by Tessa Bailey
She rolled out the beach towel she’d brought from downstairs and lay back, sighing as the sun warmed her neck and shoulders. If she closed her eyes, she could be back in Bloomfield, sunbathing in the field behind their house. Dad would be blasting Tom Petty inside the barn, mom would be exercising the horses, and they’d all be pretending not to smell the occasional marijuana smoke drifting from her brother’s room. Just a typical day in the Perribow household.
No. She didn’t want to be in Bloomfield. New York City was where she’d decided to make her mark, and one incident, albeit a mortifying one, wouldn’t ruin the experience. Since she’d decided to become a doctor all those years ago, her parents had busted their butts and saved to make that hope a reality. Now she was here, and there would be no picturing herself riding in the back of her father’s pickup truck with their dog, Lolly. Or having a spitting contest with Jasper Burns, the old man who never left his post outside the town liquor store.
Aw, shit. She was homesick. Maybe because back home, she hadn’t gotten herself into situations like the one last night. She’d been the smart one. The one with ambition and a one-way ticket to big, bad New York after graduation. Sure, once in a blue moon she’d gotten up to no good, having had one too many helpings of spiked punch and streaking through the convenience store, but those antics had been harmless. What she’d done last night to Ben hadn’t been harmless. This wasn’t Kentucky, and she wasn’t seventeen anymore. This was real life, and there was comeuppance for each and every decision she made.
If her pulse still skittered and danced when she thought of Ben, it couldn’t be helped. She wouldn’t be going there again. No ma’am, you couldn’t drag her there by her hair. Even if the memory of Ben’s mouth moving across hers, where his hands had gone and almost done made her feel miles closer to the sun. Good Lord, she’d never kissed a man before. She’d kissed boys. Been on the receiving end of sweet summer kisses after chowing down on slices of watermelon and sloppy kisses after a triumphant keg stand. Last night, in that closet, she’d been well and truly mouth fucked.
But just like all liars, she would now pay for what she’d done. Her punishment would be going to class every day, listening to Ben’s smooth baritone voice fill up the room like a thousand plush cushions and never hear it in her ear again. Never taste his mouth or have the pleasure of his hands on her body. Atonement was a bitch, but she’d take it like a woman. That’s what she was now, after all. Not some Lolita with a lollipop and pigtails who went around tempting men at their own peril. Although, hell. It had been kind of fun while it lasted.
Honey’s cell phone buzzed on the tar roof beside her. She lifted her sunglasses and peered down at the screen. Elmer Boggs, calling again. Her ex-boyfriend, God bless his soul, had called her every single day since she’d left for New York. Now, Elmer might be a little on the lazy side, but he was a good guy who cared about her, so she didn’t fancy stringing him along. She hadn’t answered once for that very reason. But she could admit that today she felt a little vulnerable and a lot homesick. It wouldn’t hurt to see how old Elmer was getting along, would it?
She answered on the third ring. “Hey hey, Elmer.”
“Well, I’ll be damned. Honey Perribow is alive.” Elmer chuckled good-naturedly, and she couldn’t help but smile back. “I thought you might be too good for me now. Landed in New York and forgot all about Elmer.”
“Aw, I won’t be forgetting you anytime soon. You’re too damn big.”
His laughter boomed down the line. “You never complained when we won first prize every year at the apple picking competition.”
As always, when she spoke to someone from back home, her accent thickened. “You never complained when I baked them into pies, neither.”
He made a pained sound. “Now that is just plain cruel reminding me of all the pies I’m not eating. When are you coming back, Honey?”
“I’m not, Elmer.” She rolled onto her stomach with a sigh. “Tell me some gossip.”
Elmer was silent a moment, and she pictured him as he always was. Backward hat, faded jeans, goofy smile. His class ring glinting in the sunshine. She’d wager he’d be buried with that ring someday. Strong, dependable Elmer. His image was comfortable and familiar, so she let it linger, but it didn’t remain long. It was bulldozed by an intense, dark-haired professor with magical lips and sinful hands.
