School Ties (17 page)

I do something I haven't done for a long time. I get down on my knees and take her hand in mine, press my forehead into her knuckles.

“I'm sorry. I was trying to protect you and instead I hurt you. I'm not the guy you knew four years ago and I didn't think you'd want who I am now. But that's not for me to decide. I want you as much as I ever did. More. So if you want to get to know me, I'm going to stop being so fucking stupid and let you. Then you can decide.”

Erin

Shep is honest-to-god on his knees, holding his forehead to my hand. I feel better, but still woozy. The thrill of the opportunity being offered to me—to get to know Shep, peel back those onion layers and uncover what's inside the man himself—it makes the bluebird of happiness that's been nesting in my chest since I opened my eyes to his face explode into a burst of ecstatic feathers. That's all I ever wanted—a chance.

So I squeeze his hand and lay the other on top of his head, a strange benediction that ends when he lifts his gaze to meet mine. My fingers slip through his dark hair, landing limp on the bed.

“I'd like that.”

He smiles. Though it had made me feel oddly childlike, I hope against hope he'll call me his pretty baby again. Instead he says, “Me, too, lamb,” and that's just as good. He stays with me overnight again, always there when I wake with whatever I need: a glass of water, a cool washcloth for my pulse points, a strong arm around my waist to help me down the hall to my bathroom, and bowls of broth when I can stomach them.

I haven't felt this cared for . . . ever. When Tilly comes to check on me the day after, she has a sly look on her face.

“Say it, Aunt Tilly.”

I'm sitting up, propped against some pillows, and she's got a couple of fingers at my wrist to take my pulse. It's slower and steadier since the last time I saw her.

“Hmm?” Her dark brown eyes flicker up to mine and she looks at me, innocence personified. “I beg your pardon?”

“You've got something to say, so out with it.”

She sighs as if I've asked her to reveal top-secret information, but then she smiles, taking her fingertips from my wrist. “Pulse is much better. You're much better.”

I narrow my eyes. “Seriously.”

“I remember how he used to look at you, Erin. And of course there was nothing to do about it when he was a student. I know nothing happened between the two of you when he was. But he's not a student anymore. For the past four months, I've watched you two fumble around this nonsense like two incredibly incompetent jugglers. So maybe it's time to give it a try.”

“You— You think this is okay? I want to be with him, so much. But I'm worried what everyone's going to say. I mean, he was my student, and after Will—”

She lays a hand on my shoulder and it silences me. I hadn't honestly thought all that much about the repercussions of being with Shep because the obstacles had seemed so insurmountable. But now it seems like it might be happening.

“Did you know that when Uncle Rett and I got married, it would've been illegal in sixteen states? I'm not so impressed when it comes to what other people have to say about love.”

I'd forgotten about that. It seems so ridiculous that anyone could not want them to be together just because they don't have the same color skin. They're so perfect for each other, their love practically drips off them. They're so sweet it's almost sickening. Almost. Aunt Tilly gives my shoulder another squeeze and smiles.

“It's not going to be easy. There's going to be talk. It could get ugly. I'm not saying that to scare you off, but I want you to know what you're heading into. You've got the softest heart, Erin. It's been bruised enough for one lifetime. I hate to see it get hurt any more, but I think you're meant to be together and the sooner you all give up and give in, the better off you'll be.

“Zach Shepherd is crazy about you. He made me promise to wait here until he got back so you wouldn't be alone. So don't mess this up, all right? I believe the universe is a benevolent place, but even she only gives so many chances.”

Oh my. What am I supposed to say to that? I have no faint clue so I let her fuss over me until I hear the door to my apartment open and shut. That'll be Shep. As if to answer my unspoken question, his broad shoulders fill my doorway and we smile at each other.

Shy, knowing smiles.

Chapter Fifteen

Shep

The next day, Erin looks a million times better. She's gotten out of bed, washed her hair. I even heard her humming in the shower. She's gotten dressed, too, in those stretchy pants that fold over at the waist and the sweatshirt that will never not make me remember her dancing.

