Page 51 of John Wilder Gets Schooled
He burrowed farther into his blanket, which was a yes. Then after a moment he lifted his chin and said, “You too?”
“Yeah,” I said, and this time the lie didn’t come easy at all.
There was a mean, selfish part of me that didn’t want the weight of everyone else’s bullshit on top of my own, and I hatedthat. When the hell was it my turn to do something just for me? Why couldn’t I just have a goddamn minute to think about what Avery and I had done last night, and try and hold onto how good it had felt for just a little bit longer? But my brothers had stepped up like they always did, so their bullshit was my bullshit too.
Cash stood and shuffled over with his blanket around his shoulders and leaned against me for a hug. I wasn’t sure if he was trying to make me feel better or if he needed the comfort himself, but it didn’t matter. It was Cash, and he gave pretty good hugs, so when he hugged you, you took it and were grateful.
Except it wasn’t his weight against me I was thinking of as the morning slowly dawned.
CHAPTER 14
AVERY
I’d thought school would get easier once I knew what I was doing, and maybe it would, but this far in and one thing was abundantly clear—I didn’t know what I was doing. And the worst part was, I was starting to think I never would. Dana told me this was normal. Alan told me, “Welcome to hell.” Neither of those sentiments was comforting. The kids were great. It was the pressure for them to meet academic benchmarks that I hated. One of the first things I’d learned going into early education was that all kids developed at different rates, but suddenly there was a standardized metric I had to rank them on? That was some bullshit. I also hated the paperwork, the crossing guard who yelled at me one afternoon for driving too fast in the parking lot—it was empty at the time!—at least four of my parents and the fifth was on shaky ground, and the fact I was hemorrhaging my own money on classroom supplies.
All the stuff Dallas had warned me about.
Except the crossing guard. Even Dallas wouldn’t have seen Angry Pete coming.
I shoved away the lesson plan I was working on in frustration. Don’t get me wrong. I loved my job—mostly—and the kids were awesome. But there were just so many layers of bullshit that I hadn’t anticipated.
“You okay? You’re looking at that lesson plan like it just insulted your mother,” Dana said, looking up from her crochet with a raised eyebrow.
“I’m fine,” I lied. “Just, who even decided that five-year-olds had to meet an academic standard? I take it as a win if they can tie their shoes.”
She gave me a sympathetic smile. “It sucks, but it’s part of the job. And it’s your lunch break. Leave that for now.” She set her wool down. “Come for drinks tonight.”
“I wish I could,” I said, “but I’m busy.”
I appreciated the offer, and it made something loosen in my chest that she’d invited me, but I really did have plans for tonight—plans that involved John Wilder and orgasms. But I wasn’t about to tell her that.
And yeah, the fact that I was giving one of the parents sex ed on the side was another reason I was struggling. I was well and truly out of my depth, and it was the one thing I couldn’t talk to my brother about because he’d always been firm about having professional boundaries when it came to parent interaction. But those lines he’d warned me not to cross? They were so far behind me by now that I'd need the Hubble Telescope to spot them.
John Wilder was crack, and I was addicted, even though I knew it was a bad idea. He kept coming over after Gracie was asleep, and I kept inviting him in. Wilder always started out all tense and coiled like a watch spring when he arrived, only to slowly melt under my touch, and watching him put his trust in me was fast becoming one of my favorite things. Every time I introduced him to a new experience, his breath hitched in surprise and his face lit up with pleasure, and taking Wilder apart was one of the most erotic things I’d ever done. He was gorgeous when he fell apart, and I couldn’t get enough.
But it was afterward, when he’d curl up against me in bed, all loose-limbed and relaxed and sleepy-soft, and nap until it was time for him to go that the danger lay.
Because getting a hot guy off and introducing him to themiracle of the prostate was one thing. But snuggling afterward? Running my fingers through his hair, calling him Johnny, and telling him he’d done so well and I was proud of him? That was taking things into uncharted territory—and I wasn’t sure how to navigate those waters of attraction without drowning.
And it wasn’t like there was anyone I could talk to about it either. I wasn’t going to corner Dana in the teachers’ lounge and casually ask,So, what’s the protocol for banging parents, anyway?
Not that Wilder and I had banged. I was letting him set the pace, and so far he hadn’t suggested going any further than we already had, so I hadn’t pushed. Why would I? I was happy to take things slow. Because once I showed him everything I knew, what possible reason would he have to keep coming over?
My gut twisted at the idea. I knew, intellectually, that what we were doing was casual—Wilder had made it clear from the start that he didn’t have the time or energy for a relationship—but I’d grown accustomed to opening my front door and finding him standing there, a determined look on his face as he told me what he wanted to explore next. And I didn’t want it to end.
I shoved aside the thought of my arrangement with Wilder ending. He hadn’t said he wanted to stop, had he? He’d even made plans in advance to come over tonight. And I knew that Gracie was staying with her grandparents, which meant Wilder would probably stay instead of slinking off like a tomcat in the middle of the night. So I should just make the most of this while I had it, right?
Right.
Buoyed by the thought of a night in Wilder’s company, I turned my attention back to my lesson plan and teaching the kids about basic math concepts. I was trained for this—the math part, not the “falling for your hot single parent neighbor” part.
That one I still had to figure out.
We spent the afternoon painting, a perfect low-stakes activity for a Friday afternoon, and finished up with story time. I’d already learned that it was best not to bother with sendingworksheets home on weekends, so when the bell rang, all the kids had to do was make sure they had their backpacks and anything else they needed to take home—yes, Iwaslooking at you and your missing stuffie, Clayton—and I was home free until Monday.
“Hey, sweet pea,” Danny said when he arrived, waving at Gracie. “Wilder’s working late,” he said to me quietly, and I nodded. Overtime was overtime.
“Uncle Danny!” Gracie exclaimed and then sighed like the weight of the world was on her shoulders as she shrugged on the straps of her little pink backpack.
