Against The Wall Read online

  Against The Wall

  Published by Julie Prestsater

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright 2012 Julie Prestsater

  Smashwords, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Epilogue

  Dear Readers

  Mel & Tyler

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Credits

  Dedication

  This one is for all my teacher friends. To ... when the bell rings ... and all the good times that follow.

  Chapter One

  Love Quarrel Stirs Violence among High School Teachers. I can just picture the headlines if I were to lose control and hit that hussy square in the jaw.

  But there she goes looking all superior, and I feel the urge to rip out her dark brown extensions and shove them straight down her throat. As tempting as it may be, I know for the sake of my career, I can’t just haul off and knock someone out—and especially not over a guy. What kind of example would I be setting in a hallway full of hormonal adolescent students? So I guess I can understand why dating someone at work is not encouraged, especially when I want to punch that man-stealing whore. If she wasn’t such a floozy, maybe I could move on. Maybe I wouldn’t want him back so badly if he had left me for someone less sleazy. Not this waif in 6-inch stilettos, acrylic nails, smothered in every possible product from the Mac counter. But this is who—or what—he chose. And yes, I still want him so bad it hurts.

  A group of chatty kids snap me out of my frenzy.

  “Check her out. I’d like to tap that ass,” a squirrely freshman boy says, raising eyebrows at the previously mentioned man-stealing whore, my colleague—a science teacher—walking down the hall as if it were an America’s Next Top Model runway. If she was in my class, I’d send her out for dress code violations on a daily basis. There’s no doubt she heard him too, and liked it. If only I was a student again, I’d be tempted to stick glue in her body lotion during gym. That would wipe the smile off her face.

  “I know right, if she were homework, I’d do her every night,” his friend replies. They slap hands wildly in agreement. Great. Not only do half the male teachers here want her, the students are even drooling over this hoochie.

  “Gross,” one of the girls in the huddle says, smacking Boy #2 in the chest.

  Another young lady chimes in, “Dude, she’s a teacher. That’s so wrong.”

  “So,” Boy #1 retorts. “I’m sure teachers like to get it on.” He pumps his hips back and forth, reminding me of Peewee from the old Porky’s movies. Sucking back the urge to gag, I have to stop myself from going over to them and smacking him in the back of the head. Little pervert.

  “Eww. They’re so old. That’s just nasty on so many levels.” Girl #2 shudders at the thought. Now, I want to smack her.

  “Yeah, it’s like admitting our parents have sex. There’s no way teachers do it,” Girl #1 adds. Okay, I’m about to do a whole heck of a lot of smacking. These children are going to need ice packs when I’m done with them for all their stupid talk. We’re teachers, not nuns and priests. No vow of celibacy here.

  “Thanks,” he pauses, staring her down. “You totally killed it.” Boy #2 stalks off into class. The others follow, snickering.

  Brats!

  The bell rings. A few stragglers rush through the door just as I’m about to close it, and I have the overwhelming desire to change my welcome back spiel.

  Good morning losers! Just a FYI. Teachers do have sex. Just like we eat, shit, and sleep every day. We also have to go to the grocery store so don’t be in shock when you see me at Albertson’s and I have a box of Tampax in my cart. I also have to buy clothes, so you might also see me at the mall and if you even make a face when I hit the dressing room with a year’s supply of Spanx, I may be forced to mark your papers with a big fat bleeding F for the rest of the year. So, yes, teachers have sex! And it’s not gross and it’s not like your parents doing it either. But for crying out loud, gentlemen, don’t go blind fantasizing about that skank you saw in the hall. She doesn’t have sex. She just fucks—excuse my language.

  Damn it. Listening to student chatter before class has totally thrown me for a loop. I’m totally off my first-day-of-school game. My students are looking up at me like little puppies wanting table food, and I don’t have any scraps. I can’t think of shit to say.

  The ridiculous conversation between a bunch of sex-crazed teenagers should really have little effect on me. I wouldn’t be bothered if those skinny little boys were talking about anyone else. But no-ooo, they’re poppin’ chubs over Ms. McGallian. And, while teachers do have sex, and Ms. McGallian is having plenty, I for one, am not. I’m not even fucking for Christ’s sake. Oh shit, I just said Christ and fuck in the same sentence. Scratch that. I just said shit, Christ, and fuck in the same sentence. Twice.

  One more thing … we fucking cuss too, bitches.

  While I wait for my Lean Cuisine to cool down enough to not cause first degree burns in my mouth, I notice my lunch isn’t the only thing sizzling. The anger boils in my gut, and I wish it wasn’t. I honestly wish I didn’t care so much.

  “Come on, Shel. It’s the first day back and you’re already showing your fangs. You look like you wanna rip off her head, shred her to pieces, and burn her hoochified remains,” my bestie tells me, hand on her hip in disapproval.

  Lowering my head at her, I try my hardest to give her the look. “Mel, the Twilight references are getting old. Besides, you’re thirty-two. Can you please move beyond YA books and fantasize about guys who are legal?” I ask my best friend of twenty two years.

