Play Dirty: Devil's Mustangs MC (4 page)

MICHELLE

It’s been one of those days. You know, the days when you’re head won’t stop pounding, your mind is everywhere but where it should be, and you go all afternoon before you realize you’re wearing your shirt inside out. And by the end of the school day, I’m totally feeling it. In fact, this is one of the few days where I've been glad to send my students out of the classroom and where I really don’t want to watch them go.

Instead, all I want to do is sit back in my desk, thumb through a teacher’s edition textbook, and highlight till my hand has turned yellow. It’s my guilty pleasure – my relaxation technique. And no one is going to stop me from devouring the next three lessons for social studies.

… until Maddie walks in. It was the second day I hadn’t seen her in my classroom. I won’t lie when I say part of me didn’t miss her. As much as I commended her bravery and honesty, I certainly didn’t miss having to constantly correct her cursing or prevent her from lashing out on some of the other hotheads in my class. It was like a constant battle with her, and her being in the behavioral classrooms was a bit of a relief.

But the other part of me did miss her. She’s got a spirit, a grit, about her that was just like her father’s. She stood up for the little guy, and she wasn’t afraid to ask questions even if the other kids laughed or tried to make fun of her for it. You gotta love a student who actually cares like that.

So when Maddie walks through my door without even knocking, I’m a bit mixed on how I feel. She sits down at the desk across from me and sighs heavily, breaking the silence. “Miss Springer, when can I come back? I hate that stupid classroom with the bean bag chairs and the calming voices exercises.”

In my head I’m laughing as I picture this hell-fire girl being told to ‘breath in the good and exhale the bad’ or to practice counting exercises when she gets frustrated. I can only imagine how good that’s going! But still, I’m forced to keep an even, somber face as I reply, “Maddie, it’s only temporary. You know what you have to do. Just keep up the good work and power through it until the end of the quarter. That’s only a few weeks away.”

“That’s forever. I’m not very patient.” She crosses her arms in front of her chest and pouts dramatically.

I can’t stop myself as I say, “I can see you get that from your father.”

Her lip moves upwards towards a smile. “Yeah, my daddy don’t take crap from no one, and he certainly don’t wait around. He’d hate that classroom.”

I’m brought back to him telling me off as he walked out the door, me watching him saunter out the door like a spoiled child. These two are one of the same – wild to the bone, but at their core, just two impatient people. Luckily, I can handle it. “What have you told him about your new class?”

“Nothing. I haven’t talked to him about it. He’s been out on a run every night. Big Cindy’s been watching me.”

Zero of what she’s just said to me makes sense. “Who’s Big Cindy and why is she watching you?”

“Big Cindy’s the club’s main old lady. She’s Burner’s girl. Maybe his wife. I don’t know. She’s been around since my mom died. I see her on Tuesdays and Wednesdays. On Mondays, it’s Miranda. I don’t like her, but she sleeps with Ace and kinda lives with us. She just watches TV while I do homework. Then there’s Wanda and Pussita, but I don’t think Pussita is her real name. She always laughs when I call her that.”

Woah. I’m in shock. What am I supposed to do with that information? Most teachers would probably run and call protective services. But nothing she’s telling me indicates that she’s in any danger at all. It actually sounds like she’s got a support group.

I walk out from behind my desk and sit next to her in one of the kid-sized chairs. I lean in as if I’m about to tell her a secret. And in reality, it is. I don’t really share this with anyone else. “You know, I haven’t told you this, but when I was your age, my mom died, too. In a car accident. My dad was driving and he blamed himself for it. Other people did, too, but I knew better.”

I watch her as she lowers her head a bit, her eyes focusing on her hands twisting into knots. I’m diving into uncharted territory with this one, but I need to learn more to better understand her and her father.

She bites her lip and then reluctantly corrects me, “My dad wasn’t there when she died. My mom was out riding her chopper, and some guys from the Coyotes came and shot her tire. They say they did it because they knew she was my dad’s old lady, and that killing her would get to him for him stealing a route.” She pauses, and then adds, “He was really upset when she died. Ace told me that he didn’t ride for three full months. I don’t remember much of it, but he doesn’t talk about her either.” 

I’m choked up. This girl, this poor girl, needs a mother and a father. And all she’s getting is the memory of a mom she never knew and a man who is absent. She’s living in what sounds like a whorehouse with more motorcycles. And she doesn’t know how to grieve or process any of it. How can anyone do this to their daughter?

That kind of man walks in the door seconds later, not giving me any time to respond to Maddie. He knocks on the wood of the door, sending the sound echoing through the empty spaces of the classroom. He sees Maddie sitting alone, a gloomy and depressed look on her face and he instantly starts on her.

“What are you doing here, Maddie? Get going! The girls are waiting for you!” He growls at her as if she’s done something horribly wrong. And as she runs past him and out into the hallway, he watches her go, following her every move.

While his back is turned, I walk back to my desk and sit behind it like a barrier. It’s really the only thing I've got in this room besides my kid-proof stapler and scissors.

He returns his attention to me, his eyes studying me up and down. Suddenly, I feel silly for wearing something so conservative. I can tell he hates my red pencil skirt and the black sweater with the rhinestones along the high neckline. I shouldn’t care, but I do. Maybe I can use those scissors to quickly cut a lower v-neck…

Cal interrupts my thoughts, “Miss Springer.”

“Michelle.” My voice interjects without my brain catching up to it.

