Mr. Write Now Page 4

  “Afternoon, Professor Johnson.”

  “Good afternoon Cecily,” he grumbled.

  Rosa followed him down the narrow hall and to his office. He glanced at her as he opened his door.

  “I’m not having open office hours now.”

  “Oh, so you want to continue the conversation in the hall?” She quirked a brow at him.

  He pushed the door open and gestured for her to go in. She did, and settled herself down in the chair opposite his. He shut the door behind him and set his Tupperware aside, giving up on the idea of lunch. He wouldn’t have time at this rate.

  “I want you,” she said earnestly. “I’m not after a grade, or special treatment. I told you that I like you, Professor.”

  He shook his head. If he’d learned anything in life it was that everyone had an ulterior motive, whether they realized it or not. Rosa was probably on the rebound from a bad relationship and unconsciously sought stability. Maybe she wanted to impress her circle of friends. Maybe she got off on the thrill of getting teachers fired.

  “You have no idea how absurd that is, Miss McCall,” he said.

  “It isn’t absurd at all,” she said, shoulders stiffening defensively.

  “You do realize I’m sixteen years your senior? That when you were born I was already driving? That I was halfway through high school? That I’d already fucked my first girlfriend?”

  He ought to refrain from the vulgarity at school. It was a bad habit, but Rosa just seemed to provoke curse-worthy reactions.

  “That doesn’t matter,” she shot back. “I’m plenty mature.”

  He let out a derisive laugh. “I bet your daddy still pays all your bills.”

  He expression hardened, and she narrowed her eyes. “I pay my own tuition. I work on weekends, and I take the bus. I haven’t asked mommy and daddy for jack-shit in years.”

  “Even if that is the case, you’re young, Miss McCall. The generational gap is enormous.”

  “I’m not immature, Rick. I could show you, if you’d let me,” she said stubbornly.

  “No. I have a wife and child, and I’m not jeopardizing my chances to be with them again. You need to look elsewhere.”

  She didn’t look crestfallen, or even hurt. The stubborn glint was still there in her dark eyes. She withdrew a folded napkin from her pocket. He saw a date and time scrawled on its surface in permanent marker.

  “I got the reservations. Seven thirty, this Friday at Mia’s.” She stood and gathered up her things, giving him one last glance before opening the door.

  “I’ll wait for you, if you change your mind.”

  The door closed softly behind her, a far cry from the violence he’d been putting it through. He kept glancing at the napkin in his hand. It was standard, brown cafeteria fare.

  He should just crumple it up and throw it in the trash. Instead, he stuffed it in his bag.

  ***

  He spent the next three days wrestling with himself. It wasn’t appropriate. It wasn’t likely to end well. The whole situation was ethically questionable.

  And yet, he still wanted to go to dinner with Rosa. He couldn’t identify why he wanted her exactly, but he did. He knew he might have a chance of patching things up with Melanie. But he knew if he did this chance may never come again.

  What was the harm? A one night stand might satisfy both of them. Rosa would have the thrill of conquest she so clearly craved, and he would have played out a long-held fantasy. Everyone won. Everyone could walk away happy.

  So he dressed slowly in front of the mirror. He didn’t exactly think of it as a tuxedo-worthy occasion, but he wanted to impress. He would never tease Melanie for spending so much time on her wardrobe again.

  He’d never been a slob exactly, but he’d enjoyed a more relaxed style most of his life. He finally decided on a pair of black slacks, a yellow dress shirt, and a bolo tie. All in all, he felt like a very professional-looking bumblebee. He shook his head at his reflection. No time to change now. He slicked his hair back, doing his best to tame the wayward strands.

  The air outside was worse than it had been that morning, for which he was grateful. He pulled a suit jacket on, though he suspected he’d lose it late for Rosa’s comfort.

  He kept fiddling with the radio for want of anything better to do. He’d been texting Rosa steadily for the last three hours, and hadn’t received any reply. It wasn’t like her, and he was beginning to worry she might have changed her mind about this evening.

