See Me After Class(47)

“We’re fine,” I call from my chair.

“Oh, okay. Yeah. Have a good one.”

“Bye,” Greer says in a cheery voice before shutting the door. “He was nice.”

Rolling my eyes at how oblivious she is, I lean back in the small wooden chair, trying to get comfortable.

There’s no couch.

Just two small, child-sized chairs and a bed.

I really should have thought this through.

She brings the food to the table, sets it down, and then grabs us plates and silverware. I open up the to-go boxes and wait as she pours us both a glass of water.

“This is all I have, sorry.”

“Water is fine.”

We both serve ourselves and dig in. For a few moments, we’re quiet, simply enjoying the food. But it doesn’t last long, because Greer glances up at me and asks, “So . . . when are you going to start yelling at me?”

“Do you mind if I eat first? It will benefit you if I’m fed.”

“Oh, right. The whole hangry thing. Got ya.” She winks, then picks up a giant scoop of noodles and shoves them in her mouth. While she chews, cheeks puffed, she smiles at me.

Shaking my head, I turn back to my plate, trying to figure out what I’m going to say to her, how I’m going to approach this conversation without— “I think there’s steam coming out of your ears.”

I look up at her. “What?”

She motions at me with her empty fork. “You’re thinking awfully hard. I think smoke is coming out of your ears.”

“Think you’re funny?”

“Not just me, a lot of people do. Gunner and Romeo. Stella, Coraline . . . Keeks—well, she has her own sense of humor, but sometimes I can get a chuckle out of her. Oh, and Kelvin thinks I’m a hoot, as well as—”

“I don’t need the rundown.”

“I mean, you sort of asked for it.”

I set my fork down. “When you woke up this morning, was it your primary goal to annoy me?”

“No, but it became my secondary goal at the meeting. Is it working?”

“What do you think?”

“From the throbbing vein in your neck, I’m going to say yes.” She smiles again, and I swear, I’m seconds away from tipping this table over and doing something about that smile. “Ooo, I can feel your anger from all the way over here. Maybe we should have an icebreaker or something. You know, a way to loosen up before you tear me a new one.”

“Were you a camp counselor?”

“No, why? Do I have the spirit of one?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“Good for me.”

Of course she’d say that. She lives in chaos, so how is she always so happy and cheerful? I’m not the most . . . let’s face it, I’m a grumpy bastard a lot of the time. Why is she like this? Why does it fucking annoy me?

She finishes up her plate and takes a large gulp of her water. She shifts in her seat and says, “While you finish up, do you mind if I get out of this dress? It’s usually stripped off my body by now.”

“Do whatever you want,” I say in a grumpy tone.

“You’re an absolute doll.” She winks and stands, taking her empty plate to the sink and putting the leftovers in her empty fridge. She plucks a few things from her laundry basket, then goes into her bathroom and shuts the door.

Jesus.

Why does it feel like I’m holding my breath?

Maybe because I’m extremely uncomfortable.

Maybe because I want to know what she chose from that laundry basket.

Maybe because my mind and dick are fighting an epic battle of who to listen to.

Once finished, I take my plate to the sink and then pull out my phone from my back pocket to text Coraline.

Arlo: Late night. Be home in a bit. You okay?

She texts back right away.

Coraline: I’m fiiiiiiine, Arlo. Stop worrying about me.

Arlo: Where are you?

Coraline: At home. Where are you?

Arlo: Not home. Do you need anything?

Coraline: Not home . . . hmm, why does that seem suspicious? And no, I don’t. I’m a grown woman.

Arlo: Who is going through a divorce.

Coraline: Best decision of my life. Now will you leave me alone?

Arlo: Okay, well, I’ll be home in a bit. We can watch a movie if you want.

Coraline: Will you braid my hair too?

Arlo: Don’t be a smart-ass.

Coraline: Stop being overprotective.

Arlo: I care about you.

Coraline: I know and I love you for it. Now go back to being elusive. See you later, bro.

Sighing, I stick my phone back in my pocket, just in time for Greer to open the door to her bathroom and walk out wearing a silk spaghetti-strap tank top and matching silk shorts.

That’s what she chose to wear?

That?

She takes a moment to release her hair from her bun and shake it out, letting the long ombre-colored tendrils float around her shoulders.

Fucking . . . hell.

“Okay.” She claps her hands together and sits on her bed. “Let’s have this conversation.”

She’s not wearing a bra.

Her nipples are poking against the fabric.

Her shorts are riding high between her legs.

She looks so goddamn fuckable right now, I feel my dick starting to win the battle with my brain.