See Me After Class(79)

“God, what crawled up his ass and died?” Stella asks, leaning back in her chair.

“According to the circumference of the anus, there are quite a few creatures that could have—”

“Metaphorical, Keeks. Christ,” Stella says, pressing her hand against her forehead.

“Ahh . . . but if it wasn’t metaphorical—”

I stand. “You know, I should get back to my classroom before the bell rings. It was a lovely lunch. Thank you.” I turn to Kelvin and say, “Good seeing you, Kelvin.”

“Y-you, too.” He awkwardly smiles and then helps Keeks stand. It’s a sweet gesture, one I’m sure Arlo has never made in his life. He’s better at laying people down where he wants them rather than lifting them up.

Another reason why I’m going on this date. A change of pace. A way to get my head in the right space.

A moment to be treated like a lady. And maybe a moment where I get a sense of a happy, relationship-filled future. Maybe.





Chapter Eighteen





GREER





Greer: I feel like I’m going to throw up.

Stella: Don’t. You brushed your teeth.

Greer: That’s not helpful.

Stella: That’s solid advice. No one likes puke mouth.

Greer: Stella, please . . .

Stella: You know, when I befriended you, I didn’t think you were going to be a high-maintenance friend, but boy, was I wrong. Sighs You know that dress is killer on you. The red is fantastic and your boobs look spectacular. I’m quite jealous of your rack. And of course, your hair and makeup are on point. He’s going to think he just hit a home run.

Greer: Baseball lingo, really?

Stella: Did it work?

Greer: A little.

Stella: Good, now knock him dead.

With a deep breath, I stick my phone in my pocket and head toward the restaurant, walking around the corner and running straight into Arlo Turner.

Startling back, I clutch my purse to my side and say, “What the hell are you doing here?”

He holds up a bag of food. “Picking up dinner. You?”

My eyes narrow. “You know exactly what I’m doing.” I glance around. “Were you just waiting around for me to show up? That’s creepy, Arlo.”

“I have better things to do than stalk you, Miss Gibson.”

“So, you’re saying this is purely coincidental?”

His eyes eat me up as he scans over my dress and pause briefly at my exposed cleavage.

“No, I’m here with Gunner and Romeo.”

All of a sudden, they both come out of the restaurant and say, “She’s not here—” Their voices fade when they spot me. “Oh, there she is,” Romeo says. “We were just—”

“Spying on me?” I say, hand on my hips.

“No . . .” Gunner says. When I stare him down, he answers, “Fine, Jason sent us to see how the initial greeting went. We dragged Arlo with us, hoping we could use him as a spy, because Walker would know what we’re doing. But he refused to go inside the restaurant.”

The bored, I told you so look on Arlo’s face makes me want to punt him in the leg.

“Well, I don’t want you here. You’re going to make it more awkward, so leave.”

“I agree. This isn’t particularly how I want to spend my night,” Arlo says. “And since I drove and I have the food, you two better be moving your asses.”

“What are we going to say to Jason?” Romeo complains.

“Tell him it looked like sparks flew from the very beginning,” I say, laying it on thick. “That when I walked up to him, as a greeting, not only did I smooth my hand up the lapel of his jacket, but I also pressed a soft kiss to the scruff on his face while his hand very delicately slid around my waist, just above the swell of my ass.”

Gunner scratches the side of his face and turns to Romeo. “I think Jason would totally buy that.”

“Easily. Romantic and detailed.” Romeo claps me on the shoulder. “Thanks, Gibson.”

“You’re welcome.” I smile and start to walk toward the door of the restaurant. “And if you two need a picture, I’ll have the waitress take a candid shot of us without Walker knowing.”

“God, that would be a dream. Thank you.”

“Anything for you, boys.” I twiddle my fingers at them as a goodbye. “Enjoy your food.” Just as Arlo turns the corner, he shoots me a quick look, a look so devastating, so vulnerable, that I have a sudden need to chase after him.

But I don’t.

Why? Because he’s been an asshole all week, back to his normal self, and, if I’m honest, I think I dodged a potential bullet. Do I fantasize about him sexually? God, how could I not? As I told him, he does oral very well. But a long-term relationship can’t be all about sexual satisfaction. Apart from those sexually charged moments with Arlo, he gave me nothing. In fact, I still know nothing about him. He’s a closed book—yes, a great pun for an English teacher—and that’s not me. I want to be with someone warm and funny, an equal. Surely that’s not too much to ask for.

This date isn’t about him.

This is about me.

If he wanted a chance, he had it. And if he couldn’t work out that I like openness and honesty—sharing—then again, I’m glad we’re through.