Finally, Elmer spoke, breaking into her wayward thoughts. “Katie and Jay got engaged last night at the homecoming game. Right there in the stands. Said he wanted to score a wife in the same place he used to score all his touchdowns.”
Honey felt tears pool behind her eyelids. It didn’t seem real. That the people she’d known since she’d been in diapers still had lives going on, so far from this place. She wasn’t self-centered enough to think life in Bloomfield suspended itself when she left, but it hurt to know she’d missed moments like the one Elmer just described. Maybe that was real life and this New York City dream of hers was an illusion. “Wow. How long do you give them before they’re having babies?”
“Now, I reckon there’s already one on the way.”
Honey giggled into her elbow, and it felt so good. Felt like she’d never left. “How’s your mama?”
“She’s keeping busy. Misses you.” He huffed out a breath. “So do I. Come home, Honey. I’ve got a gig working with a road crew, fixing potholes and whatnot. It’s steady. I can support us while you do the doctor thing here.”
Her smile vanished. “Elmer, don’t make me sorry I picked up the phone. I love talking to you, but I’m not coming back. I need to make my own way.”
“You always were stubborn.” He cleared his throat. She knew he was doing that nervous move with his hat, twisting it around his head. “I’ll let you go. Answer next time I call, will ya?”
“Okay, Elmer. Bye.”
Honey hung up the phone and stared at it a while, thinking of everything happening on the other end. Lives being lived. Babies being made. She thought of Elmer and his mama. Her own family. Ben. Always Ben. And she wondered if her course, the course she thought she’d always wanted, was the right one when it hurt this bad sometimes to follow it.
BEN KNEW HE should stop drinking. It wasn’t that he was a lightweight. He couldn’t afford to be a lightweight with friends like Louis and Russell, who drank beer like they might discontinue the shit. But he had a train ride back to Bushwick in front of him. Falling asleep on the J train and ending up in Queens would only ice this shit cake of a day, so really, he should stop.
Fuck it, I’ll get a cab.
Louis and Russell gave identical whistles as he reached for the pitcher of beer and missed. “Exactly how much beer do you need to consume before you tell us how you, Mr. Rule Follower, ended up with your hands up a student’s skirt?”
He abandoned his quest to get a decent grip on the pitcher and slapped both hands over his face instead. “Please, for the love of God, don’t say things like ‘hands’ and ‘skirt’ and ‘student.’ Not out loud.”
Louis looked amused. “You want us to come up with some kind of code?”
“Yes.” Ben pushed up his glasses, but they slipped down again almost immediately. “That should have been obvious.”
Russell threw an arm over the back of his seat, shit-eating grin firmly in place. “All right, Professor. How did you end up with your jackhammer so close to an off-limits coconut?”
Now Ben knew he needed to stop drinking, because in his drunken state, that nonsense actually sounded vastly better. At least it created some comical imagery to replace the decidedly not funny memory of what his hands had felt like up Honey’s skirt. No, not Honey. Ms. Perribow. Lolita. Jesus, how had he let things get so far? There was a process to getting your hands up a lady’s skirt, and it involved dates, drinks, conversation that lasted longer than ten minutes. It certainly didn’t involve your heart lodging in your throat, your hands clenching with the burning need to touch her touch her touch her. He couldn’t even begin to reason with th
at Ben, storage closet Ben, to deduce what the fuck he’d been thinking.
He hadn’t seen her face, obviously, but he’d known from her sweet voice and innocent rambling and God, her supple ass, that she’d been young. He stayed away from young girls. In order for her to be a student in his class, she had to be . . . young. She was young. There had been no decision involved, though, which wasn’t just unusual for him, it had never happened. He always made decisions based on sound logic and possible consequences. It scared him that she’d taken that away with so little effort. I’ve been soft for you all day. Christ. He’d practically thrown her up against the wall with the need to discover the soft. Touch, taste, take the soft.