  Wouldn’t he look the fool then? He’d just leave if she didn’t turn up after twenty minutes.

  He parked carefully and steeled himself to go inside. He’d managed to get himself this far. Maybe this was wrong. Perhaps this would just be a dinner and nothing more.

  He entered through the double door and was overcome by the warm, delicious scent of cooking food. A hostess was perched behind a podium just before the main desk. She glanced up at him, blonde ponytail bobbing slightly as she greeted him.

  “Can I get your name, sir?”

  He knew it by now. He’d checked the napkin religiously before departing. “McCall, table for two, please. We have a reservation for seven thirty.”

  The blonde hostess scanned the list briefly and then nodded. “You have a table in the back. If you’ll follow me, sir.”

  She wound her way between the tables gracefully, dodging waiters and busboys with relative ease. He kept falling behind her, not wanting to bump into a waiter and disturb the leaning towers of dishes they carried.

  She finally led him through an archway towards a table situated next to a large window.

  “Thomas will be your waiter tonight. He’ll be with you shortly,” she chirped and then wound her way back through the waiters, busboys and dinner crowd.

  Rick checked his watch. There was still five minutes until seven thirty. Five minutes until he’d starting feeling real concern. So in the meantime he studied the murals on the walls. The closest to him was filled with warm colors, bright reds and yellows of the buildings popping against the blue of the windows. On another wall was the leaning tower of Pisa, rendered in blues and whites.

  He hadn’t been to Mia’s in years. The last time he could remember eating here was ten years ago, after his mother’s funeral. The whole family, his two brothers, father and estranged aunts, had sat at one of the long tables in the center of the restaurant. It had been very subdued. He could only hope this evening would go better.

  He let out a long sigh and the candle in its metal holder sputtered and nearly flickered out.

  “You look unhappy,” Rosa’s familiar voice drifted towards him. “You didn’t have to come, you know.”

  He glanced up, and his mouth popped open. She was standing a few feet away, looking uncertain. She’d donned a silver dress that shimmered softly in the low light. It barred her narrow shoulders and the subtle musculature of how her arm. His eyes traced the curves of her body as he studied her, lingering at the low-cut bodice for a moment longer than necessary.

  She smiled slightly at his reaction and set a matching silver clutch on the table before sliding into the seat across from him. He watched, mesmerized as her loose curls tumbled lightly down her back.

  “You look nice,” he finally managed, then felt immediately embarrassed. Nice was hardly adequate to describe her. “Wonderful. Magnificent. Resplendent, even.”

  Rosa laughed. “Thank you, Professor Thesaurus.”

  He flushed. “Rick, if you don’t mind. I don’t want to attract too much attention.”

  The waiter was a short man, and Rick would have bet anything he was some relation to the manager. His accent was as thick as his moustache. Rosa favorably impressed him by ordering her dish and champagne in fluent Italian.

  She turned to him with another half-smile. “What did you want, Rick?”

  It gave him a small chill to hear him call him by his name, in this small alcove. “I’ll take the Chicken and Gnocchi, and a salad please.”

  He jotted the orde
r down and then said something he’d bet money was cheeky to Rosa. She let out a peal of laughter and nodded.

  “What did he say?” Rick asked, watching the man walk away.

  “That you’re out to corrupt me.” She said, beaming.

  He rolled his eyes. “I think it’s the other way round, actually. You’ve done nothing but pursue me since we met.”

  “Well, I’m sort of accustomed to getting what I want.” She said with a shrug.

  “And you want a washed up English Lit professor? It seems to me you have low standards.”

  The champagne came out first, and the waited poured him a generous measure. Champagne wasn’t his drink of choice. He’d only tasted it once, at his wedding.

  But he didn’t think that Rosa would find a daiquiri sophisticated enough to suit the occasion, so he sipped at it. The bubbles nearly made him splutter. He’d forgotten the tendency it had to rush to his nose.

  Rosa sampled her ginger tea with evident satisfaction. “So what do you want to talk about?”

