Playing Chase (Against The Wall) (7 page)

“That’s it? That’s your story?” Summer sounds disappointed.

“No. That’s not all.” Tiffany holds her mug in both hands and takes a slow drink. “The other day this kid had a total meltdown. He completely refused to do any work. I tried all the tricks. I tapped him on the shoulder and gave him the eye. I squatted down next to him and asked him quietly if I could help him. I did the whole stern you-better-get-your-shit-done thing.” She shakes her head. “None of it worked. And then he kindly asked me to ‘leave him the fuck alone because he didn’t want to do shit that day.’ I almost had a heart attack. I couldn’t believe it. I was about to say something, I don’t know what. At the very least, I planned on sending him to his counselor, but Chase caught my attention, shook his head at me, telling me to let it go.”

“Hmm,” is all I could say at this point in the story.

“When the bell rang and the kids cleared out, Chase followed the boy outside and came back a few minutes later. He explained that he had the student in the past and knew him well. Apparently, the kid’s dad had just gotten out of jail after being locked up for ten years, and he was having a hard time adjusting. My first thought was that it didn’t matter. It was no excuse for the kid to act like a brat and then curse at me. Chase made me see things a lot clearer that day. He told me that every student has a story, some are far worse than we could ever imagine. Sometimes we just catch them on a bad day. And while it may not be an excuse, it’s an explanation. One that deserves our understanding.”

As much as I hate to admit it, Chase is absolutely right. We all have our off days
—some more than others. While my mom hasn’t always been kind to her only daughter, I’d take her crap over what some of my students have to deal with any day.

“Chase is right,” Mel says, which completely shocks me. Summer’s eyes widen
, and I can tell she’s surprised as shit too. “Good story.”

“I’m not done yet,” Tiffany says. “Last night, I met Chase’s dad.”

The three of us wince, knowing full well they guy is a total ass.

“See, I knew my first impression was right. I was talking to Chase when his dad walked up. It was like his whole demeanor changed immediately. He turned cold and pushed his dad away from me as quickly as he could. At first, I thought he was being rude, but the more I watched him, the more I realized that his dad really affects him, and not in a good way.” She takes a sip of her coffee. “I guess what I’m trying to get at is…I know he’s done you wrong in the past, but maybe you should try and be understanding. If I’m right, his douchebagness, as you put it, comes from his dad. I know it’s not an excuse, but it sure does explain a lot, don’t you think?”

Tiffany has officially taken over teaching my classes
—and I’m bored as fuck. I’m left to observing her period after period and providing feedback during lunch and after school. I’ve been meaning to say something about what happened at the bar, but I’ve suddenly become a pussy and don’t know how to talk to a female. She hasn’t mentioned it either, so maybe it’s better that I just keep my big trap shut.

While she’s teaching, I can’t stop myself from zeroing in on her lips as she delivers a lesson or watching her curvy ass as she travels around my classroom. I’ve replayed that night in my head so many times, imagining what would have happened if I
had just given in like I had wanted to, and just kissed her. Pressed my lips to hers and sighed with pleasure into the moment. I know kissing that mouth would be perfection. Just grazing her cheek with the pads of my fingertips had me undone, I still can’t figure out how I kept my control. But I did. And it felt good to do the right thing for once in my life.

No matter how much I want Tiffany, what I want doesn’t matter. All that matters is her.

I seriously don’t know how I can go on working with her for the rest of the semester without doing something stupid. How can I keep my distance when I have to work with her every day?

“Mr. Marino, are you going to have lunch?”

Tiffany’s voice rings in my ears snapping me out of my thoughts of her—thoughts that had nothing to do with teaching.

“Oh. Yeah.” I stand. “I’ll be right back though. I have to go to the snack bar since I didn’t have time to pack my lunch today.” That’s not entirely true. I packed it last night. Unfortunately, my unwanted roommate decided to eat it for a late night snack.

“You don’t have to. I’ll share mine.” She gives me one of her bright smiles and I can’t resist.

“That’s nice of you, thanks.” I sit across from her and watch as she unpacks her lunch.

She tears a piece of string cheese in half and gives me one. “Appetizer.”

I chuckle. I take a bite. “I forgot how good these little things are.”

“You’re supposed to pull it apart.” She demonstrates by pulling loose little strings of cheese and letting them fall from her fingers into her mouth. Who knew eating cheese could be so damn sexy?

“We only have a thirty minute lunch.” I tap on my watch.

“Fine.” She takes a sandwich out of her bag. It’s cut in triangles, which makes me smile. “Here.”

I take two small triangles from her and laugh out loud.

“You inspire me,” she says. “To be a better teacher and to eat like an eight-year old.”

I toss back one of my mini bites and sink my teeth into the sweet jelly and peanut butter combo. “Oh my god. Is this Goobers?”

She nods with a wide smile spread across her lips. “Delicious, don’t you think? It’s my favorite.”

“I love the grape.”

“Me too,” she agrees. She licks a bit of jelly from the corner of her mouth, which sends pulses of blood rushing straight to my dick. Shit.

My phone vibrates in my pocket and if we weren’t at school, I might be tempted to let it stay there.

I slide my finger across the screen to see it’s a text from Summer.

Date #2, buddy. Saturday night. I’ll text you the address. Your lady is making you dinner at her house. Lucky you.

“Son of a bitch.” I grunt loudly. I don’t have to worry about the swell in my pants anymore.

“What is it?” Tiffany asks, a look of concern all over her face.

“Summer.”

“Aha. Another date?” she
asks, while arching a brow.

“Let’s not talk about it.” Talk about awkward. I don’t want to talk to her about dating someone else. I’d rather talk to her about dating her.

