Page 14 of Teach Me To Sin

To my surprise, Benji lets out a small, unbothered giggle, the corner of his mouth twitching up as he eyes Colson like he found a new toy to play with. They’re not so different, all mind games and sex appeal. The air between them is practically crackling, and I’m just on the side, hurting and lost for words. Maybe they’ll hook up later, all because I brought them together.

“You’re a bastard.” Jerking to my feet, I shove my phone in my pocket. “You think I’m doing this for fun? For six years I never set a foot out of line, because I knew what the consequences could be. Coaching is the one thing I believe in enough to stand up for myself, and I guess Ithoughtyou might–” My voice cracks embarrassingly. Colson listens with no expression at all on his perfect, angular face. “Fuck you,” I snarl.

As I stride down the patio steps and across the street, part of me hopes Benji will run after me and grab my arm. At the far corner, I check over my shoulder–they’re both watching me, but he hasn’t moved from his seat on the railing. When I turn around, I catch my reflection in the window of a department store, my features hovering in front of a row of mannequins in pink sun dresses. My face looks more like my father’s with every passing year, like a spot-the-difference game with fewer and fewer answers. Every time I look at myself, my self-hatred becomes vaster and more complex until I’ll never be able to find the edges.

When I reach out to grasp this pain–so I can take it to Colson and try to make him understand–my fingers bump into cold glass and I snap back to reality. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t hide in a dead relationship or spend every day teaching kids to paddle, unable to make myself touch the water. I can’t brush my teeth with my back toward the mirror or close my eyes every time I pass the window next to the front door. I can’t be safe or wise any longer. Something has to break, and I’m not good enough to let it be me.

Benji

“I guess he wasn’t bluffing,” I comment when Alek doesn’t reappear around the corner for a full two minutes.

“I didn’t think he was,” Hot Daddy says. According to the conversation, Hot Daddy’s name is Colson. It could be Cole for short–coal, like the color of his hair and eyes. Alek’s are like a raven, iridescent and alive. This one is harder, darker, something you can’t get your fingers around. I’m hungry for both—the sky and the earth.

“Good job being right, I guess.” I drop into Alek’s chair and pull my knees up. Condensation smears on my hand as I pick up his half glass of watery iced tea and slurp from his straw. Coughing and gagging, I practically throw it back on the table. “How many lemon slices did he squeeze into this thing?”

Colson’s mouth tilts into a smile as he watches me. “They brought him a whole bowl. I counted six.”

“Jesus. Does his tongue not work?”

Colson glazes over for a split second at the thought of Alek’s tongue working. I could point out that he seems obsessed with every detail of this guy he supposedly hates, but I’ll let him figure that out on his own. He probably can’t help it any more than I can. There’s just something about Alek, so lost and desperate to be filled–emotionally and literally. He makes you wild to be the one who gives him everything he needs.

“So.” Sitting back, I purse my lips and survey the cold green vegetable things in the middle of the table. I’m hungry, because I forgot my lunch, but I’m not that hungry. “You tricked me into coming here so you could yell at him for chasing my ass.”

Colson blinks, surprised, then props his elbows on the table. His rich man power stance does nothing to intimidate me. “I wanted to see what he thought was worth jumping into the fire for.”

“He genuinely wants me to go pro. It’s not about his ego or my ass.” When Colson looks skeptical, I reach over and grab his sparkling water, using Alek’s straw to stir the strawberries mixed in with the ice. His eyes catch on the way I wrap my mouth around the straw, and he can’t seem to look away. “Seriously, I’ve begged him to fuck me and he said no. He’s too busy talking about how perfect his girlfriend is and how many pull-ups I should do to build my shoulders.”

It’s fun to watch how much it hurts him to second guess his own assumptions. Finally, he shakes his head. “Who are you, anyway?”

“Well,” I hum, fishing out a strawberry and dropping it on my tongue. “I’m the inconvenient piece of ass that ruined your intervention.”

“Try again.” His smile can’t quite hide his agitation at not being given what he wants. “I’m being serious.”

“So am I.” I probably need to come up with answers to these questions if I’m going to swim for Alek, but Hot Daddy is out of luck today. “If you think he’s a piece of shit,” I evade, “then why do you care what he does?”

“I don’t think he’s shit.” It’s the most genuine-sounding thing he’s said since I got here. This guy’s almost as fascinated by Alek as I am; I guess I should feel jealous, but it’s kind of intoxicating instead. “I think he’s naïve, stubborn, and a little entitled. That doesn’t mean I want to see him and his life’s work publicly torn to pieces.” He hesitates, frowning. “I’m guessing he listens to you. Tell him to put an end to this.”

“Maybe I could, but you’re missing one key thing.” Glancing at my watch, I stand up and plop the drink down between us. “This piece of ass wants to swim in the Olympics, and I want that man to get me there.”

I can see his brain churning as he accepts my offered handshake. He miscalculated, and he’s recalibrating at the speed of thought. His strong hand feels warm as it squeezes my long, gangly fingers. “Keep working on him, though,” I add abruptly. “Turn him against me before I drag us all down.”

His eyes pillage my face, looking for anything he can grasp on to. “Who are you?”

“Just a hot little stray that likes to swim. He chased me, then I chased him, and now I guess we’re all chasing each other.” I cock my head at him with a grin. “So that’s exciting.”

If there weren’t so many people around, maybe he’d come after me, throw me against a wall, and make me talk. I wouldn’t mind that at all. But he just sits and stares as I walk away.

The feeling of being watched doesn’t disappear after three blocks. When I look over my shoulder, I see a flash of dark hair way off behind a tree. Jesus Christ, why does everyone think they’re James Bond? Colson Bond would be dead five minutes into the first movie.

Since I can’t return to work until he gets bored with stalking me, I walk a spiraling nonsense pattern through the downtown streets until I end up dizzy and drenched in sweat. He’s still back there like a damn tick on my ass. Annoyed, I shove through the revolving door of a skyscraper that doesn’t even have a name on the front. The receptionist eyes me suspiciously, like it’s important to defend the sanctity of this ugly art deco lobby full of fake plants.

Ignoring her, I watch out the windows as Colson stops, stares at the building for a while, then gives up and leaves. Just in case he’s skulking outside, I sit on the edge of a planter and play with bits of bark while the woman at the desk drills holes into me with her eyes. When it’s two minutes before the important meeting I’m going to miss at my dad’s work, I pull out my phone and call my father.

“Bennett? Where are you?” he growls.

“Funny thing.” Tilting my head back, I wrinkle my nose at the gaudy glass sculpture hanging from the ceiling. “I’m in a lobby with a bad Chihuly knockoff. Since I can’t get there in time, I’m just gonna take a cab home. Sorry take-your-loser-kid-to-work day didn’t pan out.”

“You’re driving me insane. You can’t keep doing this.”

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