Summer's Temptation (16 page)

I called him old; that’s what happened to Mr. Westbrook. I slump low, trying not to feel guilty, but remorse weighs on my chest like an anchor. After a weekend for my emotions to cool off, I wonder if I hadn’t been a teensy bit in the wrong. Sure, he humiliated me. Sure, I wanted to kill him, but that’s no excuse for attacking his appearance.

Freddy cocks his head and seems to study Mr. Westbrook more closely. “He looks so… so...”

“American?”

“Yeah. His hair’s even spiked.”

I’ve been too busy mourning his sweater vest to notice, but sure enough, his normally tidy business cut is spiked in the front. The hat’s gone too. He resembles every other guy walking across campus, albeit hotter.

Freddy drums his fingers on the desk, his chin cupped in his other hand. “I miss his sweater vests.”

“Me too,” I grumble. The missing fedora makes me want to cry, but at least he’s still wearing glasses. Although he may just be waiting for contacts to come in.

Freddy’s brow furrows, and his mouth turns down as though he’s as upset as I am over the change in clothing. That makes no sense. I’m the one who caused the abrupt switch.

“Let’s get started,” Mr. Westbrook says when the last student filters inside the room. “Today, we’ll discuss your final presentation and paper.”

I do my best to pay attention as he lectures, but it’s hard because I’m pondering apologizing. I’m not ready to say I’m sorry, but if I ever want to see his fedora again, I think I’ll have to. By the time Mr. Westbrook concludes the lecture, I’ve decided to wait until Wednesday to approach him. I need time to figure out how to express my apology without turning into a bumbling idiot.

Freddy stuffs his notebook into his backpack. “Want me to walk you to the MLRC?”

I raise an eyebrow. “Do you need to talk about something?”

He looks offended. “Can’t I walk my friend to her job without having an ulterior motive?”

The man abhors exertion outside of what is absolutely necessary. Walking me halfway across campus would definitely fall into the
not necessary
category.

“No,” I answer.

He sighs. “Okay, I want to talk to you about something.”

“Miss Faye,” Mr. Westbrook says, “I’d like to speak with you for a moment.”

I stifle a groan. I may be forced to say I’m sorry before I’m ready.

Slipping his backpack over his shoulder, Freddy stands. “I’ll wait for you outside. Maybe Philosopher Dan has something compelling to tell me.”

I shake my head while I stand. “I don’t know if I’d recommend that. I forgot his mustard today, and he’s cranky.”

“I’m gonna buy that man a case of mustard. Maybe that’ll…” He notices the way I’m fidgeting with my bag, and he asks suspiciously, “What’re you talking to Mr. Westbrook about?”

“I have no idea.” But I doubt it’s good.

“Hope you’re not in trouble.”

“Me too.”

“Don’t take too long, girl.” He strolls toward the door and steps outside, leaving only Mr. Westbrook and myself in the classroom.

My stomach rolls over a few times while I inch toward the podium. The room is silent except for the sound of him gathering his things and pushing them into his satchel.

When he’s done packing, he looks at me with a guarded gaze. He clears his throat. “I want to formally apologize to you, Miss Faye.”

I draw in a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. “You already apologized last week.” Granted, in the heat of the moment, I hadn’t cared much about it.

“I know, but I wanted to do it again. I should have allowed you to do the homework when you changed your mind. I went to an all-boys school, and several of the teachers punished us for tardiness with singing. It was considered done in good fun, but while you were at the podium, I heard some of the comments boys made regarding you. I won’t put you on display that way again or anyone for that matter. I’ve also assigned the impolite students several extra papers. If they ever cause a problem again, just let me know.”

For a moment, I’m rendered speechless. I’ve never reported a boy for staring at me in a sexual way, though I know it’s within my rights to do so. I don’t think most guys realize that leering can be as damaging as physically harassing a girl. To have Mr. Westbrook recognize what the boys did as hurtful is more than I could have hoped for. “Thank you, sir.”

He cringes.

I admonish myself for using the word
sir
again when I know how much he hates it. “Sorry. I’m Southern, and we’re taught to refer to our teachers respectfully.”

“It’s quite all right.” His expression makes it clear that it’s not all right. “I do want to add don’t be late again, because I will assign extra homework then.”