“Oh, come on. You don’t have to walk on eggshells around me when it comes to other women. I’m not gonna crack and start killing your lovers. The night at the bar was a big misunderstanding. It was nothing really, so tell me about your date. I think it’s crazy that you’re still going through with it.”

Nothing, huh? Misunderstanding? I guess so. I thought maybe she was serious about wanting to go out with me. I didn’t think it was a joke, not like these fucking dates the girls are arranging for me.

“It’s dinner. My date is cooking for me.” I decide to share since she asked me to.

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” she says, digging into her bag again. This time she pulls out a fruit roll-up.

I hold up my hand with a shake of my head. “No, thank you.”

“What? Now that you have a woman cooking for you, my gourmet lunch isn’t good enough?” she teases, a sheepish grin tugging upward on the side of her mouth.

“I was loving your gourmet cooking until the dessert. I’m not a fan.” The sweet plastic taste just never did it for me. “But thank you. I really appreciate you sharing your lunch.”

“And thank you for sharing about your date. You’ll have to tell me all about it on Monday.”

I shake my head again. “I don’t think so. If I know the girls like I know I do, this dinner is going to flop. These dates are meant to embarrass the shit out of me, not find me my one true love.”

“Who knows? Humor is the basis of all good relationships. You just might find your
one true love
.” She hangs air quotes, completely mocking me.

I doubt it.

I knock on the door and wait. My one true love, my ass. Why I’m putting myself through this torture, I still don’t know.

The door opens to a rather small woman wearing an apron. She looks like she belongs on
I Love Lucy
, like I should be viewing her in black and white.

“Hi, I’m Chase.” I offer her my hand.

“I know, silly.” I’m hoping she tells me her name because my dear old friends keep forgetting to mention that slight little detail. “Come on in. Dinner is almost ready.”

Once I cross the threshold, the foul scent of urine hits my nose. I look around and count one…two…three cats. No. Four. Oh my god. When was the last time she changed their li
tter? The odor makes me want to shove my head in my shirt to breathe clean air. I should’ve known better than to think the girls would set me up with a cute woman without some freakish flaw. Like a piss-scented house.

“Do you mind taking off your shoes?” she asks. “It’s just this thing I have. It’s how I was brought up.”

I look down and sure enough, she’s wearing a pair of white-cuffed socks on her small feet. “Sure. No problem.” Which it wouldn’t be if I wasn’t afraid of stepping in cat pee. I remove my navy Converse shoes, and follow her into the kitchen. “Can I help you with anything?”

“Oh, aren’t you a sweet thing?” She puts her hands on her hips and stares up at me, fluttering her lashes. It might be cute if I didn’t want to gag from the smell. “How about you uncork a bottle of wine?”

That, I can do. I choose a bottle of Chardonnay from her rather extensive collection and use her electric corkscrew to open it. I immediately put my nose to the opening to inhale the scent of bitter grapes. Nothing has ever smelled so good. I pour my host—still don’t know her name —a glass, and then one for myself. “Cheers,” I say, holding up my wine. She clinks her glass with mine before lifting it to her lips for a tiny sip. I go ahead and tip back the whole thing and down the sucker in three straight gulps. Then, I pour myself another.

I help her bring the salad, chicken Alfredo, and French bread to the table. Thankfully, there is a ceiling fan hanging in the dining room, so the odor isn’t stale in here too. I’ve been trying to figure out how best to breathe without actually smelling. It works best with my mouth open, but then I feel like I can taste the piss. With the fan spinning overhead, eating dinner in this house seems only slightly possible.

“Let’s dig in,” she says. “The pasta is made from scratch. I hope you enjoy the texture and the flavor of the sauce. It’s my specialty. Anyone who comes for dinner always asks me to prepare it.”

I take my first bite. “Delicious.” And it actually would be if not for the cat hair dragging across my tongue. When she looks down to take a bite of her food, I try to scratch the hair from my mouth but it doesn’t work. I can still feel it.

Shit. I don’t think this could get any worse.

When we finally finish eating, she gathers our plates and takes them into the kitchen. I can hear the dishes clinking around so I take this as my opportunity to hack out the hair that’s been tickling the back of my throat for the last hour. She’s a talkative one. There are several times when I try excusing myself to the restroom to rinse out my mouth, but she just keeps chatting
—boring-ass story after boring-ass story. Her uncle just had surgery on his right pinky toe after he developed some rare infection from a hair splinter. He probably got it from walking barefoot around this house. Then there was her cousin Beth who just got married after dating her boyfriend for only two weeks. And finally, she told me about her mom and dad who have been together for forty years, and they remind her of Desi Arnaz and Lucille Ball. Now the whole fifties look makes sense.

The kitchen goes quiet and I brace myself for what comes next. My throat is clear and I hate to say it, but I think I’ve grown accustomed to the urine odor. 

A huge collection of records sits on a bookshelf. My curiosity is piqued. I run my fingers along the edges of the albums and start plucking them out one by one. Marvin Gaye, Billy Holiday, The Grease Soundtrack. A smile creeps up on me as I think of the hand jive.

“We can put on an old record and dance.”

I spin around to see her leaning against the doorframe to the kitchen. She has removed the pins from her hair and long curls fall down the front of her chest to waist. Damn, her hair is long. When I notice that a few buttons have come loose on her top, my eyes find hers. She licks her lips.

Shit.

I may mildly enjoy talking to her, but not enough for anything to happen between us. 

Because first
ly, her house, stinks and it makes me ill.

And secondly, her house stinks of cat piss
, and it makes me ill.

“I’m really sorry, but I can’t. I have an early meeting tomorrow.”

“On a Sunday?” she raises her voice in question.

“Yes.” I don’t hesitate. The lie just floats out of my mouth. “I’ll just put my shoes on and be on my way. Thank you for dinner. It was delicious.”