Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 131789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
“What about Christine? Are you getting along with your stepmother?”
In a manner of speaking.
“Definitely,” I drawl. “She’s a real charming lady. Lets me put it in her ass.”
On that note, I hang up and pocket my phone to enter my art class. Though the damage is done.
Fuck’s sake, the little I ask of her is to simply be invisible. I’m happy to make myself scarce if she can respect a similar boundary of non-interference. I’d rather have a committed absent mother than one who involves me in her bouts of seasonal guilt. Like the Christmas puppy that keeps getting returned to the shelter by Presidents’ Day.
Her selfish appearances are brief but destructive, always leaving me unsettled. I’m typically happy to self-medicate in order to clear my head, but today I’m tapped out and knee-deep sober.
Even Gwen and her cute flower-print dress aren’t enough of a distraction from the turmoil my mother hath wrought. And anyway, I still haven’t won over the missus Goodwyn. She ignores even my most overt advances. But that’s fine. All good. I might be questioning my sex appeal if I weren’t already getting it on the side from her husband. Which, admittedly, is a big part of the appeal.
This week we’re working on clay sculpture. Gwen turns out the lights to put up a PowerPoint of a recent traveling exhibit by a blind Mongolian artist who creates impressionist interpretations of the people and animals of his childhood village. His phallic example of a dragonfly is interrupted by a text from the mister Goodwyn.
JACK: See me during office hours to discuss an extra credit project.
ME: My pleasure.
My phone is suddenly yanked from my grasp.
“Maybe I should hold onto this for you.” Gwen darkens the screen, then pockets my device without appearing to look at it.
“Foul play, Ms. G.”
She returns to the front of the room beside the projector screen. “No phones in my class, Lawson. You know better.”
I flash her a little smile. “I feel it’s my duty to warn you. My nudes are on there. You could right now be in possession of pornography.”
“Then we’d better turn it off.” She shuts off the phone and tosses it on her desk. “You can have it back after detention.”
Brilliant. Because my favorite thing about class is staying late. Not like I have anything better to do than clean her paintbrushes when there’s an eight ball in my room screaming my name.
But Gwen follows through on the threat. After the bell rings, she waves me over and puts me to work. My first task is to dress the in-progress sculptures in wet plastic wrap then put them in the cabinet.
“All right. What’s next?” I have no idea how long this is supposed to last, but I’d like to get this over with as fast as possible. “Ms. G?”
“Huh?” For a moment I’m concerned she’s peeked at my phone, but it’s her own that she’s distressingly hunched over at her desk. “Oh, second period left their acrylics on the back shelf. If you could put them back in the supply closet.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I collect a couple of armfuls and cart them to the closet, only to find it locked. “Is there a key to this?” I call over my shoulder.
“There was, but the last art teacher lost it.” Gwen arrives with a paint spatula to jimmy the door. “I figured out a workaround. There’s a trick to it.”
A second later, the door pops open.
I chuckle. “Well done. Do a few B&Es in your day?”
That earns me a smile. “A girl’s got to fend for herself.” She takes some of the acrylics from my arms and starts tossing them on the shelf without much attention to order or tidiness.
“Mr. G not the handy type?”
Her expression darkens at the mention of her husband. “Don’t get married in your early twenties, Lawson. Live before you die.”
My brows soar. Well. Color me intrigued. Is our picture-perfect couple suffering from some marital strife?
“Trouble at home?” I ask lightly.
She seems to catch herself, as if she’d forgotten she said it aloud. “Oh. I’m sorry. I really shouldn’t talk about personal matters with a student. It’s not proper.”
“Maybe you’ve noticed, but I don’t much care for proper.” I shrug, playing it cool. “For what it’s worth, though…I’m an excellent listener.”
She leads me out of the closet, mulling over the offer. I stay quiet long enough for her to fill the silence.
“He says it’s nothing,” she finally confesses. “But Jack’s been distant since the semester started.”
Oops. My bad. Probably shouldn’t have distracted him with all those blowjobs. “Maybe he’s preoccupied with classes,” I suggest innocently.
We go around the room gathering the debris of the day’s activities and putting away supplies. “It’s more than that,” Gwen says flatly. “I know him. There’s something he’s not telling me.”
Well, obviously. Jack’s in a tricky predicament. How does one tell his wife he’s engaging in illicit hookups with a student? And a male student at that.