She made us oatmeal this morning and we sat across the table from each other, having some ridiculous stilted conversation about our classes and department gossip. Word has it Dan might be leaving in the spring, which would open up the department Chair. I told her she should try for it. She'd shaken her head and waved her hands. “I can't. I have a hard enough time managing the boys, never mind you people.”

But now the dishes are washed and put away and we're standing in her kitchen, not knowing what do to with ourselves. We're supposed to talk. I want to talk to her, but I don't know where to start. Besides, she looks tired.

“Do you want to go back to sleep? I know you're feeling better but you should take it easy.”

She presses her lips between her teeth and looks at me through her lashes. “I thought . . . I thought we could talk first. You said you'd let me know you. I want to know you.”

“I did say that, didn't I?” Anxiety flits in my stomach. What if after I've told her, she never wants to talk to me again? But, what if she does? It's a risk I've promised her I'd take. I steer her to the couch and sit on one side. I expect her to take the other, but she sits close, tucking up her feet and tugging down a blanket from the back of the couch to wrap herself in. It's like story time, but this is no fairy tale. But because I think it will make her laugh, I begin, “A long time ago . . .”

I'm right. Her eyes light up and she giggles. “How long ago?”

“About four years ago. In a land far, far away . . .”

“Called Evanston?”

I grin but narrow my eyes. “Hush, you, or you won't get your story.”

She covers her mouth with both hands before she lowers them into her lap. “I promise I'll be good. No more interrupting.”

Is it wrong I get a little hard from hearing her promise to be good? This is going to be rougher than I thought.

I tell her about the night I met Mordecai. Erin's a fantastic audience for a story. Her eyes go wide and her hands clutch the blanket during the anxious parts. She claps, a tiny thrilled motion, before she laces her fingers together to keep from interrupting as she's promised when I tell her how I stepped in. I try not to make a big deal out of it—it wasn't courageous or anything—but her eyes glow with something like hero worship and damn if it doesn't make me feel good. Really fucking good.

“So, that's how I met Mordecai. And started working at his club.”

“What kind of club? Another strip club?” Her eyes have gone round and curious, and I take a hard swallow. If only. She hadn't blinked when I said we went to the strip club. She's worked with adolescent boys long enough not to be shocked by that.

“No. It was a fetish club. A BDSM club. Does that mean anything to you?” I talk slowly, not knowing how she might react. Erin's this mass of contradictions; so smart and so in control in the classroom but sometimes so innocent and naïve. Which end of the spectrum is kink going to fall under?

She flushes bright red. “Yes, I know what that is.”

I can't tell if she's embarrassed or horrified or uncomfortable or what. She's usually so easy to read. But her fingers twisting in her lap could mean any number of things. “We don't have to talk about this—”

“What did you do there?” She's still flushed but her expression is one of earnest curiosity. At least I haven't scared the crap out of her. She hasn't kicked me out of her apartment or called Headmaster Wilson to tell him he's got a pervert on staff. But that could change.

“At first I worked the door, checking members in. Sometimes I'd get there early or stay late and help with whatever Mordecai needed help with. I needed the money and we got along well, so I did whatever needed doing. Books, paperwork, cleaning up. He taught me a lot about the business and about . . .”

“About what?”

“About power exchange. The games people play, how to be safe, how to use the equipment at the club, how to tell if scenes were getting out of hand. After a while, he had me start taking shifts as a dungeon monitor. You know, to make sure people were following the rules?”

She nods thoughtfully, her eyes cast down and her mouth twisted up.

“Erin, am I freaking you out with all this? I can't tell.” My heart takes a few solid thumps before she looks at me and holds up a finger. She disentangles herself from the blanket and starts down the hallway. I'm left on the couch wondering what the heck she's doing. Is she going to come back with a can of Mace? But when I hear her fuzzy-sock-clad feet pad down the hallway, I look up to find her with an armful of paperbacks. What the hell?

