Page 45 of Lesson Learned

I say the words, but do nothing to facilitate them, still clutching her against me, not bothering to press the buzzer to alert my driver to the new request.

Paisley clings to me like I’m a support post and I hold her head steady long enough to kiss the top of it, fisting my hand in her hair just for the sensory memory, to keep me awake and alert throughout my afternoon class.

My cock stains against my fly, aghast that I turned down the offer of relief. Time is a good excuse but not the main reason. Before I want her mouth on me, I want to feel her again like I did on the first night.

My first anxiety-free fuck since coming home to discover my wife wasn’t the woman I believed her to be.

That’s how I want her and there isn’t time now but there will be. With her funding options slashed, she’ll need money or equipment orsomethingthat I’ll willingly provide in exchange for a night with her in my bed, exactly the way I need her to be.

I shift Paisley to the seat beside me, watching her fasten her belt with a glazed expression in her eye.

I kiss her, my hands finding their natural resting places on her body. Kiss her, then signal the driver to take us back to school, back to normal with the promise for the future tucked away in my mind like I’d tuck a keepsake in my wallet.

A special treat for later.

CHAPTERTWELVE

PAISLEY

I get backto school in ample time to reach my last class of the day. Not that I’m aware of anything the teacher tells me; my mind is adrift on an ocean of bliss, just waiting for the lesson to end so I can be free to explore my delicious new buffet of memories.

Once the bell goes, I float to my room, taking a long shower as I replay every moment with Mr Bradley, albeit to a slightly less satisfactory conclusion. Once I’m decent again, I make my way to the cafeteria, waving to Marnie once I’m through the door.

The rumours of a nose job never quite evaporated. At breakfast, a junior girl had skipped over to say how fantastic it looked and ask for the number of her surgeon.

I walk over to the table, balancing my tray and notepad, trying to think of an appropriate speech to text my clients, letting them know I have to close up shop.

When I left my room, I felt energised, ready to tackle everything.

The excitement dwindles when I see James.

He’s helped himself to a spot at our table ever since Marnie had her fight with Floss, something she still refuses to discuss in any depth, except to say she’ll never forgive her so it’s no use talking. For my easy-going judgement-free-zone of a friend to say those words mean it’s not a light squabble.

Although I’m automatically on my bestie’s side, I still miss Floss. A weird discovery to make considering our rancour.

Just this week, there’s been at least three occasions where someone nearby left a sarcasm sized hole in their conversation, and I felt bereft when her razor-sharp wit didn’t rush to fill the gap.

I plaster a smile on my face and James, sitting back with Marnie leaning against him, deliberately reaches around to cup her breast, bending to kiss the curve of her neck while staring straight at me. I try to tear my eyes away, but they refuse to move until the image is seared in my memory.

Barf.

His expression could mean he wants to kill me or fuck me and I’m not keen on either.

“Where’s Brooke?” I ask, taking my seat and peering around the room. “Is Harrison holding her hostage in his room again?”

“I don’t know,” Marnie says with an edge to her voice. “I’m not her keeper.”

Finally, I spot our absent friend on the opposite side of the room, Harrison’s arm tightly around her, surrounded by his mates. They don’t seem nearly as upset to have the dark-haired beauty in their company as I am to have James in mine.

She doesn’t look in any hurry to switch back places. My ribs ache as I face Marnie again. Marnie whose edges sharpen more with every passing day.

James smirks at me, taking pleasure in my discomfort. A whirlwind of condemnation swirls through my head. I should never have taken such a combative stance towards his presence, then these interactions wouldn’t be so strained.

At the same time, the more likely possibility occurs that he wants this to be strained. He wants me to leave and find a new dining companion so they can be alone. So no one witnesses the chinks and cracks appearing in his girlfriend.

Well, fuck that. I’ve never had a best friend, barely had people who counted more than acquaintances.

If he wants to tussle over Marnie, he’s got a fight on his hands.

---