Rewriting History (4 page)

Chapter Six

Eli

“You’re crazy.” She laughs as I push the door closed.

In the confines of my office, I pull her against me, pressing my lips against hers. God, she’s fucking amazing. I promised I’d stay away from her as much as possible this week, with her midterms, but it’s proving to be harder than I’d thought—and it’s only been a week.

“Crazy about you, maybe,” I mutter, kissing her neck.

She shrieks and tries to duck away from me. I put my finger to her mouth, reminding her to be quiet, though I’m sure the whole school would’ve heard that squeal.

She nods and winces, then presses her lips against mine. She pulls away and smiles, her green eyes darting down toward my erection.

I glance at the door, remembering the way I’d carefully locked it earlier. Maybe I’m paranoid, but I could only imagine the shit I’d be in if someone walked in right now. This could not be explained easily, but I’m already in way over my head. Why stop now?

“Hey.” She smiles, her fingers caressing my face. The sound of her voice brings me back to the present, and once again I’m lost in her beauty. “Where’d you go just then?”

“Thinking,” I admit. “I hate sneaking around. I hate not seeing you.” I laugh. “I hate seeing you and not being able to touch you.”

Her gaze drops and she smiles. “I know. I hate it too. But your career . . . I know how serious what we’re doing is, Eli. I want you to know that. Every single day I have to fight the urge to just run up and kiss you.” She waves her arm. “It’s moments like this that are keeping me going.”

I groan as her hands travel down to my crotch. She has an evil smile on her face and I know where this is headed—no pun intended.

“I have a meeting in ten minutes,” I protest as she begins to unbuckle my pants.

She raises an eyebrow. “As I remember, that’s plenty of time for you.”

“Watch it,” I grumble, my lips twitching at her joke. I sit back against the desk as she tugs my jeans and boxers down. Her fingers curl around my cock and she smiles.

“God, I forgot how big you are,” she whispers.

“Jill, we agreed . . .” My voice trails off.

“. . . to wait until my eighteenth before having sex again.” She shrugs, her eyes narrowing as she sinks to her knees. “You didn’t mention anything about putting your cock in my mouth.”

Oh, God.

I try and block out the voices I can hear coming from the staffroom next door as her lips move up and down my length. She grins at me as I run my fingers through her dark hair. Standing there, watching her do this . . . It’s incredible.

“I love your taste,” she whispers. “Does it turn you on, me doing this?”

“You fucking know it does,” I mutter.

My body begins to shake. I grip the side of my desk and reposition one of my legs so it rests on my chair. Her hands are curled around my thighs as she takes as much of me into her mouth as she can. 

I’m so fucking close. There are so many distractions, and I’m trying not to draw any attention to what’s going on in here. I’m being paranoid, I know, but I can’t help it.

“Jill, I’m close. Pull away,” I warn her.

Her hands urge me to keep going as she takes me deeper into her mouth.

“Fuck,” I gasp, squeezing my eyes closed. My body jerks as I release in her mouth. I can feel her swallow, which makes me want to come
again
.

I can’t believe she just did that.

I feel shock. I’m in awe of her gutsiness. But most of all, I feel lucky that she’s mine. She gets to her feet and smiles at me.

“Don’t you have class to get to?” I tease.

She giggles as I kiss her lips. My hand grazes her ass as she presses herself against me. Arousal stirs inside me and I smirk, because she’s getting me hard,
again
.

“I could say the same thing to you, Mr. Anderson.”

I wince. “God, don’t call me that. It makes me feel like a creep.” She makes a face and I slap her playfully on the ass. “Watch yourself, Ms. Wilson.”

I let her out of my grip and watch as she moves toward the door, unlocking it and letting herself out.

“I’m glad midterms finish on Friday.” She smiles. “I can’t wait.”

“Me neither,” I murmur.

***

“Good of you to make it,” Mr. Galleu drawls as I take my seat at the table.

“Sorry,” I mutter. “I was held up with a student.”

Not a complete lie.

Mr. Galleu drones on and on about exams, school policies, and other things that I should probably care about more than I actually do. I have to force myself to focus or risk falling asleep.

“As I was saying before,” Galleu shoots me a look, “this is our last meeting before the end of the semester. I just wanted to wish everyone an enjoyable holiday. Mr. Andersons, can I see you both?”

I glance at my father and wonder why he wants to see him. Me, I can understand, but what does my father have to do with anything?

I hang around as the meeting empties, purposely staying over on the other side of the room to avoid small talk with my father. Even from over here I can see he doesn’t look great. A wave of guilt rushes over me. I haven’t called my sister for an update in more than a week.

“Elijah, Tony, sit.” Galleu nods at us, and we both sit on opposite sides of the table. “So, Elijah. You obviously know your father is scheduled for heart surgery in January, and for that reason we’ll be needing you to continue to take his classes next semester.”

My head shoots up. Heart surgery? I glance at Dad, but he won’t meet my eyes. Am I supposed to feel guilty for not finding this out sooner, or annoyed that I wasn’t informed?

“
Eli
.”

“I’m sorry, what?” I snap my attention back to Galleu.

“I said I know we asked you to stay on to fill a gap in Junior History, but it’s easier for us to cover that than it is Senior, so you’ll be staying in Senior to cover your father’s classes. I trust that’s not an issue for you?”

“Not at all,” I reply stiffly.

Inside, I’m dying. Senior History? The rest of the
year
teaching Jill?

I’m annoyed, and I have no idea who my anger is directed at. Am I annoyed at my father for getting sick? Or myself for falling for a student? All my life I swore I’d never be like him. It was the one thing I could pride myself on—that I was a better man than my father. Until now.