Worse, his lust hadn’t exactly taken a hike since he’d found out closet girl was Honey and Honey was Lolita. No, it had revved higher. How was he supposed to stand in front of her tomorrow and lecture to a hundred students when her eyes would be on him? He didn’t have many options unless she transferred out of his class, but they were too far into the semester for that to be a viable option. Plus, it would mean he wouldn’t get to read any more of her work, and that upset him just as much as not being able to touch her. Okay, almost as much. He wouldn’t lie.
“Ben, you over there thinking about coconuts?”
He flipped Russell the bird, but turned to Louis. “How did this happen? You’ve been dating Roxy for a month and we’ve never met her friends? This could have been avoided.”
“Sorry, Ben. I’ve been kind of busy in my attempt to ruin her for other men.” Louis sipped his beer. “The party on Friday night was supposed to be the meshing of two supergroups. You kind of fucked that up by trying to jackhammer the coconut, man.”
Ben felt an ugly flash of anger. “All right, stop talking about her like she’s some kind of object. I don’t like it.” In fact, he really, really didn’t like it. He knew his friends were just trying to lighten his mood, and hell, they’d had their fair share of beer as well, but someone talking about Honey in a less-than-respectful manner didn’t work for him. No, not Honey. Ms. Perribow. He thought of the way he’d shouted at her, the things he’d said, and swallowed the lump in his throat with a swig of beer. Hypocrite. “She’s not my type.”
“That sounded convincing.” Russell ran a hand over his shaved head. “Look, you want my advice?”
Ben and Louis both groaned, abandoning their beers on the table. Russell had developed a reputation in their group for giving out the worst advice. The fact that he retained his belief in its golden value, no matter how often it failed, made it even more unbearable to sit through. Still, in his present state of mind, Ben would take a distraction from thoughts of Ms. Perribow in any shape or form. Don’t think of her shape or form. Don’t think—
“Fire away,” Ben croaked, ignoring Louis’s look of disbelief.
“The way I see it, you only have one option.” Russell shrugged, rather awkwardly. “We get the supergroups back together and you guys learn to get along. Without any jackhammers or coconuts.”
Louis dropped his head forward on a laugh. “You’re too obvious, Russell.”
“What?”
“This has nothing to do with Ben. You just want to see Abby again. Admit it.”
Ben’s mouth dropped open when his usually too-confident friend sputtered in response. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Abby and I are just friends.”
“You don’t want to jackhammer her coconut?” Ben asked with a raised eyebrow.
Russell’s jaw ticked. “Don’t talk about her like that.”
Ben and Louis high-fived Russell’s showing his hand. The construction worker had it bad for the debutante. How would that play out? Damn, it felt good to have the focus momentarily off himself. “So if you like her, what’s the problem? You’ve got all the best advice, now’s the time to use it.”
“I told you, we’re just friends,” Russell grated. “I’m fine with it.”
“Did Abby friendzone you?” Louis held up a finger while he swallowed a sip of beer. “She did, didn’t she?”
“I’m not talking about this anymore with you assholes.” Russell took out his wallet and threw a couple of twenties onto the table. “Ben, here’s my real advice. Stop acting like that gorgeous girl did you a huge disservice by making out with you. We should all be so lucky. Fuck the rules. They were made by old men who couldn’t land a girl like Abby.” He gave a quick head shake. “I mean, Honey.”
“Oh my God. I think I agree with Russell.” Louis’s head whipped toward the window. “Was that a pig that just flew by?”
Russell sent Louis a look, then focused back on Ben. “But if you do pursue her, keep the upper hand. Take her somewhere nice for dinner, but not too nice.” He tapped a finger to his temple. “Women get notions. You take them to places with white tablecloths, they start picturing their wedding receptions. Flower arrangements and shit. They can’t help it. It’s in their genetic makeup.”
“And there it is,” Ben said.
“Thought we’d lost you for a minute there, man.”