  “Do you want to take another stab at guessing my favorite romance?”

  She frowned at her glass, her sumptuous red lips puckering. “No.”

  “No? Why not?”

  “If I guess wrong, I’ll be frustrated. I don’t want to be frustrated tonight.”

  He tried not to read too much into that statement. “Alright. It appears to be a common subject between us, so let’s discuss books. Do you have a favorite?”

  “I have to pick one?” She asked incredulously.

  He laughed. “I understand the difficulty, but yes, pick one. A recent favorite, if that helps.”

  She considered for a moment. “Wuthering Heights.”

  He smiled wryly. “That’s on a lot of high school reading lists. I refuse to believe someone as literate as you has just picked that up.”

  “I’m re-reading it. Does that count?”

  “No, try again.”

  “I just read Eden’s Eternity, the last book to come from the Connor Valentine series. Two flower names and an actual mythical garden. I’m starting to feel like you might have an original sin vibe going on. Are you a Christian?”

  “Agnostic, but my ex-wife was a Lutheran.”

  “Ah.” Rose sipped at her drink, and he noticed a slight flush of color on her cheeks. What was it about her that made him so interested?

  She smiled finally. “And you? What’s your favorite?”

  “I really liked The Book Thief.”

  She blinked in surprise. “That’s young adult, and recent too.”

  “So? It’s a good book. I run into that attitude a lot. It’s not a betrayal of the literary greats to read something published after the turn of the century you know. Most classics became classics because they resonated with the readers of their time. For all we know, modern works may become classics.”

  She looked unhappy again and he hastily apologized. “Sorry if I went into lecture mode. All I’m saying is that I don’t discount modern books.”

  “I didn’t mean to touch a nerve.” She mumbled. “You’re right. Not everything I read has to be classical literature or epic romance.”

  He changed the subject to the murals, and whether or not she liked them. She used it to segue into a discussion about modern art, which she quite enjoyed. He confessed a fondness for the impressionist era, and Claude Monet in particular.

  “I’ve seen one of them in person, in a Museum in Kansas City. The Water Lilies. It was truly breathtaking. I should take you sometime.”

  It slipped out, and there was no way to reel the words back in. Rosa’s face lit with an inner joy he couldn’t understand.

  “I’d love to see that, sir.” She said quietly.

  He smiled in spite of himself.

  He wondered how long it had been since he’d had a genuine conversation with someone. Surely that’s why he felt so drawn to her. It had been a long time since he’d sat down across from a vibrant, beautiful, and intelligent woman. It had been a long time since he’d made anyone laugh. She had a beautiful laugh. Melodic, somehow.

  The intellectual stimulation was more pleasant than anything else. Not that the physical wasn’t stimulating. Rosa wore the hell out of the silver dress. The pearls at her neck glowed subtly, and drew his attention to her long neck. He wanted to taste the caramel flesh with his teeth, to fist his hand in her thick curls and ride her until she came.

  He pushed his glass away. He was pleasantly lightheaded from the champagne, and becoming even more so from the lack of blood to his brain.

  When the waiter set the bill on the table, Rosa beat him to it.

  “My treat.” She said, giving him a dazzling smile.

  “I’m the one with the steady paycheck, remember?”

  “And I’ve been the one pestering you. Let me get the bill as a thank you for humoring me.”

  They argued for several more minutes, but in the end Rosa got her way. They left the restaurant hand in hand.

  The night air made him realize just how much he’d imbibed, when it failed to clear his head. He’d had four glasses versus Rosa’s drinking of ginger tea.

  “Maybe I should drive.” She suggested, holding her hand out for his keys.

  “Maybe we should call a cab.” He countered. Rosa nodded, inwardly laughing at the thought of him not wanting her to drive his beat up truck.

  “Sure. I’ll call for one.” She reached into the clutch and withdrew a cellphone. Odd, it looked like a cheap disposable model. Maybe she had to resort to using that, because she spent her paychecks on dinner dates and fancy dresses.

