Total pages in book: 168
Estimated words: 164910 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 825(@200wpm)___ 660(@250wpm)___ 550(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164910 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 825(@200wpm)___ 660(@250wpm)___ 550(@300wpm)
Footsteps approach, and I look up in time to see Iron and Trace stroll into my classroom. Lightning flashes across the sky, thunder following.
“Ready?” Iron asks.
“I have my own car.” I push in my chair. “What are you doing?”
As if I don’t know. Most of the teachers here are women. They’re hoping to get an eyeful.
But Iron explains, “Dinner’s ready. Krisjen cooked.”
Right. As if her take on my parents’ recipes is worth rushing home for.
But actually, she has improved with Mariette’s help. And it is nice to have meals at home more. I’m not sure I feel ready to tell her that, though.
But I know why they were sent to escort me. “Macon doesn’t trust that I’ll be on time,” I state.
“Pretty much,” Trace chirps, sifting through the books on my desk.
We’re moving two trucks of liquor tonight. I have hours before I need to be home, since we’re waiting until most of the town is in bed for the night.
Trace holds up Sex in Antiquity. “What the fuck is this?”
I grab it and stuff it back into the bottom of the pile.
“Research,” I mumble.
I’m still deciding if I want students to be able to borrow it or not. It’s a scholarly text, not porn, but there are some graphic parts.
“Oh, I get it.” Iron peers at me as if he’s just discovered a secret about me. “Sexuality was more about roles back then, rather than gender. One was passive, the other dominant…”
“Sex was about power,” I say as I lead the way out of my classroom. “Roman male citizens couldn’t be in the passive role. It was shameful to be the one penetrated.”
Trace shivers, and I throw him a look. I know he doesn’t mean anything by it, but it’s clear some things haven’t changed.
“So, have you ever been the submissive one?” Iron presses, walking next to me.
“Are you asking if I’ve ever been the socket instead of the plug?” I tease, sticking my fingers in the hole of my other hand. “Is that what you’re asking me?”
Trace shakes with laughter, and Iron turns away with a grin.
“You shared a room with him,” Trace points out to him.
“I didn’t share men with him.” Iron sees two women pass my classroom door in the hallway and lowers his voice. “If it wasn’t a woman, I didn’t stay.”
He did walk in a couple of times, but he was quick to turn around and leave again. Not sure he could tell what was happening.
“So have you?” he asks me again. “Been the submissive one?”
The memory floats in my head, and my mouth falls open a little, but I can’t take in much air.
“With one,” I murmur.
Other words sit on the tip of my tongue as the feel of him hits me all over again, but I don’t like to make him special, even in my head.
“You didn’t like it?” Trace asks, actually sounding interested.
But I don’t want to talk about it anymore. “Let’s get out of here.”
We continue down the stairs, veering right, around the courtyard.
I glance at Iron. “Are you nervous?”
“Please.”
It’s his first time breaking the law since he got out of jail, and I’m surprised Macon is taking the chance.
“Maybe you should sit it out tonight,” I say.
But he just shakes his head. “I don’t get caught when I’m making money.”
True. He only gets caught when he’s angry, not thinking straight, and hitting someone. He should still ease back into it, though.
“I think we should wait.” We head past the gym, seeing a few cheerleaders working out. “Make the delivery in a couple of days. Or find a way to do it in the daylight.”
Trace and Iron both look at me, and I know it doesn’t sound like me, but…“Something feels off,” I tell them.
Things have changed. They’re going to be waiting for Iron to make any misstep, there are street cams on every corner now, and fewer people in town in the off-season also means more eyes on the few of us who remain.
“Well, I’ve got orders to fill.” Trace unwraps the button-down from around his waist and slips it over his T-shirt. “You can sit it out if you want.”
“Oh, fuck you,” I grumble.
My brothers laugh, and we stroll by the open doors to the chapel, seeing Garrett Ames speaking to Jerome Watson and Dale Kirkland, another alumni booster.
Ames peers over his shoulder at us, and without bidding his pals goodbye, he turns toward me.
I jerk my chin at Iron and Trace. “I’m coming.”
They take the hint and hesitate for only a moment before they continue on, out to the parking lot.
Garrett Ames buttons his suit jacket, lifting his chin as he approaches. When he gets to me, I keep walking, following my brothers and forcing him to follow.
“Your stepdaughter was already picked up,” I say.
But I know that’s not what he wants with me.