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I’d love to punish her. I’d put her over my knee. Spank the shit out of her ass until she promises to be good—even though we both know she’ll mouth off again just to get me riled up. I’d love to fold her over this table and wrinkle up these essays as I fuck her.
Yep. I’m drunk.
It’s so depraved, but I’m about to pull my cock out and run through the entire fantasy in my head when a banging at my door stops me. My first thought is that it must be Isaac, so I shove away my dirty thoughts, and my cock quickly deflates.
When I reach the front door, I pull it open to find the object of my fantasies standing on my doormat, and I blink in surprise.
“How does it feel to have people show up unannounced at your house?” she asks, hands on her hips.
I gaze down at her in confusion as I glance around the street behind her. “How did you find out where I lived?”
“Same way you found out where I live,” she snaps back. Then, to my surprise, she shoves open the door to my house and lets herself in. I’m too dumbfounded to argue.
“Wait,” I say as I slam the door and turn to find her standing in my living room. “I found your address on the student registry.”
“Oh,” she replies, turning toward me with a tilt to her head. “I just asked Sage for your address.”
“And she gave it to you?” I say with an astonished laugh.
“Yeah, well…using the school registry to show up to a student’s house uninvited probably isn’t allowed either, so we’re even.” She plants her hands back on her hips and gives me a quirky, crooked smirk.
It makes me smile, but I try to hide it. I’m supposed to be stern and commanding with her, but when she looks so goddamn cute, she makes it hard.
“What’s wrong with you?” she asks with a notch in her brow. “Are you drunk?”
I nod toward the table where the bottle is sitting open amid a sea of ungraded papers and a stack of red pens.
“Oh,” she replies with a nod. “Wish I could join you, but…you know…” She waves toward her stomach.
Passing her by, I head to my kitchen and retrieve a bottle of water for her instead. “So, what are you doing here?” I ask, trying not to think about the fantasy running through my head just a few minutes ago. “Let me guess,” I say as I pass her the water. “You’re here to accept my offer.”
She rolls her eyes as she takes the bottle. “You wish.”
I do.
“The truth is,” she adds after taking a swig, “I need someone to talk to. Someone who won’t be blindly supportive of everything I do. Someone who will tell me like it is and be brutally honest, maybe even to a fault.”
“At your service,” I say with a drunk smirk as I grab my glass and lead her to my living room. The vinyl has reached the end of the A-side, so I lift the case and turn it to the B-side. Resetting the needle, I wait until the soft music emanates from the speakers before closing the case and finding my seat in the soft brown leather chair.
She’s folded up on my couch, one leg tucked beneath her as she hugs the other knee to her chest. My eyes land on the blue paint on her toenails, her sandals discarded across the floor of my house. She’s wearing a pair of ripped denim shorts, and the way she’s sitting exposes her entire thigh all the way up, and it’s incredibly distracting.
“Go ahead,” I say after taking a sip of my whiskey.
Sadie is chewing the inside of her lip as she stares at me, clearly feeling uneasy. I watch as she takes a long, deep breath, wincing before blurting out, “I’m going to keep this baby.”
This statement doesn’t really elicit anything from me emotionally. To be honest, I sort of assumed she’d keep it. I don’t know why. And it doesn’t matter either way.
“Say something,” she snaps at me, and I blink a few times before reacting.
“What would you like me to say, Miss Green?”
She throws her hands up in exasperation. “Tell me I’m being irresponsible and that I have no place trying to raise a child when I’m such a mess myself. Tell me it’s the wrong choice. Just tell me the responsible thing to do would be to get an abortion and get my own life together before bringing another life into the world.”
My brows pinch inward as I stare at her and try to formulate my answer.
“You think that’s what I should say?” I ask.
“Yes. I think that’s what you want to say.”