“Michelle – I believe we have a meeting.”

Oh no! I completely forgot I'd scheduled this with him. I stand, rustling through my folders for Maddie’s charts and notes. In my frantic motion, I push over the file holder, sending hundreds of papers crashing to the ground.

Cal doesn’t move, doesn’t even budge from where he's standing. Instead, he hovers over me, watching me with a look similar to a lion about to devour a tiny creature for breakfast as I lean down to pick up my papers one by one. He even dares to tilt his head towards my ass as I face his direction.

He reaches his boot out and steps on a paper, keeping it from blowing away. Leaning down slowly, our eyes catch. I can’t stand to hold his attention for too long, and I look away, focused on making sure my papers are okay. His voice softens with a hint of humor as he says, “So, let me guess. You forgot you basically forced me into this meeting.”

I blow a puff of air, sending my bangs flying from my face as I say, “I didn’t forget! I just wasn’t that, uh, prepared. It’s been a long day.”

“Has it now?” He’s basically gloating. Here’s this perfect, stuck-up teacher he’s managed to best.

“Yeah, Cal. It has.”

He quickly corrects me, “Mr. Ross.”

I mutter under my breath, “Whatever.” I’m so not interested in playing this game with him.

He stands, the smile draining from his face as he looks at me annoyed and angry. I quickly muster an apology as I follow him. It was totally inappropriate of me.

“You’re braver than you look. You’ve got some real balls on you. No guy in the club would ever say ‘whatever’ to me.” He takes a few steps towards me, so close that I can make out the faded letters on his black t-shirt and the small stubble on his face. I can smell his cologne – a mix of musk and oil.

But I’m not backing down. Not like Big Wanda and Pussygirl… or whatever Maddie said their names were. I take two steps closer to him. This time, I’m mere inches away from him as I look up towards his face and reply, “No, I don’t have balls. I have an absence of balls. But I’m a teacher, and I don’t take shit.” It’s bold. So bold. I don’t know where it’s coming from. Something about him has made me go weak and strong all at the same time. I want to be like him, and I want to be nothing like him. My head is spinning at the back and forth. 

He, again, checks me out, taking me in. I watch him lick his pink, pale lips as he notes, “You may be the teacher, but I already know what you’ve got down there. Too bad it’s covered up by this.” His hand wraps around my backside and lifts the hem of my skirt. His fingers trace around to the front, sliding up against the top of my thigh. As he rounds around to the front, I feel his fingers brush up against my panties.

It’s totally inappropriate. I know this. But I don’t stop him. I don’t step away. In fact, I move in closer, giving him a better feel of the cotton white bikini style panties I’m wearing today. They’re not exactly sexy, but who could've planned this?

I lift my leg as I step, allowing the hemline to go even higher. His thumb hooks around the thin band at my hip and his other hand slips in the panties. I look up at his face, totally transformed. His mouth is slightly agape as he finds my eyes. And then a finger slips in. I let out a small coo, a gasp of breath.

This is so wrong. This is so wrong! But what am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to stop this. His hand and fingers are exploring me, knowing me. And all I can do is just stand here, allowing him to do so in my own classroom. My breath is gone, totally and completely gone as his fingers push and pull and it out of my body. And I can feel myself getting wetter, my mouth building up with liquid while my folds lubricate themselves against his rough, thick hands.

He presses against my sex, finding my clit despite me standing with my legs still together. I can tell he’s done this before. I reach backwards, finding the corner of my desk. I tilt back, stretching out towards him. But he just stands there, watching my face as his hands do all the work.

And then he leans down, going to his knees. His head slips under my skirt and I can feel the messy curls of his hair against the inside of my thigh. His breath kisses where my stockings meet my skin and then I feel it traveling north to where his hands are. His lips touch where his fingers are and then his tongue appears. Soft and sensual, he peels apart my folds, finding my spot in seconds.

I let out a huge gasp and lean farther back. His mouth presses up against my bare skin, and I’m lost, totally focused on what he's doing. Every flick of his tongue sets me on fire while his breath cools me like an icy bath. Every subtle movement is just another new sensation I’ve yet to have. Every flick of his tongue just sets me back further and further under his powers.

Then, he stops. His head quickly pulls away and out from under my skirt. He grabs a piece of paper that I missed with one hand while his other flattens my hemline carefully. He coughs a few times before looking up at me with a knowing wink.

A knock and then the twist of the doorknob pulls me back to where we actually are – in my classroom, in our school. The sixth grade English teacher is standing in the doorway, looking up at us suspiciously. I quickly find my spot in all of this, saying breathlessly, “Thanks Mr. Ross. I seem to be dropping everything today.”

Melinda Peabody coughs and then speaks slowly in her usual drone. She hasn’t caught on to what just happened between us. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but, Michelle, do you happen to have a copy of the lessons on pronouns from last week? One of my tutoring students lost his.”

I run to behind my desk, a complete mess after the real spill of papers and my grabbing on for support. I pull out a packet of English lessons and find the one she’s talking about. She walks slowly into the classroom, taking in Cal with her eyebrows raised approvingly. I don’t blame her. Now that I’ve really got to see him up close, I've got to admit that he’s both imposing and handsome – the perfect combo for us teachers apparently. She eyes him once more as she thanks me, walking slowly out.

I stand awkwardly behind my desk, not even able to look up at him. I mutter under my breath, “Thanks for that”