  “Edward is legal. He’s over a hundred years old.” Melissa—who I’ve called Mel since the fourth grade—tosses her lunch on the table and sits next to me. “And I’m married. I dream about every man I see, or read about. Thank God for fantasies or I’d never get the chance to be manhandled by so many beautiful men.”

  Allowing a grin to form, I have to try to stop full blown laughter so I won’t encourage her antics. “Yeah well, you’re a slut in your fantasies.”

  She takes a huge bite of her sandwich and says, with grape jelly oozing out the side of her mouth, “I guess that makes me a fantastic slut.” She winks at me and I can’t help but laugh. She always manages to make me feel better. “Oh shit, here we go, Shel. Be cool.”

  “What?” I ask, watching Mel tense up and take a deep breath.

  “He’s here.”

  He’s here?

  And by he, she means my ex-boyfriend. My ex-loveofmylife. My ex-almostthefatherofmychildren. My ex-happilyeverafter. My ex-fiancé. My ex who left me for that Kim Kardashian butt double, Ms. McGallian. He’d argue he didn’t leave me for the curvy brunette with the million dollar highlights, b
ig boobs, and scary acrylic nails. Of course he didn’t. I mean, they only started dating less than a month after he called it quits. Yet, I’m supposed to believe she had nothing to do with it. She’s had practically every single man, and a few married, on this damn campus and she couldn’t let my guy escape her claws. No. She dug right in and he didn’t even try to run from little Ms. Fake-Everything-From-Head-To-Toe.

  I don’t see him, but I’m sure he sees Mel’s sneer. She’s practically stabbing a dagger through his chest with her eyes. Maybe she could will his pecker to fall off. That seems like a fair punishment for dumping my ass after ten plus years.

  But, that was last year. Summer vacation should’ve been enough time for me to lick my wounds and get over the bastard, but one look at him and my heart turns to mush all over again. His thick black hair is getting long and wavy, and I want to go over there and grab a handful of it. He must have gone shopping. I’ve never seen that shirt before. It actually has bling on it. She probably bought it for him. The Chase I know would never wear a shirt with wings on it. But whatever. The Chase I know would have never dumped the woman he was engaged to either.

  “Stop with the eyes already,” Mel whispers, kicking me under the table.

  “Ow. What the hell?”

  She glares down at me, big Betty Boop brown eyes, with unnaturally long lashes, bulging from their sockets. Her eyes are the only thing big about my best friend. She’s this petite little thing. Barely five feet tall, having stopped growing in the sixth grade. “Don’t even look at him with those sad, pathetic eyes. It’s been four months. Don’t let him see you like this. Don’t let her.” Too bad her mouth isn’t small and gentle like her frame. Her brash sassy talk more than makes up for her elfin size.

  I can’t help glancing over at their table again. My eyes meet the tramp’s and I’m certain I see a smirk on her face. Give me five seconds alone with this bitch. She’ll be declawed in three, and with the other two, I’ll punch her in each tit just for fun. I know I shouldn’t take it all out on her, but Mel has Chase taken care of. Right about now, his balls are being hacked off with an ax in her mind.

  Four months is clearly not long enough to get over someone you’ve been with half your life, I want to tell Mel. But I don’t. My shin still stings from her swift kick and rubbing it like crazy is keeping me from looking in the happy couple’s direction, again. I must look like an idiot massaging up and down my leg, but it beats the alternative. Repeatedly seeing Ms. McGallian and my ex together will only make this first day of school the worst in my career. Although, I’m pretty sure this entire year is going to kill me.

  I may need to rethink my profession. Or maybe consider a transfer, at the very least. When people break up and go their separate ways, the dumpee is bound to get over the dumper after days and days apart. There’s just one huge problem here: the dumpee and the dumper will be seeing each other five days a week, along with the ho bag who is now shacking up with the dumper. Now, the dumpee is feeling even more dumpy.

  “I’m gonna start eating in my classroom.” It seems impossible to handle another day like this one, where I have to concentrate on not letting my eyes wander.

  Mel shoots me another irritated look. “Don’t you dare. You are not going to let them force you to hide out in your room all year. They should be the ones who hide in shame. But that bitch wants to rub it in your face.” She’s right. She always is. I shouldn’t let her get to me.

  “FYI … if I can hear this conversation on the other side of the room, so can they,” a voice whispers in my ear. I look up and I’m eye to eye with Matty. He gives me a sympathetic look, squeezes my shoulder, and walks away.

  “Dang, that guy wants you so bad,” Mel says quietly, fluttering her brows at me.

  “Mr. Fuller is a good friend. It’s not like that,” I remind her.

  “Well as I’ve heard on many Lifetime Movie Originals, ‘the best way to get over a man is to get under another one’. I doubt Matt Fuller will mind being on top if you know what I mean.”

  “You’re scandalous.”

  Get under another one. Is she crazy? I guess if I ever did manage to get under another man, Matty would be high on my list of choices, if only we didn’t work together. Whose list wouldn’t he be on? The man is delicious with his bright blue eyes that twinkle every time he smiles, and his well-built physique and bronze skin. Every inch of his six-foot tall body is beautiful, inside and out. If I had to choose between him and Chase based solely on looks, Matty would beat him every day of the week. Chase is great looking and uber sexy. Women check Chase out all the time. But Matty, he’s absolutely gorgeous and there’s not an arrogant cell in his entire body. Now, there’s the major difference between the two men.