“Duly noted.” I guess it’s my turn to apologize, and I shift nervously. I can’t think of anything poignant to say, so I blurt out what meanders into my head so quickly the words sort of tumble together. “I like the fedora. I even like the sweater vests. Freddy misses them too.” As if Freddy’s shared interest in his wardrobe is somehow going to make my confession less weird.

Mr. Westbrook closes his laptop with a clink, and one side of his mouth tips up. “Is this your way of apologizing for calling me old?”

“The first time I walked into class, I thought you were twenty-five. I only said those things to piss you off.”

He’s quiet for a moment—contemplating my words maybe—then he breaks out in a sweet smile that makes me relieved we had this talk. “Does that mean you’ll reconsider the case study?”

“If you still want to use my paper, I’d be happy to do it.”

He nods once.

“Thanks for giving me the opportunity,” I add.

His smile widens, and it warms his eyes. “You’re very welcome.”

I smile but turn to leave quickly. I think he’s forgiven me, and I don’t want to stick around to say something stupid and change his mind. “I’ve got to go to work, and Freddy’s waiting for me. I’ll see you Wednesday.”

He nods. “Very well.”

With that, I head away and down the hall. When I stroll outside, Freddy’s standing by Philosopher Dan and smoking a cigarette. I wave him over, giving a wiggle of my fingers for Dan, who scowls at me.

“I’ll remember on Wednesday,” I call to him.

Dan continues glaring, and I shake my head, trying not to laugh.

Freddy jogs toward me, his backpack thumping against his side.

“Is this summer ever going to end?” I ask.

He takes a long drag and blows out the smoke in a thin stream. “Three more weeks, girl, and it’s all over.”

The breeze blows the smoke into my face, and I wrinkle my nose at the acrid smell. “Don’t Bible thumpers discourage smoking?”

“Please. Half my church smokes and drinks. College is a time for experimenting.”

I scowl at him. “What would Jesus do?”

He pats his round tummy. “Do I look like I’ve fasted forty days and nights? I’d be gnawing on a Joshua tree thirty minutes in. The devil could tempt me with a cheeseburger, and I’d be all his.”

I chuckle. “Same here.”

We stroll in amicable silence past the physics building. I’m proud of my patience as I wait for him to divulge his motive for escorting me a half-mile out of his way. A few moments later, I cast him sidelong glances, aware my resolve could crumble at any minute. Waiting has never been my strength.

“So how’d your talk go with Mr. Westbrook?” he asks, clearly stalling.

“Fine.” I hope he doesn’t push. I don’t like keeping secrets from my friends, but I also don’t want Freddy analyzing my relationship with Mr. Westbrook; that’s why I didn’t tell him about the dinner invitation. He’d turn the innocent request into something scandalous, and I’d never hear the end of it. “What’d you want to talk about?”

He scratches the back of his head. “Well, um…” He spends the next minute sputtering and trying to find words.

I’m officially tired of waiting. “Spit it out, Freddy.”

“What’s sex like for you?” he blurts.

I flinch. His brown eyes widen as though he’s just as shocked by his blunt question as I am. Maybe he’d planned to word it a little more modestly. I’m regretting my decision to push him. Thrusting my arm out like a swinging gate, I stop both of us dead in our tracks. For a conversation like this, I need to focus.

I sigh as I stare at him. Freddy’s a good friend. I probably spend more time with him during the school year than Hannah or Liz because he and I are in the same classes, and we study together almost every weeknight. But I never considered him the kind of friend I’d open up to about my sex life. I thought he’d been on the same page, but obviously not.

I lick my dry lips. “You thought I’d be the best person to ask a personal question like that?”

He rolls his eyes. “Please, girl. You’re built like a sex kitten. I figure you’ve got some experience with
hot lovin’.
”

Before Tyler, I wouldn’t have considered myself experienced with
hot lovin’
but now, yeah, I guess I do. Okay. If this is what Freddy wants to talk about, I’m game. “Uh… well… with the right person, it’s mind-blowing.”

His lips purse as though I’m not satisfying his curiosity and it annoys the hell out of him. “I need more. What do you mean by ‘mind-blowing’?”

I release a long breath, trying to figure out how to describe toe-curling sex without being crass. “Um… when it’s over… I feel like I’ve done a triathlon. I’m bone tired, like a puddle of happy goo. About ten minutes later, I want to do it again because it’s such a rush, and it feels so good.” I peer up at him, hoping he understands. I don’t want to go into explicit detail.

He nods, and I can see in his eyes that he’s cataloging all his experiences. “What about while you’re doing it?”

