Mud Vein (36 page)

Senna

I guess I should start at the beginning. In 2012 Nate Sabin met me for the first time and called me, Mud Vein. After my initial shock receded, I realized that Nate was right; I did have a mud vein. It’s my defining feature. Being that this book is dedicated to his wife, I’ll just go ahead and thank the Sabin’s for being the type of people who inspire me and call me out on my shit.

My dad, who has leukemia and is not afraid of anything. Thanks for the fearless gene. P.s. Sorry I have so many tattoos. I hope I can still go to Heaven.

Cindy Fisher, the best mother in the world. Our mansions will all sit in the shadow of yours.

Stephen King, thank you for teaching me how to write. You’re a goddam genius.

My friend and assistant, Serena Knautz, you are shrewd as a snake and harmless as a dove. You put love into action. I adore you.

Sarah Hansen of Okay Creations, you are a true artist. This is the most beautiful cover I have ever seen. The vision was all you.

Marie Piquette, my editor, I, am, sorry, I, use, so, many, comma’s.

Christine Estevez for always being on my team.

The blogging Jedi: Molly Harper of Tough Critic Book Reviews, Aestas Book Blog, Maryse’s Book Blog, Vilma’s Book Blog, Bec’s of Sinfully Sexy Book Reviews, Madison Says Book Blog and Shh Mom’s Reading Book Blog. Each of you gives blogging a different flavor. I appreciate each one of your voices and the time you take promoting my books. Vilma, that was the most beautiful review I’ve ever read.

I’d also like to thank Madison Seidler, Luisa Hansen, Yvette Huerta, Rebecca Espinoza and my little Nina Gomez for their input and friendship. Jonathan Rodriguez for assuring me every day that I’m a genius (even though I can’t do fractions).

Tosha Khoury, I am so blessed to have you. You get me. You get what I write. I don’t know anyone who believes in my books more than you.

Amy Tannenbaum, my tiny, tough, agent.

My vicious PLN army/gang, I love you! Sundae Coletti, Jennifer Stiltner, Robin Stranahan, Dyann Tufts, Robin Segnitz, Amy Holloway, Krystle Zion, Sandra Cortez, Nelly Martinez de Iraheta, Monica Martinez, Sarah Kaiser, Chelsea Peden McCrory, Dawnita Kiefer, Miranda Howard, Courtney Mazal, Yoss, Kristin McNally, Tre Hathaway, Shelly Ford, Maribel Zamora, Maria Milano, Fizza Hussain, Brooke Higgins, Paula Roper, Joanna Hoffman Dursi, Marivett Villafane, Amy Miller Sayler, and my favorite Kristy Garner. I wish I could list you all.

Since publishing my first book, I have met so many people who made me view the world differently. There is none more rare and precious than Colleen Hoover. She is a light shining in darkness. Thank you for loving Mud Vein, and for recognizing our red thread. You have no heart, and you have the biggest heart.

And finally, to the God who says: “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” I live for you, mud vein and all.

I packed, drove, and showered quickly so I could make the morning meeting on time. I wondered if April would be there now that she seemed close to being brought on as a full-time teacher. Hopefully she would be. I’d have to decide whether to sit next to her and breathe in her intoxicating floral scent or if I wanted to sit on the opposite side of the room so I could simply look. Or stare. Let’s face it—I would probably stare.

The room was half-full when I arrived with five minutes to spare. A few of the teachers looked up when I came in. Their faces registered surprise, clearly not expecting to see me back so soon. I got a few nods in my direction, but no one spoke. Teachers aren’t usually morning people unless they’ve had their cup or two or six of coffee. Their silence made it evident that the liquid brown drug was not yet coursing through their bodies. Or that seeing me was a little awkward, considering the state I was in when they last saw me. I tugged on the collar of my shirt and ducked my head.

April was seated on the second row and seemed to be lost in a pile of paper on her lap. She was wearing a long-sleeve white button-up shirt, with the sleeves folded halfway up her forearm. Her skirt was black, and her hair was back in a ponytail. Her outfit brought to mind just about every teacher fantasy I had ever allowed myself to indulge in while growing up. Because her hair was pulled back, the pearly white skin of her neck was exposed. God, I was starting to have serious vampire thoughts.

I will kiss that neck
, I told myself.
More than once
.
I will.

I’d never promised myself that I would kiss the body of a married woman before, but there’s a first time for everything, I guess. There was something about her neck that made me want to claim it. So Maniac Marco could go fuck himself for all I cared. Knowing what I did about him, he probably wished he could fuck himself. Arrogant prick.

I snuck my way into the third row and took a seat behind her, one seat over to her left. When I sat down, I felt like I had immersed myself in a field of lilies, her soft, sweet scent filling my nose.

Yeah, her neck is mine.

Among other things.

“Good morning,” I said, not wanting to stir her from her paper reading. But very much wanting to also.

She turned around.

“Oh, there you are,” she said with a sense of familiarity that made my nerves tingle. “Good morning back.”

God, all she had to do was smile and I swear I would have done anything she asked. Including commit serious crimes.

“Is this your first meeting?”

“No, I came to the meeting on Tuesday also.”

“Oh, nice.”

