Getting Played (Getting Some, #2)(57)

“I’m sorry, Kelly.”

And I am.

On the outside, Kelly may not seem like the best person, but when you’ve known someone as long as I’ve known her, you see what’s underneath and deep down. You feel it, not always in what they say or do, but in who they are. Anyone who spends five minutes in Kelly’s class—watches her with her students—will have no doubt that she’s a good person. Certainly good enough to not deserve getting fucked around on.

“I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t want your sorry, Dean . . . I want your dick. In the good old days, it always made me feel better.”

“Kelly—”

But she’s already on the move—springing forward, faster than Lucifer ever moved—wrapping her arms around my neck, cementing her body to mine, kissing my jaw frantically, heading straight for my lips.

I grip her arms, peeling her back gently.

“Kel, Kelly—stop.”

She rolls her eyes, like she thinks I’m playing—teasing her.

“Come on, Dean. This room used to be Miss Everstein’s English class—you always said you used to daydream about banging me on her desk. Now’s your chance to make that dream come true.” She lifts up on her toes, going for my lips again. “No one has to know—it’s just us.”

I jerk my head to the side, out of range.

“I’ll know. And I can’t. It’s different now. I’m different—everything’s different.”

There was a time I thought Kelly Simmons was the perfect girl—and she’s beautiful don’t get me wrong. But there’s only one woman who’s perfect to me now.

She happens to have a stomach the size of a basketball at the moment, and that’s perfect too. She’s got a smile that owns me and a laugh that takes my breath away and everything about her makes me happy and horny and so fucking content.

Lainey’s the only girl I want to screw on Miss Everstein’s desk. The only woman I want, period.

I straighten my arms and step back out of Kelly’s reach. Her eyes dim with confusion and her mouth puffs into a pouty bow. This is the first time I’ve turned her down . . . and it’s not even hard.

“It’s because of that girl you’re with?”

“Lainey. Yeah.”

Kelly wraps her arms across her bare stomach.

“You’re really into her, huh?”

I tell her the truth—and that’s easy too.

“I really am. I won’t screw it up, not for anything.”

She nods, jerkily, looking toward the windows and tucking her hair behind her ear. “I’m happy for you, Dean. It’s like the end of an era, but I’m happy for you. She’s a lucky girl.”

She covers her face with her hand, sobbing into it. “I thought Richard was into me like that.”

I open my arms. “Fuck, c’mere.”

Kelly steps into my arms, wailing, “I have to start all over again . . . and I’m so old now!”

She soaks my shirt with tears and snot, but it’s okay—that’s what friends are for.

“You’re not old now.” I pat her back. “You’re gorgeous and smart and in no time at all, you’re going to have some Chris Evans lookalike kissing your ass—literally. And Richard’s gonna be punching himself in the nuts for letting you go.”

She sniffles, looking up at me. “You really think so?”

“I know so.”

Her breath shudders. “The thought of Richard punching himself in the nuts does make me feel a little better.”

I wipe a tear from her cheek with my thumb. Then I scoop her dress up from the floor. “Let’s get you dressed. And we’ll go find Merkle and Jerry, and Alison, and Garrett and Callie, and we’ll make plans for Chubby’s tonight. We’ll get you trashed and talk about what a douchebag Richard is—that’ll make you feel even better.”

She takes the dress from my hands.

“Okay.”

It turns out, I’m a baller when it comes to being in a relationship. I can’t remember why I ever thought this shit would be hard. I keep my dick in my pants, except with Lainey, I hang out with her, make sure her and Jay are happy. And it’s all awesome. Piece of cake.

When you’re ready, and when it’s right—relationships are the easiest thing in the world.



~



After the Kelly incident, the morning moves fast and before I know it the first period bell is ringing. The kids work at their desk for a few minutes, on the problems I’ve written on the board.

Then I clap my hands. “Okay, pencils down—let’s see how you brainiacs did. Jason, how about you tackle the first problem?”

First red flag: Jason doesn’t lift his head, doesn’t look at me, but stares hard at his desk.

Second red flag: “How about you go fuck yourself?”

The air goes thick, like the molecules have frozen in place and a sudden, shocked silence cloaks the room. Every wide eye in the class is on Jason, because these kids—my kids—they don’t talk to teachers like that.

“What?”

He lifts his head and meets my eyes, and he doesn’t even look like himself. His face is tight and his mouth is twisted—like a furious parasitic alien has taken control of his features.