The door closed a few seconds after that, and I finally took a deep breath.
“Well, shit. If you don’t take him, I’m sure there are a hundred women who wouldn’t mind having him.”
“Shut up.” I grunted. “Of course you’d say that. You’re over here trying to hook me up with him and shit in the middle of the night.”
“Actually.” Deacon sat down on the edge of the couch, and pulled my feet into his lap. “He showed up at the club to ask for it, and you know that wasn’t the easiest of roads. We’ve got two little sisters and parents who would love to see you settled off with the first loser they could.” He grunted when I kicked him in response. “Stop that, or I’ll dump your ass on the ground.”
When I stopped trying to hurt him, Deacon patted my foot and leaned back against the cushions.
“He stepped into the middle of a bar fight, unexpectedly, and took a hit that had been meant for me. I mean, I knew he could take a hit since he got drafted into the NFL, but damn. After he turned it down and copped out, I didn’t think he could handle that much heat. The least I could do is give him your number.” Deacon whistled. “Then I spied on him with you, and he didn’t even hesitate. Man’s got charm, gotta give him that. Why won’t you give him a chance to apologize?”
“Zip it, Deac.” I snapped irately, wanting him to have my side. Not encourage me to give Carter a chance. “He’s hotter than my curling iron when I stab myself in the back of the head with it. And twice as dangerous.”
“That doesn’t mean you should sit back and let him pass you by. You never know, Avery. Maybe he’s exactly what you need.”
Deacon’s words echoed in my mind, and as I fell back asleep on the couch I thought about what it would be like to let Carter in.
“No, thanks,” I muttered drowsily, fading off. “His dick wasn’t that big.”
13
Avery
Lack of sex could do very strange things to a woman. Even I could recognize the crazy and irrational way that I’d started to act.
The only reprieve, seriously, the only one I found at all from the constant and chaotic torture on my libido, was teaching. Surrounded by twenty people constantly asking for help, or for answers to problems they could solve on their own, or listening to them squabble amongst themselves … that’s about the only time of the day I felt any bit of relief.
“You still haven’t answered his text?” Chris stuck his head into my classroom at lunch, and I groaned at the unwanted intrusion into my thoughts.
“No.”
I glared at him like it was his fault I couldn’t get any. Then he walked in with two bags of Taco Bell and a smile on his face that declared he wasn’t going anywhere. That, and he had on his favorite superhero scrubs, which he only wore when he felt like he had to ‘do battle’ with something. I guess I was his chosen opponent for the day.
While I stared at the food, he needlessly exclaimed, “I brought tacos!” He plopped the bag down and sat on my desk, ignoring the stack of papers that now lived under his ass.
He reached into the bag and handed me some of the deliciousness, smiling even wider when I dove right in without even saying thanks.
“Shut it,” I snapped. “You don’t get an opinion. Not when you’re the only one getting anything good nowadays.”
Chris rolled his eyes, crossed his legs, and ate his lunch in companionable silence. For thirty whole seconds at least, that’s all I got out of him.
“You know you’re doing this to yourself, right?” He held up a taco-filled hand when I opened my mouth to chew him out. “You really are. A hot guy wants to take you out. To apologize. To give you what you so desperately want. And he even put the ball in your court, gave you the power in this situation. But you won’t give him a shot.”
I finished my fourth taco, refusing to acknowledge the fact that he had a point. But I couldn’t escape the knowing look on his face. Chris, more than anyone else, knew about the walls I put up and why I put them there. He knew the dangers of getting close.
Finally, after I couldn’t think of any other way to handle him, I settled on the truth. “What do you want me to say?”
“To me?” Chris inspected his fingers, clearly enjoying his position of superiority in the current situation. “Nothing. I think you should pick up your phone and tell Carter that you’ll let him take you to dinner.”
“I’ll think about it,” I lied right to Chris’ face.
Before he could call me on it, though, another little face appeared in my doorway.
“Ciara,” I smiled at her. “What’s up, sugar plum?” Staring pointedly at Chris, I waited for him to get up and leave.
He eyed the Taco Bell bags, but I grabbed them before he could do anything about it.
“Thanks for lunch.” I beamed at him and batted my eyelashes. “We’ll chat more about it later.” He harrumphed, but left anyway. Not before darting his eyes over to Ciara and widening them for a second. I shooed him away.
Ciara’s face stopped me in my tracks when I turned to face her. Her normally bright eyes were clouded, and she had dark circles under them. Her skin had a yellow-tint to it, and she looked sick. I prepared myself for her to give me bad news, or to tell me that Lucas had tried to cut her hair again. Once we were alone, Ciara looked around with wide eyes and trembling fingers. Her black sweater, with a bright purple star on it, seemed to swallow her whole.
“Can we shut the door, Miss James?” Her voice trembled, and fear began to slide down my skin like the slime we played with in science.
The pain in her voice, the tremor in her hands as she squeezed them together—all of it. There was something very wrong, and Ciara needed me. With a short nod, all the humor from my interaction with Chris vanished. In its place, the full-on mask of a teacher and confidant. Someone for her to trust and to take care of her.
“Ciara, what’s wrong?”
She swallowed deeply, and stared down at her hands. “I don’t think I should tell you. But I have to. I don’t know what to do though.” She went on and on, talking a mile a minute. “If I don’t tell you, something bad could happen. And I can’t let that happen. But if I tell you, everything is going to be so messed up. I just don’t know what to do.”
“Ciara.” I stepped out from behind my desk and took her by her hands, leading her to the desks. “Take a seat, and a deep breath. Slow down.” Once she did that, she still didn’t look me in the eye. With my heart racing, I tried to think about what I could do to get her to open up. “Ciara, I’m here for whatever you have to tell me. Anything at all. All you have to do is open your mouth and start talking.”
Ciara started crying. Not deep, heartbreaking sobs, not whimpers, but silent tears, streaking down her cheeks and mixing with the little bit of dust that clung to her cheeks from playing outside.
“Miss James, it’s bad.” She squeezed my hand, and I forgot for a moment that she was just a little girl. She carried so much pain there, so much torment, all of it written on her face..
“Please, Ciara. I can’t help if I don’t know what’s going on.”