She lowered her head and her voice, “They are so much fun!”

This time I smiled. Sarcasm almost always made me smile.

“Why are you sitting back there?” she asked. “You’re dumb. Sit next to me.”

She patted the chair to her right and I went straight for it, like a dog being called to the side of its owner. There hadn’t even been a second thought, just an immediate response. Surely, anyone paying attention would have thought I was pathetic.

The meeting better start soon or I can’t be held responsible for what I do next
.

“What are your thoughts on James Joyce?” she asked as more teachers shuffled in.

Her question caught my lily-obsessed mind off-guard.

“Uh...”

“You’ve read him, yes?”

I could read the look on her face as she read the look on mine. I had never read him, and she could clearly read that on my face.

“Oh my god,” she said under her breath. I couldn’t tell whether she was mortified or repulsed.

“There are plenty of authors, April. I haven’t had a chance to get to them all!” I said, feebly trying to defend myself.

“No, no,” she said, shaking her head. “No. That doesn’t fly with me.”

My mind was trying to race through a list of authors I had read, ones I thought maybe she hadn’t.

“Well, what about Michener? Have you read him?” I asked.

She looked at me with a look of incredulity. And then she laughed.

“Are you asking me if I have ever read a Pulitzer Prize winner?”

Shit.

“You’re going to have to try a little harder with me, Luke.”

God, I loved this woman.

“What about Joseph Conrad?”

More snickers.

“
Heart of Darkness, Nostromo
. Come on.”

The meeting started, and we had to stop. But my mind continued. I started compiling a list in my head of authors that I could try to use against her. I wasn’t about to lose this easily. I paid attention to nothing that was said during the meeting. A passing mention was made about my return, I think. But my mind was occupied.

As soon as we got out into the hallway and started our walk together to our classes, I picked up again where we had left off.

“D.H. Lawrence?”

“
Lady Chatterley’s Lover
. I read that in high school because I thought it would be particularly scandalous. It wasn’t what I expected.”

“E.M. Forster?”

She actually stopped when I said his name.

“Any person worth a damn has read
Howard’s End
. Fact.”

I glanced around quickly to make sure no one was around to hear the
damn
. Thankfully, no one was on our end of the hallway.

“Less casual swearing in the hallway, ma’am. You don’t want to get fired before you even get hired.”

“Are you going to turn me in?” she asked, and I could have sworn she batted her eyes.

“No, ma’am,” I said, knowing that even though I wasn’t a blusher, I was probably blushing now. She was sexy.

“There you go with that ‘ma’am’ shit again,” she said, putting very clear emphasis on the word
shit
. She wasn’t going to back down.

“Are you normally this defiant?” I asked, wanting to jump her right there in the hallway.

She shook her head, slightly.

“I guess you just bring out the best of me,” she said.

With that, she turned and walked into her classroom, giving me a splendid look at her ass.

God, when did I become an ass guy? Better yet, when did I become the kind of guy who had the hots for a married co-worker?

Classes may have started but that didn’t keep us from communicating. I felt a little childish for basically texting her as soon as I sat down at my desk.

Wharton...

I figured I could judge by the amount of time it would take her to answer whether or not she was looking the author up. Even if she had read it, if she took a while I would just assume so and hold it against her.

Her response was immediate.

I thought we already discussed you asking me about Pulitzer winners?

Dammit.
Age of Innocence
.

I needed someone who hadn’t received any significant awards. Time for a curveball.

Collins.

Who?
she asked. Then followed with,
Jackie Collins? Do you take me for a reader of trashy novels?

No, not Jackie. Suzanne.

I’m not familiar with that name,
she replied.

This time I was shocked.

If you tell the students that, they might lynch you.

Why? What did she write?

Oh, just this little series about games. And hunger
.

Huh?

The Hunger Games
!

Oh god. I think I knew that.

And you haven’t read the series??

No sir...you can’t judge me for not reading a book written for teenagers.

Sure I can, if you are working with teenagers. Which you are!

Well, that didn’t happen until just recently! Are you giving them your seal of approval?

How should I know? You think I’ve read them??

God, you’re such an ass. Stick with classics, Luke!

The bell chimed to let the students into the building.

I would have to look up some authors, books that I might have forgotten reading. Yeah, she was an English major also, but she hadn’t read every book ever written. I would find one.

And how was James Joyce the determining factor on whether or not I’m an imbecile??

H.G. Wells,
I sent next, thinking perhaps science fiction wasn’t her forte.

A few of my first period students started making their way into the classroom.

“Hey, Mr. H!” a few of them simultaneously said.

One of my students, Warren Gold, stopped at the door, saw me, and shouted down the hallway, “Hey guys, Mr. Harper’s back!”

I wasn’t entirely sure if he was excited to see me, or warning everyone else that they needed to get to class on time and not expect a substitute again.

My phone vibrated.

Wells does not belong in the same category as the aforementioned names. But, I begrudgingly read
War of the Worlds
freshman year.

The bell to signify the start of class was about to ring, so I shot out one more name.

Maugham
was my next attempt.

I had read
Of Human Bondage
in high school because I was bored and found it at the library. I was most definitely not a fan.