Page 8 of John Wilder Gets Schooled
I was going to need all the blue fish in the world.
It had been so longsince I’d been out drinking that my body had forgotten how to cope. I thought I was still hungover by the time Monday morning rolled around and I stood under the pathetic trickle of water that was all that came out of the showerhead in my motel bathroom, however much I tried to adjust it. I couldn’t wait to be out of here and into my new house. Dana might have thought it was crazy to buy a place the second I got to town, but with the way everything was going, a place in Goose Run might be all I’d ever be able to afford, and I wanted to grab it before I was priced out of the housing market entirely.
Also, it wasn’t so bad here. Well, at least it wasn’t too far away from a bunch of better places. Same thing, right?
I was looking forward to a proper kitchen in my new house as well, so that I didn’t need to go to the gas station on my way towork to get something to eat. The young guy in the coffee kiosk gave off a hostile vibe. At first I’d thought it was because I was an outsider, but then I realized he was like that with everyone. And the coffee and pastries honestly weren’t even decent enough to put up with his attitude but, like with everything else in Goose Run, my options were limited.
I arrived at school with a stale pastry and a burnt coffee and shuffled into the teachers’ lounge. I sat down in one of the worn old chairs and let out a long breath.
“Oh, Avery,” Alan said, “is that coffee from the gas station?” He shook his head. “Rookie error, my friend. Rookie error.”
Meanwhile he was fiddling with the coffee machine, trying to get anything at all out of it, so things were pretty thirsty up there on his high horse. I took a slurp of my coffee, pretending it tasted better than it actually was.
“You look tired,” Dana said, glancing up from her laptop.
“Just a headache,” I said, because that seemed less pathetic than admitting I was still hungover from Friday night.
“Oh no,” she said and hummed in sympathy. “I’ve got some Tylenol in my purse if you need it.”
“I already took some,” I said. “But thanks.”
The first cars were pulling into the parking lot outside, so I stood up and slung my bag back over my shoulder, then hurried to my classroom to open it up. I almost hoped John Wilder was late today so I’d have an excuse not to engage. I’d admit, I’d spent more time than was healthy over the weekend worrying that the guy was secretly a raging homophobe and would turn up at school ranting about someone “like me” teaching his kid. Given that he hadn’t hesitated to give me a lap dance, I didn’t think it was likely, but that hadn’t stopped me lying there and staring into the dark last night, pondering the possible end of my teaching career before it had even begun.
Get it together, Avery,whispered a voice that sounded a lot like my older brother.You’re a professional. You’ve got this.
The phantom voice was oddly comforting. Iwasa professional,and if I handled it right, there was no reason this had to go south. We could just pretend Friday night had never happened. I mean, he could hardly out me without outing himself, right?
The kids trickled into class in dribs and drabs and got settled. Five minutes before the start of class, the door opened and Gracie came in, followed by her silent father.
He crouched down and gave her a hug before she skipped over to her cubby and stashed her backpack. He and I eyed each other warily, like a couple of dogs deciding whether to sniff each other’s butts.
I did my best not to think abouthisbutt and how fantastic it had looked in that thong.
John Wilder was almost vibrating with tension. He looked like one wrong move would have him snapping like an elastic band, and I felt a sudden wave of sympathy. If this was awkward for me, how much worse must it be for him? He was probably worried I’d embarrass him in front of his kid—like I’d ever do something like that.
“Good morning,” I said breezily, plastering on a smile like this man’s ass hadn’t been up close and personal with my junk and I didn’t know he had a small crescent-shaped scar just above his left butt cheek.
I could see the moment he realized I wasn’t going to mention Friday night, and his relief was palpable. He gave me a slight nod and said, “Gracie’s snacks don’t need the refrigerator today.” And then he shot out the door like a scalded cat.
Okay then.
Situation handled. Now I just had to make sure I never saw John Wilder’s naked ass again—and really, how hard could that be?
CHAPTER 3
WILDER
Whenever anyone asked me how I got into stripping, I told them that I kind of fell into it. They usually laughed, but it was the truth.
On my twenty-first birthday, Danny had taken me out to a bar to celebrate being legally able to drink. We had some money his grandma gave us, and we hit that shithard.Forget cheap beer, we were all about shots. Anyhow, we got dancing with some girls we’d never met before, and things got kind of wild. Danny tapped out, but I kept dancing with them, and there was some grinding and stuff going on with both of them, and maybe my shirt came off. Then later one of the girls—Lauren—gave me her number, which I figured was how things would go. Except she said, “Call me if you want some work, hot stuff.”
Couple days later I called her and learned that Lauren worked under the stripper name Candii and earned more on a good weekend than I did in a week roofing. Turned out she was booking more gigs that had a mix of both guys and girls attending, and she figured having a guy to work with would keep everyone happy. We still worked together sometimes, but it hadn’t taken me long to start booking solo stuff as well. Bachelorette parties and birthdays mostly, and I sometimes worked the stage at Easy Rider when they needed someone. It was a goodway to earn some money for the times Uncle Steve didn’t have any work on since roofing could be hit or miss like that. I’d never cared too much if anyone recognized me—everyone around Goose Run already thought I was a fuckup anyway, so what did it matter? But Gracie’s teacher recognizing me? Gracie’s teacher recognizing me when I was grinding my bare ass an inch above his lap?
That made me feel sick.
I didn’t give a shit what anyone in town thought about me, but what if it started to impact Gracie? She was at school now, and rumors spread like wildfire through schools, and kids could be assholes. I didn’t want Gracie finding out about my side hustle. I didn’t want her to have to be ashamed of me. And to be clear, there was nothing wrong with stripping—but just try telling the rest of the town, you know? And somehow, single dad stripper hit different than just stripper. There was a whiff of desperation to it that I didn’t want anywhere near my kid.
Remember back to the first day of kindergarten when I’d thought the worst thing would be Mr. Smith hating me if I was late again?
