See Me After Class(93)

And then his mouth is back on mine.

Dancing.

Tangling.

Fusing.

His hips press against my leg and I feel his length, hard and long.

I move my free hand to the spot between his legs and grip him through his chinos.

A loud groan falls past his lips as his forehead presses against mine and our mouths part.

He swallows hard. “Okay . . . I need to go.”

“Are you sure?” I ask, squeezing him.

“Yes,” he says, his voice growing stern. He tilts my head up so I’m forced to look him in the eyes. “You know I want you. I know you want me. But I want more between us. I want to try . . . hell”—he takes a deep breath—“I want to be intimate with you.”

Understanding what he’s trying to say, I nod and remove my hand. “Sorry, I—”

“Don’t apologize.” He sears me with his gaze. “Do you understand? Don’t ever apologize for how much you want me. But let’s try to take this slow, to give it a chance.”

“Okay.”

“And I might need help, because I’m not good at this shit. But I want to try. Shit, I’m desperate to try, because I can’t stop thinking about you, Greer. And I want to get to know more of you.” He smooths his thumb over my temple. “I want to know more about what’s up here.”

“I’d like that.”

“Good.” Exhaling heavily, he presses one more soft kiss across my lips and pulls away. He then says, “I’ll text you.”

“You will?”

He smiles. “I will.”

“About the date?”

“You’ll see.” He winks and steps away, and as he walks back to his car, I wonder where the hell this man came from and why it’s taken this long to see him.

Was I blinded?

Or was he shielding himself from me?

I think it might have been a little of both.





Arlo: Are you ready for some text messages?

Greer: You do realize that you don’t have to announce you’re going to text me with a text. I know you’re older than me, but really, Grandpa?

Arlo: Is that how it’s going to be?

Greer: Maybe. Can you handle it?

Arlo: If I can handle your sweet, bare ass in my face while you’re on all fours on my kitchen island, I’m pretty sure this grandpa can handle your ageist jokes.

Greer: Had to bring up the kitchen island, didn’t you?

Arlo: Weren’t you the one who marveled over the kitchen island during the teacher BBQ?

Greer: First of all, that wasn’t a BBQ. Second of all . . . yes.

Arlo: LOL.

Greer: Dear heavens . . . did Grandpa just say LOL? Look at you down with the lingo.

Arlo: Pushing your luck, Gibson.

Greer: Just getting warmed up, Turner. So unless you can take it, I think we should end this text convo.

Arlo: Nice try. I told you I was going to text you, so that’s what I’m going to do.

Greer: And what is your end goal with this so-called texting?

Arlo: Isn’t it obvious? Trying to tap into your inner Gen Z with communication.

Greer: Uh, excuse me, baby boomer, but I’m a millennial. Thank you very much. Born in 1996.

Arlo: You’re right on the cusp, which means you hold the traits of both. No wonder you’re massively irritating.

Greer: Uh, are you trying to woo me with this text thread? Because you’re doing a pretty shitty job.

Arlo: Consider me a newbie.

Greer: Aw, am I your first attempt at wooing?

Arlo: Unfortunately, and it seems like you’re not going to make it easy on me.

Greer: Why on earth would I do that?

Arlo: True. Okay, clean slate. Are you ready?

Greer: Give it to me . . . Daddy.

Arlo: None of that.

Greer: Oh, right, I’ll save that for the kitchen island. Please proceed.

Arlo: Jesus, you’re not making this easy.

Greer: **bats eyelashes**

Arlo: You know, I think you’re in a mental space of witty comebacks right now. I’m going to try again tomorrow.

Greer: Giving up that easily?

Arlo: Filling you up with anticipation. I’ll text tomorrow.

Greer: Again . . . you don’t have to inform me of your texting schedule.

Arlo: Keep it up and I’ll spank that sass right out of you.

Greer: Tease.





Arlo: *Attention* Arlo is going to text Greer.

Greer: Good God.

Arlo: LOL < - don’t make fun of that. What are you doing?

Greer: Sitting on my couch, staring at a stack of tests I need to grade but considering just labeling them all a B and being done with it. You?

Arlo: Watching my sister try to break her record in hula-hooping.

Greer: What? Seriously?

Arlo: Yup. She’s at twenty loops. Can’t seem to pass it. She’s blaming, and I quote, her weak, non-childbearing hips.

Greer: Why is she hula-hooping in the first place?

Arlo: She’s on a strong path to find joy and happiness in the little things. I admire it, but it also brings nights on the patio with her attempting to swing her hips back and forth over and over again.

Greer: I wish I was there to see it.

Arlo: Come over.

Greer: No. That would be weird.