  When she was through making a call to the cab company they sat together on the bench outside the restaurant.

  “So do we go our separate ways?” She asked.

  “Come back to my place.” He blurted. Damn it, he’d meant to keep that in his head.

  “Me?” She teased. “Come over to your house? I’m not sure that’s ethically sound, sir.”

  “Fuck ethics.” He said, and he kissed her. In front of God and everyone he kissed Rosa McCall in the parking lot. And he didn’t care.

  He could taste the tanginess of her tea and the strawberries from the cheesecake they’d shared. He wanted more. He probed the seam of her lips with his tongue, and felt a thrill of triumph when they parted. He delved into her mouth, tasting her mapping out every contour.

  They stayed like that for a while, holding each other close, the brush of lips and breathy sounds of pleasure all but drowned by the Italian music coming from inside of the restaurant.

  Rosa pulled away breathless and flushed when the cab arrived. He crawled into the back with her. The slit in her gown had ridden up, exposing an expanse of toned, tawny flesh. He reached out a hand, wanting to caress the bare expanse of thigh.

  She put a hand over his. “Now, now, sir. If I have to be good and take this slow, so do you.”

  He could have growled with frustration, but she laced her fingers with his. That small contact calmed his agitation somewhat, and he was able to contain himself until they reached his street.

  She let out a delighted peal of laughter when he hoisted her up into his arms after they exited the cab. He carried her to the front door, and didn’t set her down until they were well into the living room.

  “This is a cute place.” She commented.

  “I’m glad you like it.” He said, voice coming out huskier than usual.

  “Give me a tour?” She asked.

  He led her down the hall, showing her to where the main bedroom, guest room, and bathroom were located. He had trouble not pushing her into the former, bending her over the vanity and hiking her dress up around her waist.

  “And the kitchen.” He pronounced, coming back to the front of the house. Rosa glanced around at it with a smile before hoisting herself onto the island in the center of the room.

  “So what do you think professor? Have you changed your mind about me? Or shall this little schoolgirl crush of mine remain unrequited?”<
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  He stared into her deep brown eyes for a long moment. He knew he needed to think the answer through, but it was difficult. His brain was foggy and filled with the warm vanilla scent of her perfume, drunk on the sight of her long bare legs dangling down the front of the island.

  “I think I have, Miss McCall. And you can call me Rick.”

  Rosa smiled. “Good. Now I have a surprise for you.”

  She reached into her clutch, pulling out a silver mask. She donned it, and it glittered, concealing a good portion of her forehead and nose.

  “Now, give me your hand.”

  He did, and she placed it very firmly on her thigh. It was soft beneath his fingers, warm to the touch. He relished the skin on skin contact, and closed his eyes briefly. He hadn’t been this close to someone in so long. He wanted to bask in her presence, relish the experience.

  Rosa wasn’t having any of it. She guided his hand upward, over the taut muscles beneath her caramel skin, to the apex of her thighs. His heart thudded hard, trying to escape his chest. She was entirely smooth, and it took him a moment to realize that she wasn’t wearing underwear.

  He explored curiously, not taking his eyes off hers. Her gaze smoldered beneath the mask, and her eyes were like pools of dark umber. He wanted to drown in them, submerge until there was nothing left in his head but her.

  She shivered as he delicately traced her folds, caressing her sex gently. She was slick to the touch, wet and ready, and when he traced the small precious nub she arced off the counter, crying out.

  He chuckled lightly. “So sensitive.” He rubbed once in a circle, relishing the roll of her hips in response, trying to keep the pressure where she wanted it most.

  “Want you.” She panted, reaching down to try and aid him. He knocked her hand away.

  “Ah, ah. We’re doing this my way, Rosa. You started this.”

  Most people don’t think about how expressive the eyebrows can be in the face. They can factor into most, if not all of the expressions humans make. So being unable to see Rosa’s made it difficult to gauge her reaction. He thought from the set of her mouth that she was irritated or frustrated with him.