“Great. We’ll discuss the details after break. You may go now.”

I stand up with more force that I intended, my chair sliding across the floor and into the table behind me. I mumble a goodbye and walk toward the door, not looking at my father.

***

“Afternoon, Mr. Anderson.”

I glance around and smile at the girls who have scattered about my desk. They giggle and whisper, and I don’t even want to think about what they’re saying. I know the stir my presence has caused among the females here, and I’m glad Jill is not in this class. I could only imagine how she’d feel seeing these girls all but throw themselves at me.

Of the four classes I teach, this one is the worst. I swear, half the class is only there to ogle me, and I am constantly being asked to explain things in greater detail. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve been asked about private tutoring.

Enrollment for second-semester Junior History has more than doubled since it was announced I’d be teaching the class—all female. I can only imagine the uproar my staying in the senior department is going to cause.

“Afternoon, girls. I hope you’re ready for the midterm,” I say, raising my eyebrows.

“Ready as I’m gonna be,” the girl I know as Dana laughs. “What are your plans for Christmas, Mr. Anderson?”

I ignore the way she’s leaning on the desk, subtly hitching the hem of her skirt up.

“No plans,” I say, my eyes fixed on hers.

Teaching high school kids is lethal, especially when they’re female. My students are seventeen and eighteen, and I’m sure many of them see me as a challenge. I never wanted to teach high school, but when I heard that Dad was sick, I felt obliged to help out in some way. This position gave me the chance to stay in Denver, and be close to Jill.

Of course, at that stage I didn’t realize she was a student.

My real career goal is to teach Ancient History at college level, but positions like that are hard to find. A major in history doesn’t exactly leave you with multiple job prospects. At the moment, I need to take what I can get until I build some experience.

“Okay, guys, in your seats. Let’s get this exam underway, okay?”

Groans fill the air, but the students slowly shuffle their way to their seats and sit down. I run through the rules and hand out the papers, announcing that it’s time to start.

The rest of the day flies by as I’m distracted by thoughts of my father, Jill, and what the fuck I’m going to do. I can’t be her teacher and be with her. It might not seem like much of a jump to go from being a substitute teacher to
her
teacher, but for me it is.

I’ve already broken so many of my own rules lately that I almost don’t know who I am anymore.

***

Arriving home, I get inside and immediately call Mel.

“You couldn’t warn me that Dad is having surgery?” I growl.

She’s taken aback by my anger, and I can understand why, but she has no idea the affect this little piece of news will have on my life.

“Nice to speak to you too, Eli,” she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“I’m sorry,” I mutter, running my hand through my hair. “It was just a shock to be told by my boss that he is having surgery. I felt like an idiot.”

“Well, it’s your own fault for not calling to check up on him.” She sighs. “I get you’re angry at him, but don’t you think it’s time to move on? Let it go, Eli. It would mean the world to him. The guy made a mistake. He shouldn’t have to pay for that forever.”

“Why not? Mom does,” I retort.

“Bullshit. Mom remarried three years ago.” She sighs again, as if she knows talking to me about this is no use. “If she can move on, why can’t you?”

Because you weren’t there. Because you didn’t have to deal with her depression and her drinking.

“I gotta go, Mel. I’ll speak to you soon.”

Hanging up, I find my stash of whiskey and pour myself a shot. I carry it over to the living room and sit down on my sofa. I run my hand over its thick, plush leather. There was no way I could have afforded all of this shit on my salary, especially just out of college, but Mom had insisted on helping out. She knows how bad my relationship with Dad is, so she knows how hard it is for me to be here, helping him.

I laugh and take a sip of my drink. They all thought my being here was a step in the direction of forgiving him, but it wasn’t. I had two motivations when I received that call—seeing Jill, and staying for Jill. It’s fucked up how big a part she has ended up playing in all of this.

Should I feel guilty? Should I suck it up and forgive him? I wish I could. I wish I could let go of everything and move on, because honestly, hating him is tiring.

***

Jill: Just so you know, I find you more than a little bit sexy.

I laugh and roll over in bed. It’s after eight and I was asleep until her text woke me—my fault for not putting my cell on silent. I sit up and press call.

“Do you harass all your teachers in the middle of the night?” I smirk, rubbing my eyes. I glance around in the darkness of my room.

“Middle of the night?” She laughs. “It’s barely eight o’clock! Besides, you’re not technically my teacher.”

Not yet.

“What are you doing?” I ask, not acknowledging her comment.

“Studying,” she replies. “And thinking about a certain sexy teacher who I struggle to keep my hands off.”

“I hope you mean me and not Mr. Hands.”

She laughs hysterically. “God, he’s in his seventies, dude. And I never did get past his name. Mr. Hands? I mean, come on.” She giggles. “How many jokes are in that?”

“He’s actually a really nice guy.” I laugh, but my heart isn’t in it. I feel bad about joking about him.

“I’m sure he is, but he’s got nothing on you.”

“Glad to hear it.” I chuckle. “What time’s your first exam?”

“Nine. Chemistry. So not looking forward to that. Why can’t everything be sexy like history?” she whines.

I laugh. What hope do I have when the girl I adore finds history sexy? It’s like we’re made for each other.

“You find history sexy?” I scoff. “There’s something I’ve never heard from a girl. You’re so fucking cute.”

“Why are you laughing? It can be sexy,” she says defensively.

“I better let you get back to studying. And make sure you get enough sleep. I don’t want to be responsible for you failing,” I order her.

“Yes, sir.” She laughs.

“Don’t call me that,” I growl, hanging up.