Page 17 of Deeply Examined

I take a slow, measured breath before answering. “Fine. And how are you this evening?”

She blinks, then brightens with a teasing smile. “So formal, Dr. West,” she teases, batting her lashes. “I’m doing well. Extra good, actually, since I got a certain surprise gift from you today.”

Some of the tension leaks from my shoulders. “Do you like it?” I ask, softer than I intend.

Her grin widens, easing a knot inside me I didn’t know was there.

“I love it!” she exclaims, then grabs my hand and drags me after her, chattering excitedly. I snatch my satchel from the chair as we pass by.

“It’s so pretty!” Jessica says. “Exactly what I would have picked out for myself.”

She tugs me into her bedroom and waves to the large bed located in the center. “Look! Isn’t it amazing?”

The bed looks good, but it takes up the entire room. That’s how cramped her bedroom is. Irritation flashes through me that she lives like this. Jessica the prom queen deserves a real crown. A palace. Not this.

“What do you do for a living, exactly?” I demand, my tone harsh.

Again, she steps just out of my reach, until the backs of her legs are pressed against the mattress, and I instantly regret my words. I could have googled to find out more about her, but I deliberately hadn’t. It’s better not to know. I’m here for one thing only. To satisfy my desire and hers too. I'm not here to get to know her.

She lifts her chin, and even I can admire that spark of bravery in the face of an angry man.

“I’m a teacher. Just like my parents before me. High-school math.”

My stomach clenches as a premonition occurs to me. “Which school?”

I know the answer before she says it. “Southfield High.”

Thatplace. The one I hate more than any other. That’s where she goes every day. No doubt the boys there all ogle her when she’s at the front of the classroom. They probably imagine her spread out on their desks. They probably masturbate to that thought.

Just like you do,says a little voice in the back of my mind. I tell it to shut the fuck up.

“My parents used to teach there,” She continues, telling me information I already know. Her father, Mr. Jones, was my geometry teacher sophomore year. He was a nice man, even-tempered and patient.

“When I started teaching, the principal said it was full circle,” She says with a note of pride. “That my parents worked at that school and now I do too.”

More like circling the drain,I think.To be at a school like that.

“Isn’t that place kind of rough?” I ask, remembering how the surrounding neighborhood was run-down when we went to school there.

“It is,” she answers with a soft smile. “That’s why I teach there. Those kids need someone who gives a damn. They need extra attention.”

Great. She’s a bleeding heart. One of those people who think they can make a “difference.” Well, she’ll learn soon enough that the world is fucked and all that matters is looking out for yourself.

Strangely irritated by the thought of her wasting her time on those delinquents, I tell her, “Get on the bed.” I don’t bother smiling.

Her face falls, just for a second, but I notice. “I thought you said this was a date.”

“It is. A date where I fuck you.” I gesture toward the king bed with my chin.

She glances back at the doorway that leads to her kitchen and living room. “But I made dinner.”

For the first time, I notice the smell in the apartment. Something garlicky and aromatic. I quirk my head, confused.

“My grandma’s spaghetti with garlic bread and spinach salad.” Jessica winds her hands in front of her, probably nervous to see my reaction. “It’s delicious,” she adds, like she’s trying to convince me.

I stand there, torn. On the one hand, I’m touched she made food for me. I can’t remember the last time I had a home-cooked meal. On the other hand, when I said “date,” I thought she would understand I meant sex.

Nothing more.

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