Crazy Girl(67)

“And modest like you, too,” she added dryly.

I laughed. “Just as I thought. He sounds pretty awesome.”

Her gaze fixed on mine, her smile fading as she seemed to study me, looking inside of me. “He is,” she said quietly, reaching her hand up and stroking my face. “You are,” she added.

Sometimes, a moment just sneaks up and grabs you. It’s unexpected and for a guy…probably a little unwanted. Being vulnerable isn’t what we do. But sometimes it happens, that moment comes up and hooks you, and you’re powerless against it. This was one of those moments. Hannah hadn’t said but a few words—simple words—but they hit me hard. I felt her meaning, her thoughts, her feelings in those short words. There was a genuineness there. And damn if she wasn’t really crazy, and I know women hate to be called crazy, but the reality was she was a bit all over the place. But here or there, wherever that over-functioning brain of hers led her, she was real. I could tell in the brief time we’d known each other, she was scared to death of herself, of men, and of most things, but no matter what, I knew deep down being real was like breathing to her. Being real means being honest and having integrity. Two things that are damn near impossible for a person to do. But she was those things, even if it meant exposing her ugly parts; the parts she didn’t want the people close to her to see.

I took her mouth, kissing her hard, this feeling of wanting to worship her, but somehow wanting to punish her for it consuming me. Damn her making me feel this. Moving to my knees, I pulled her hips and laid her on her back, ripping away the sheet that was twisted around her, revealing this tiny woman with curves staring up at me, her eyes riddled with hunger and want.

“What are you doing to me?” I asked her, our eyes locked.

Her chest rose and fell. Her lips parted slightly as if she might answer, but she stopped herself. Laying my body over hers, I rested my weight on my forearms, never letting my stare leave hers. I wanted her to see just what she did to me. To bring me out of hiding. Reaching between us, she sheathed me inside her and let out a moan of surrender and relief.

As I moved over her, thrusting inside her, I asked the question again, though this time more to myself than her. “What are you doing to me?” And I kept repeating it till I came deep in her.



When I left for work that morning, Hannah left when I did. I told her she was welcome to stay as long as she wanted, but she insisted she needed to get home and run some errands. I hated to admit I was bummed. I would’ve liked to have come home to her that night. But that was selfish. She had a life and things to do. I respected that. So after a long kiss goodbye, she went her way, and I went mine.

When I entered the break room that morning, Kegs and Duke were standing with three other instructors, staring at the bulletin board—no doubt checking the schedule that was posted on the first of every month. Everyone in the room glanced back at me, then at each other. Moving my eyes to Kegs, I asked a silent ‘what?’ with a slight shrug of my shoulders.

“Bro, you’re not going to like this.” What was it now?

Dropping my gym bag, I went to the board and scanned the schedule. I blinked a few times and looked again. No, I’d seen it right. My name wasn’t there. I wasn’t on the schedule. Henry had taken me off for the entire month.

“What the fuck?” I muttered, still staring at the schedule, hoping I was seeing it wrong. Anger pulsed through me. Turning, I stopped, my fists clenched at my sides as I tried to calm myself down. “He took me off for an entire freaking month.”

“He’s a dick,” Kegs mumbled, his expression grim. He understood not only was this a shit move on Henry’s part, but it was also a huge hit financially. I had savings, I could pay my bills, but losing an entire month of income was a significant hit.

This shit was personal. And Henry was being an asshole.

As we grow older, we learn things about ourselves…or rather we come to understand ourselves better. We accept our flaws…laid down with our imperfections. This didn’t always equate to settling—not striving to do better or be better—but rather we step out of the phase of denial, and move into the hey, this is something about me I need to work on, but at least now I own it. Anger, for me, was one of those things. I had a short fuse and had been this way for some time. Couple that with a lack of patience, and it was never a good combination. It was a flaw I was now conscious of. Anger is the most twisted of emotions. It can catapult you into behaviors or actions that are beyond rational comprehension. At that moment, all I wanted, more than anything, was to find Henry and beat the living shit out of him. But what would that do? It might make me feel immensely better, but then I’d never get scheduled again, and I definitely wouldn’t like that. This was a direct assault on me; him using his position superior to mine to punish me because on a personal level, he was intimidated by me and/or didn’t like me. I’d challenged him, and instead of handling it like a man, he pulled some shitty backdoor bullshit to take me down. I was split between giving into my flaw and acting on the emotion, or recognizing it and finding my rationality.

All the guys were watching me, their expressions stoic, waiting for me to react or say something. That pissed me off, too. And a part of me wondered if that’s what Henry was betting on—that I’d react with anger and hostility and do something rash, therefore screwing myself by doing so. Then he’d have me fired for sure. And that thought made me angrier. What a dick.