you right now, Miss Hamilton?” The way he said it was seductive, cautious, kind.

I laughed softly. So low, I couldn't be sure he had even heard it. “Under one condition,” I urged.

He squinted his eyes slightly, curious. “What’s that?”

“Call me Lily.”

The corners of his mouth lifted slowly as he leaned into me. His lips found mine, and he parted them slowly with his tongue, exploring me. His hands held me tightly to him before he pulled away and kissed me on the forehead. “Good night, Lily.”

I watched him stroll to his car. Partly because I couldn’t believe I was letting him go without inviting him inside for a drink, and partly because I just wanted to get a good view of his ass one last time.

As I entered my room, I leaned against the door for a moment. I felt invigorated. I felt like I might actually be able to commit to a real adult relationship with someone.  I felt . . . aroused. By the kiss? Certainly. By his confident, self-assured attitude?  Absolutely.  I changed out of my dress and got into bed, willing myself to remember his voice, his strong features, and the smell of his aftershave on his smooth skin when he kissed me. I ran my hand down my stomach to the throbbing between my legs. But for some reason I couldn’t explain, I reached over to my phone, logged into my email, and opened the picture of Max.