She doesn't say a word, but sets them on the coffee table, and proceeds to lay them out in a single layer over the beat-up surface. As soon as I see the first one, I stop breathing. Title after title of classic and contemporary kinky romance and erotica. I haven't read hardly any of them, but I recognize a lot of the titles and authors from talk I'd overheard at the club. Holy shit.

She kneels in front of me after she's finished and looks up with a nervous smile. “Still think you're going to freak me out?”

Erin

Shep is gobsmacked. That's the only word for the expression on his face. I want to laugh, but I'm worried he's going to get up and walk out the door. He thinks of me as sweet and sheltered. This might blow the lid off that. But it shouldn't, not entirely. Reading and doing are two different things; I've done a ton of one and none of the other.

I hope I'm not ruining some fantasy he's had about leading a complete and utter newbie into the lifestyle.
Don't be stupid.
As if he's fantasized about me. I'm sure he had plenty of women at school or at the club (a fetish club!) who were more appealing than dowdy Erin Brewster, his silly math teacher. God knows I've had enough fantasies of him, most of them involving things I've read about in those books.

It's been a minute and his wide blue eyes are still running over the titles again and again. Otherwise he's not moving.

“Shep?”

I've broken a spell and his eyes shift to mine.

“Have you read all of these?”

“Yes.” Some of them repeatedly, but maybe I'll save that for later.

“Where do you keep them? Because they sure as hell weren't on your bookshelf.”

I smile. No, not on my bookshelf. I'd noticed the two-thirds finished Harry Potter book lying face-down on the armchair in my bedroom where he's parked himself for the past few days. If I'd known, I could've directed him to my
other
stash of books.

“Under my bed.”

“Of course.” There's another pause and I wait for him to collect his thoughts. “So I'm all tiptoeing around this stuff and you're the world's foremost expert?”

I shake my head, hard, making myself dizzy in the process. “No.”

“Have you ever— With Will, did you . . .”

“No!” Relief washes some of the tension off his face. “Would it matter to you if I had?”

“No. Christ, no, Erin. That would be insanely hypocritical. No, I just want to know where we're starting from.”

Fingers of warmth clutch at my insides.
Where we're starting from?
We're starting something? He wants me?

“Will you tell me more? Now that you know you're not going to make me run screaming for the hills?”

“Yeah, of course. But could you put those away? They're distracting.”

I can imagine. Some of the covers are rather . . . explicit. I gather up my books and bring them back to their hiding place. When I come out, Shep's got the kettle on for tea.

“Sit,” he instructs. “On the couch, not on the floor.”

I do as I'm told, and wrap the blanket around myself before he comes back with two steaming mugs and settles next to me.

“After a while, some of the members started asking if I was available to play.”

I'd bet so.

“At first Mordecai said no, I was new and I was off-limits. But he had a few service tops and bottoms on staff and I thought maybe he'd give me a shot sometime. It took over a year. I'd resigned myself to doing everything but. But then, one night one of our best members showed up—this woman named Lydia, and she wanted to play. One of the club tops had called in sick, the other one was booked solid and Lydia didn't like to play with other members. She told Mordecai she wanted me or she was walking. He offered to top her himself, and he didn't usually play with members, but she refused. ‘Give me The Shepherd or I'm gone.'”

“They called you The Shepherd?” It's like something out of my books. The guys with the trying-super-hard-to-be-badass names like Whip Cock and Master Ass Daddy make me cringe. But, The Shepherd. It's silly, but fitting. Controlling but caretaking. I bite my lip so I don't laugh because he looks embarrassed.

“Yeah. Mordecai introduced me to the staff as Shepherd and one of the club bottoms liked to give me a hard time about how badly I wanted to top. She called me that as a joke, but it stuck. I guess it could've been worse, but, god.”

“So you played with her? Lydia?”

“I did. Mordecai asked me first. He wouldn't have made me if I didn't want to, even though it would have meant losing her and maybe a couple of her friends who were members, too.”

