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I BARELY REMEMBER driving myself home. Everything after I leave Sebastian’s place is a blur. One moment I’m stepping out of his apartment, and the next I’m in my bed wondering what the hell happened tonight.
It’s not that I never go home with a guy. As much as I’ve tried to keep my sexuality private, I’ve hooked up plenty, and it’s usually been a guy from an app or a bar, a casual one-time encounter like this night with Sebastian. But the guy in question has never been someone I’m going to need to work with. I’d never hook up with a guy who had any connection to the school; Sebastian is cutting it way too close for comfort.
I spend most of the night tossing and turning, but in all honesty, not all of my restlessness is worry. Every oncein a while I catch myself replaying what happened in Sebastian’s bedroom and … reliving it. He was incredible. Eager and vibrant and hungry in a way I’ve rarely experienced. Things usually feel a bit more distant, a bit more detached, but Sebastian was there with me the whole time, his attention and presence almost overwhelming.
I should have kissed him.
No. That’s a hard rule. I don’t kiss any of these men I go to bed with. It suggests things I can’t deliver, and I don’t want to hurt anyone. My choice to be in the closet shouldn’t affect any of them.
Still … I bet Sebastian is an amazing kisser. I bet his kisses are like a punch, hard and bright and bruising.
Too bad I’ll never know. Tomorrow, I have to wake up and work on that field trip plan. Virginia isn’t going to let me put it off, and I certainly don’t want her asking me why I’m delaying and avoiding it.
I wrap myself up tightly in my blankets and try my hardest to fall asleep, but the little ranch house I bought for myself after saving up enough money feels awfully big tonight. The woods all around me seem darker, the cries of the coyotes longer and lonelier. The house only has one bedroom, but even that seems like too much when I’m the only person who ever uses it.
I don’t manage to get much sleep before I have to drag myself out of bed and through a shower. I pound a cup of coffee with a towel around my waist and my hair stilldripping. At least I don’t have to put much thought into picking something to wear. My wardrobe is pretty much the same couple items over and over again. Sebastian would be appalled.
I nearly laugh at that thought before I catch myself. He shouldn’t still be on my mind. I certainly shouldn’t be imagining him here in my house critiquing my clothing choices. He’s just a guy I had a couple beers and a fun night with; that’s all he can ever be for me.
Guys at the club take me home for the night, but they don’t want me there in the morning.
Am I yet another one of those jerks now? Part of me can’t stand the thought of Sebastian lumping me in with all those cold, empty experiences, but that’s exactly what I gave him, isn’t it? I said from the start I had nothing more to offer, and he accepted. As he said himself, we both knew the score. I can’t beat myself up over two adults who made a fully informed choice.
I tidy up the beard, sort out my hair and get dressed, erasing all traces of last night. The man who steps out of my house in the morning is one hundred percent “Mr. Richardson” and zero percent the guy who had Sebastian kneeling between his legs admiring his cock.
This is going to be a hell of a long day.
I chug more coffee on my way to school. Fortunately, I manage to get there ahead of the students so I can collect myself and prepare for the day’s lessons. My first periodis pretty easy, but my second class of the day is restless, like they can sense my own jittery energy. That or it’s simply the fact that it’s a Friday way too close to summer vacation. They’re ready to be done with the school year, and I can’t blame them. I’ll be pretty relieved to see it end myself.
I cut the kids some slack, letting multiple class periods end in free time for starting on homework. In reality, a lot of the kids immediately get on their phones, but I’m not in the mood to give them shit for it today.
Finally, the last class of the day winds down. They’re unruly, eager to get outside into the beautiful weather and start their weekends, and I wrangle them only half-heartedly. A lot of the class period is free time, but they’re caught up on their assignments and tests. I really don’t need to make their Friday miserable — or mine.
Then I hear muttering in the back corner of the classroom.
The boys in the far corner are huddled together and talking so quietly I can’t make out a word they’re saying, but you don’t get this far teaching high school kids without honing your trouble radar. The three boys in the back are the very same ones who spray painted the window of Rainbow Rescue Cat Café, and while we haven’t taken any official disciplinary action or even contacted their parents, it seems like they’ve begun to suspect that the school knows what they did. Their nervous glances follow me as I pace the classroom attempting to look nonchalant. Theireyes prickle along my back when I stop to help another student. Their whispers abruptly cut off when I pass through their row.
Oh yeah. They definitely know something’s up.
There’s nothing I can do about it, so I try to play it cool and get through the rest of class. The second the bell rings, however, they all but sprint out the door, and I worry my time to reach them has vanished along with them.
All the more reason to set up that field trip.
I’m not thrilled about it, but Virginia is right. We can’t delay. We need to use one of the free study days coming up to make this field trip thing happen, and it’s on me to organize it.
I wait until the halls are clear, then close my classroom door and go back to my desk. The phone number Virginia gave me sits on my desk, waiting, accusing. I could have called yesterday, probably, if I wasn’t too busy seeing Sebastian instead.
No, this definitely can’t be about him. This is about the kids, about doing the right thing, about making things right. I have to set my personal feelings aside and act like a professional.
I pick up the phone and call before my thoughts can spin out ahead of me any further. Chloe answers after a couple rings.
“Chloe speaking. May I ask who’s calling?”
Oh God. She didn’t answer with the name of the café.Virginia must have given me her personal number. I’m even more flustered than I already would have been.
“Hello?” Chloe says.
“Sorry. Hello. Yes. Hi, I’m Luke,” I say.