“Take her to get Thai food,” their ill-advising friend continued, completely ignoring them. “For the love of everything holy, never take her to an Italian restaurant.”
Louis raised an eyebrow. “I took Rox to get Italian on our first official date.”
“And just look at you now. Next you’ll be getting a dog together.”
Russell stood, giving Louis and his blissful grin a look of disgust. “I’m going to take myself somewhere my intellect is appreciated. Xbox Live. Goodnight, ladies.”
Louis and Ben were silent for a while after Russell left. Ben hated the freedom Russell had so fleetingly thrown at his feet, as if it were that easy. Fuck the rules, huh? He’d seen firsthand what happened when people didn’t give rules, vows, the respect they deserved. There was an undeniable part of him that wanted to let go of the restrictions he’d placed on himself and just give in to his painful attraction. Maybe it would only take one time and he’d be free of it.
Ben almost laughed at that hopeful thought. One time and she’d have him. He’d be fucked in every way imaginable. He didn’t know where that certainty came from, but it was there. Strong and sure.
Louis cleared his throat beside him, drawing his attention. “I know you’re smart, Ben, probably the smartest of all of us, so I probably don’t need to tell you this. But not every relationship ends the way your parents’ relationship did.”
“There’s only one way to guarantee that, though, isn’t there?” Ben stared straight ahead, remembering things he didn’t want to remember. Nights of screaming matches, his mother dragging him from their house in the middle of the night. Losing his father to another, newer family. Then another. Until their original family ceased to exist. “She wasn’t honest with me. The situations are too similar. That’s all I can see when I look at her.”
“You sure about that?” Louis crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. “If that was all you saw when you looked at her, you wouldn’t be this fucked up, Ben.”
He’d heard enough. He didn’t want anyone making sense to him. It was clear what he needed to do, and it actually surprised him that Louis and Russell were too blind to see it. “Thanks for the advice, but I know what I have to do.”
Stay the hell away from Lolita.
Chapter 5
HONEY WASN’T ABOUT to sit in the front row of literary theory class again. The forced proximity would only serve to antagonize Ben, and that would simply be pointless. She’d antagonized the man enough. But she’d be damned before she’d hang her head and sit in the back row, the way she’d done before he’d opened his eyes and noticed her. One of the middle rows would have to do. It said, I’m contrite, but go to hell if you think I’m going to say it again out loud.
She took a steadying breath and slipped into the lecture hall behind a group of sophomore guys discussing some bar downtown that didn’t check ID. One of them winked at her as she bypassed them, and she gave him an absent s
mile. It froze on her face when she saw Ben standing behind the podium, wearing his delicious tweed jacket. The one she wanted to crawl inside of and spend a week there. Every inch of her skin turned sensitive, buzzing and heating in his presence. The professor’s gaze was flat as it gave her a cursory head-to-toe look, just before it landed on the Winker. As she took her seat smack in the middle of the class, Honey decided she’d misinterpreted Ben’s spark of irritation at seeing a boy give her a mere wink. Her fantasies were getting out of control. He couldn’t have made it clearer that he wanted nothing to do with her.
“I have your graded papers.” Ben tapped the pile of documents he held briskly. “As I call your name, please come and get them.”
Oh boy. She hadn’t anticipated this. In the past, he’d left them on his desk at the end of class and let the students sort through and find their own papers. Suddenly her white tank top felt too tight, too transparent. Her short, flowery skirt felt several inches too short. How could she get up and walk down the aisle, him watching her the whole way, and not combust? Honey tried not to let her nerves show, but when the Winker tapped his pen on her desk, she jumped in her seat.
He leaned toward her, running the pen along his bottom lip. She wondered if he realized it was leaving ink in its wake. His cocky smile said probably not. “Nervous about the grade?”
“Um.” Ben had started calling names, so it was hard to focus. Should she be worried about her grade? He wouldn’t fail her out of spite, would he? If he did, she would raise ever-loving hell. “No. I think I’ll do just fine. What about you?”
“Didn’t read it. Winged it.”