“But you wanted to.”

He shrugs.

“You did a good job?”

“Good enough she asked for me the next time she was in the club. Then other members started asking for me. Mordecai had to hire someone else for the door, but I still did the other stuff when I had time.”

He says it modestly, but I'm sure it was open season. Of course they wanted him.

“Did you like it?”

“A lot of it. I liked helping people relax, feel safe, forget about all the crap going on in their lives outside the club. I liked pushing their boundaries, showing them what they were capable of. I liked making them feel good, sending them home at the end of the night knowing I'd made their lives a little better.”

“You keep saying ‘people.' Did you play with men, too?”

“Occasionally. They tended to prefer one of our female tops or this guy Anton. But if they requested me I wouldn't say no.”

“Did you have sex with them?”

“No, no sex. With anyone. Against club rules. We could use whatever house toys and restraints the client okayed, but no sex. And no fingers inside a client.”

“Wasn't that . . . frustrating?”

He laughs. “Uh, yeah. Very frustrating.”

“But you had a girlfriend who could help you with that.” I state it as fact so he won't have to. I'm not dumb. Ugly, stupid, horrible guys get laid and have partners. Shep is none of those things. He frowns and I wonder if I've dredged up some awful breakup story. Maybe he's still in love with her, maybe that's why—

“No, I didn't.”

“She didn't want to play with you?”

“There was no she, Erin.”
What?
“Between classes and practice and the club, I didn't have time for a girlfriend, and one-night stands aren't my thing.”

“So . . .”

“So I spent a lot of time in the shower, and rubbing one out when my roommate had an early morning class.”

I clap my hands over my mouth and my cheeks heat with the fire of a thousand burning suns. Shep masturbating? Under a stream of water with a forearm pressed up against the tiles, his eyes closed, and his forehead pressed into his elbow? Or lying on his narrow dorm bed with his boxers shoved far enough down so he could take himself in hand and—

“God, I'm sorry. That was crass, I shouldn't have. I didn't mean to embarrass you.”

Embarrassment is not what I'm feeling. Unless you're going to count embarrassment over how hot that got me. “No, I'm fine. I work here, don't I? I know what goes on. You guys think you're all subtle, but . . .” I widen my eyes and he laughs.

“Fair.”

So if Shep didn't have a girlfriend at Northwestern, didn't want to go the whole wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am route, and I'm almost positive he didn't date anyone his senior year . . . “Can I ask you something?”

“You can ask me whatever you want. I want you to have all the information before you decide anything.”

“When's the last time you had sex?”

I've surprised him. He probably thought I was going to ask what his favorite kind of nipple clamps are or something. His brows crease and he scrapes both hands through his hair before he looks at me. “You really want me to answer that?”

The thought of Will and Lana comes into my head unbidden. What if Shep's been sleeping with someone here? How is it going to make me feel if he says last week? At least it hasn't been in the past three days, unless that's what he was doing while Aunt Tilly was here. Oh my god, it is, isn't it? I shouldn't have asked, but now that I have . . . “Yes?”

He shakes his head and raises his eyes to the ceiling, sliding his tongue along his teeth. I can't help my rapid blinking and my hands clutching my blanket, waiting for him to say something awful because that's what my head defaults to. Or does now, anyway, after Will.

“Never,” he says, his eyes on the ground. “Never.”

I would've been less surprised if he said yesterday. “Never?”

“Never.”

Shep

Could I crawl under Erin's coffee table and die? I'm guessing it's always rough to tell a girl you're a virgin. Probably you always worry she's going to point and laugh or whatever, even when you're a teenager and odds are she's a virgin, too. But I'm twenty-two. I worked at a fetish club. That's right: I'm twenty-two, kinky as fuck, and I've never gotten laid. It's ridiculous. Erin's not going to laugh. At least, not a lot. And it wouldn't be nasty. But I still don't want to look at her. Let her get it out of her system before I look at her.