Getting Played - Emma Chase Page 0,31
a teacher, they spill all kinds of hilarious personal shit.
It’s how I know Lakeside’s creative writing teacher, Alison Bellinger, has a thing for gray-haired dudes. And gym teacher Mark Adams has never done anal. And science teacher Evan Fishler thinks anal was done to him—by aliens. And guidance counselor Jerry Dorfman has hyper-sensitive nipples. And English teacher Peter Duvale has a deeply-rooted fear of the color lime-green.
After the football game, I go home, grab a shower and head to Chubby’s—Lakeside’s local bar. It’s tradition. The students have their beer bashes in the woods or maybe the basement of some upperclassman’s house—the faculty has Chubby’s.
One night that will forever live in infamy, even our principle, Miss McCarthy, and her assistant, Mrs. Cockaburrow, showed up after a particularly hard-won game. Turns out after a couple boilermakers, Mrs. Cockaburrow’s an animal on the karaoke machine—and the woman’s got pipes.
By the time I walk in, the gang’s all there, gathered around a few pushed-together tables in the back. Jerry’s wife, art teacher Donna Merkle, is here along with Kelly Simmons, Alison, Mark and Evan. Garrett was here too—because he’s hella superstitious during football season and would never mess with a tradition—but he only stayed for one beer before heading home to Callie and Will.
I grab a drink from the bar and slide into the empty chair next to Kelly as she texts on her phone, her fingers moving quick and pissed off. I never did hit her up for that hookup. My head—and other body parts—just wasn’t into it. But from the looks of it, the rumor about her troubles in marital paradise might be true.
She slams her phone down on the table and takes a long drink of whatever dark pink fruity concoction is swirling in her glass.
“Problem?” I ask.
“Richard is working late again. I’ve been dropping hints that I’m feeling neglected and he’s playing it off like he doesn’t care.”
Kelly enjoys a good head game, she always did. Acting a certain way to get someone else to act the way you want.
“When you marry someone whose nickname is Dick, you can’t really be surprised when they act accordingly.”
There was a time I was into head games too—when I was young and selfish and an asshole. I’m ashamed to say it was a rush to see how much I could get away with, how much a girl would put up with until she snapped. But I lost interest in games around my third year of college. I guess it was maturity—messing with another person’s emotions didn’t make me feel cool or smart—it just felt shitty. Now raw honesty is my policy.
I take a drag off my beer and focus on more important matters—scanning the bar for the lucky lady who’ll get to ride my face tonight. And I know it when I spot her. Three o’clock, at the bar, long straight dark hair and a sweet bubble ass. Perfect.
I rise from the table and make my move.
This is going to work. I’m going to get off the bench and back on the field. This is going to be awesome.
I lean my arm against the bar beside her. “Can I buy you a drink?”
And then she turns around.
“Coach Walker!”
And my cock keels over like a sad, dying tulip.
Her name is Kasey Brewster. She was a student of mine about ten years ago.
“Hey Kasey, how are you doing?”
Ruby-red lips smile brightly. “I’m great. I’m home visiting my parents. I’m working in the physics department at MIT.”
“Good for you.”
Kasey was always smart. Bubbly. That doesn’t seem to have changed.
“It’s so good to see you. God, you look exactly the same!” She leans forward and puts her hand on my arm. “You know, we all had the biggest crush on you back in the day.”
It happens. When you’re a good-looking, naturally charming teacher, student crushes come with the territory. I typically ignore them, but if things get out of hand I go with the kind but firm, “I’m your teacher and it’s never going to happen” speech. Kasey hid her crush well.
“No kidding?”
“Yeah. The more things change, the more they stay the same.” She wraps her lips meaningfully around the straw in her glass. “Are you married? Seeing anyone?”
“Nope. Still swinging single.”
Her smile grows wider. “You want to get out of here? Go somewhere to get . . . reacquainted? Now that we’re both adults?”
Even if my libido wasn’t a barren wasteland, since Kasey was once my student, in my mind she’ll always be my student—which means