Page 53 of Backlash

“It’ll definitely be on the test,” I argue.

“Eyes. Closed.”

I oblige with a grin.

I hear the squeak of the plastic office chair, the even, smooth sound of her other leg coming out, followed by total silence. I’m on the verge of insanity when I feel two palms on my shoulders. I inhale deeply, taking in her scent. Then I’m shoved onto my back as she straddles me.

I feel like an attack dog let off its leash. My eyes snap open. I grab either side of her jaw in my hands and see her soft, glossy lips part in anticipation. I bolt upright and she responds by wrapping her legs around my torso. The bulge in my jeans grinds against the fabric of her panties and she whimpers.

“Teachers aren’t really supposed to do this kind of thing with students,” she says, eyes closed, cheeks stained crimson on alabaster white.

“I think I’m going to ace that final. Maybe we can skip the chastity clause?”

“I think that would undermine the reward system,” she pants, but presses her body closer. “Don’t you want to focus?”

I answer by pushing her hips against mine, our bodies slowly grinding as our hands explore. There are a lot of things I want to focus on.

“Sterling.” The call is soft, barely audible over the blood pounding in my ears.

“Yeah, Lucky?” I respond, my teeth nibbling her ear. Adair tenses. I pull away. “Did I do something wrong?”

“I didn’t say anything,” she whispers. “I think there’s someone at your door.”

“Sterling!” This time there’s no mistaking it. Someone’s calling from outside the door which is, thankfully, locked.

“Francie!” I hiss quietly. We’ve been studying for longer than I thought. “Get dressed, quick.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re the one who wanted me to take off the pants!” Adair picks them up and dashes for the bathroom door. “Shit! It’s locked!”

“Sterling, are you there?” Francie calls on the other side of the door.

Adair is on the bed, desperately trying to pull on her leather pants, her legs stuck straight up, like she even needs gravity to help with the process.

I tiptoe to the door, retrieve her top, and throw it at her. That’s when I hear Cyrus. Cyrus, who is supposed to be on his way to the Bahamas or the Virgin Islands or somewhere I’ll never be able to afford to visit.

“Francie? I’m Cyrus.” he says. “Sterling told me you were coming.”

“I didn’t think I would get to meet you.” I can hear her hug him, the smoosh is audible.

Yes, keep up the small talk, I pray.

“I need to hit the road soon, but I forgot my phone charger.”

Keys jangle. Come on, Cyrus. Figure it out.

The key goes in the lock. The sock is universal, shithead.

The door opens inward, and I am greeted by my foster mother and my soon-to-be ex-roommate. I’m going to kill him, or maybe roast him alive. My own Thanksgiving turkey. I slide over to block their view of the bed and try to seem like I was hurrying to the door. Cyrus brushes past me, a shit-eating grin sparking on his face as he catches sight of Adair standing up from the bed, her top on inside out.

“Well,” Cyrus says flatly. “I guess that explains the sock.” He tosses it to her.

“Francie, I’m so sorry. I lost track of time,” I say. Adair appears at my side, somehow already more composed than me. “This is Adair. Adair MacLaine. My, um, friend.”

Adair’s eyes dart in my direction at the sudden demotion, then smiles warmly at Francie. “Pleased to meet you.”

Come on, Francie. Be cool.

“I’m pleased to meet you, too.” Francie gives me a small, inscrutable frown before returning to Adair. “I wish I could say Sterling has mentioned you, but Sterling hasn’t told me much of anything since he began school.”