I start walking again. I need something to do while I’m giving him this kind of intimate information. “Well... it’s like this connection. I feel good, and I’m making the other person feel good. Having their skin next to mine feeds the lust, and then the world just seems to stop. Nothing exists but the two of us and the way we make each other feel.”

“And that makes you want to do it again? With the same person?”

“Yeah. It does.”

He shakes his head. “I must not be with the right person.”

Or maybe the right gender.
I want to say it, but I bite my tongue.

“When it’s over,” he says, “I want to get away as fast as possible. My skin crawls like I’ve got an army of ants attacking me.” He shudders. “I feel bad, ‘cause I’m sure I’m hurting her feelings, but I don’t know how to stay and pretend everything’s okay.” His voice is wobbly from emotion.

I want to stop and hug him, but I don’t think sympathy’s what he needs. A dose of reality would probably be more helpful. “When’s the last time you slept with a girl?”

“A month ago. I try every few months, thinking it’s gonna be different, but it never is.”

“Do you know what the definition of insanity is?”

He glares at me. “Doin’ the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.”

“Exactly. Maybe you should try something different.”

“Like what? A blow-up doll?” He frowns, his dark eyes stormy. “I’m not gay.”

“I never said you were.” After careful consideration, I add, “Maybe you’re bi?” I brace for the explosion.

He actually stomps his foot, which looks hysterical on a six-foot black man with broad shoulders and a gut. “I’m not bi!”

I grab his arm and jerk him to a stop. “Close your eyes.”

They remain open and look a little peeved to boot. “What are you up to, girl?”

“Just do it.”

He snorts his annoyance but closes his eyes anyway.

I grab his hand, positioning him toward the earth science building. “Don’t open your eyes until I tell you. When you do, I want you to look at the person standing under the eaves by the double windows. This person has an open book in their hand. They might be staring back at us, but I want you to look at them—hard. Okay?”

“Whatever. Can we get this over with?”

Gladly.
“Open your eyes.”

His eyes pop open, and his gaze goes straight to Tyler, who’s staring at us, looking perplexed. Freddy’s eyes get a little heated, and his hand tenses in mine. I can’t say I blame him. Tyler’s dressed in a blue polo with the collar turned up, and his back’s resting against the building, one leg curved, foot flat against the brick wall.

“What’s the first thing you thought when you saw him?” I ask.

His jaw clenches, and he curses. “I gotta go.” He rips his hand from mine, whirls away, and marches off with a proverbial storm cloud hanging above his head.

I scratch my temple as I watch him go, wondering if I took things too far. “Freddy?”

His shoulders tighten, but he doesn’t turn around.

A flutter of panic fills my belly. I pull out my phone and text him.
I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. Are you mad at me? Shouldn’t we talk?

He dips his hand into his pocket and pulls out his phone. A few seconds later, still walking away, he replies.
I just need some space. I’ll call you tonight.

He didn’t exactly say he
wasn’t
mad at me, but I’ll take what I can get. I text back,
I’m here for you. Anytime. Day or night. Call if you need an ear.

Thx,
he texts back
.

I hate watching him walk away, but there’s nothing I can do. What’s done is done. I’m about to leave when I give Tyler one last look. He’s still staring at me, eyebrows drawn low. His rugged handsomeness makes my insides quiver. Poor Freddy. Even if he’d been barely leaning toward gay, he’d never stand a chance against Tyler’s beauty.

For a blissful moment, I imagine Tyler’s lips on my heated skin. Things only get randier as I indulge in the hottest daydream I’ve ever had in public. After a few seconds, I yank myself back to reality. Tyler smiles smugly, and I shrug.

Come over early tonight
, I text him as I turn and walk away. I need some hard, rabid loving from my sex god.

Going to the bar with the boys
, he texts back.

My step falters, and I sigh longingly, wishing bros didn’t always come before hos.

My phone vibrates with another text.
Your ass looks edible in those jeans.

I chuckle.

My phone vibrates.
Laugh again. I like the way it makes your butt jiggle.

I peer over my shoulder and shake my head at him. I stifle my giggle because I’d prefer him to think of my derriere as firm, not jiggly.

My phone lights up.
I want to bite that little rhinestone heart on your jean pocket.

I can’t hold in the laugh, and it’s strong enough to shake my shoulders, which means it’s probably doing interesting things to my ass.