  And one more thing while I’m thinking about over and under, top and bottom.

  If and when I decide to “get over” my sexy, cheating ex, I will most definitely be on top.

  Weeks later, I’m eating my Trader Joe’s Pasadena Salad in my classroom. Alone. Mel refuses to eat with me. She’s so damn stubborn. I know she wants to but she keeps telling me, “it’s the principality.” Principality—that’s not even a word. Not in the way she’s using it. And she’s an English teacher. Go figure.

  The door opens slowly as I stuff my mouth with a fork full of lettuce, almonds, and chicken. I almost choke when I see who it is. In fact, I knew who it was the moment I caught a whiff of the air wafting in with him. Chase has been wearing Eternity for Men since we were in high school. I’m surprised Ms. Blingyshirts hasn’t changed his scent too. At any rate, his timing couldn’t be worse. My mouth is overflowing and I can barely chew. Time plays in slow motion as he makes his way to my desk. How anyone can look so sexy just merely walking is beyond me. There are no words to describe it. I blink hard and fast to snap myself out of his trance. Spitting back a wad of half-chewed salad in its container, I sneer, “What the hell do you want?”

  Like my strategy? In an effort to not break down and cry hysterically every time I’m alone with this asshole, I have to be mean. I can’t bring myself to be civil because every time I do, I end up asking him what went wrong and how I can fix it. As if I’m the one who needs fixing. Okay, maybe the fact that my innards are blubbering fools right now is evidence of that, but I can’t let him get to me. So instead, I just act like a bitch. It’s the only way to survive this stupid ass break-up.

  I’m snarling at him, yet he smiles.

  If I didn’t have my heels dug in the floor, I’d slide off my seat leaving snail trails behind. This man can make me ache down there with just an effing smile. It’s a wonder how he can still do that with our long history together. For most people, doesn’t that sort of thing fizzle out after a few years?

  He doesn’t say anything right away, so I utter again, “Well. What is it?”

  He ignores my question and says as nonchalant as can be, “Hey, hun, how you been?”

  Hun? Really? Un-frickin’-believable.

  Raising my right brow, I give him the most disapproving look I can muster. “Just great. Dear,” I sneer with a snap of my neck.

  “I haven’t seen you during lunch in a while,” his voice softens.

  “It’s too crowded in the staff lounge.” Translation: I don’t want to see you and your nasty ass girlfriend.

  “Aw, come on. You should come down.” Translation: making you feel like shit is so much more fun in public.

  “I’ve got a lot of grading to do.” Looking down at my desk, I notice only one small stack of papers. Shit. That’s what I get for having nothing better to do than grade papers night after night.

  He sits on my nearly empty desk. “Well, I hear everybody misses you.” He plumps out his bottom lip in a pout. I think my heart just stopped. Is he trying to kill me? Could he be prosecuted for murder? Cause of death: broken heart. Murder weapon: words laced with bullshit. It’s me who should be thrown in jail for eating up every one of those words. But, I can’t help myself.

  Okay, Shel, relax. Keep
it cool. Back to bitch mode.

  I summon the courage to shout at him, “Shut the hell up and get the fuck out of my room. And don’t come back unless it’s about work. Even then, don’t bother. Just send me an email.”

  “Shel Belle, don’t be that way. I still wanna be friends.” Oh no he didn’t just pull out the friends card. He needs to shove that crap back from where ever he yanked it from. He’s so full of shit, no wonder his skin is so tan.

  “Friends, my ass. We’ve been friends since the second grade, since I kissed you on the cheek on Space Mountain when you were so scared you wanted to cry. I should have just let you piss your pants and never talked to you again and I wouldn’t be in this mess.” I glare at him with as much pissiness as I can exude. “Fuck friends. I have enough friends. I don’t need any more. And I sure as hell don’t need you. So get to steppin’, Chase.” Tears threaten to bubble over the edge of my eyelids but I will them back. I swear to God, if I cry in his presence, I’ll kick my own ass.

  Chase’s chocolate brown eyes glare at me, his nose flares, and I can see the muscles in his jaw twitch, but I don’t say another word and my tears don’t fall. But his do. He gets up and walks out my door. Before it slams, my heart fails me and tears start streaming down my heated face like a flash flood.

  He has no right getting teary-eyed on me. He did this. I didn’t break up with him. He can’t toss me aside, put me in the junk drawer and come find me when he needs me.

  I can't still be his friend. It doesn't work like that. How can we possibly be buddies? Am I supposed to chat with him about the good old days, or go out to dinner with him and what’s her face? I don’t know how we can go from long-term relationship to friends and everything be just peachy. That’s bullshit.

  The bell rings. Son of a mother lover. I grab for the box of tissues near my computer and blot my already puffy eyes. There’s no way I can camouflage this. I just hope my class doesn’t say anything. I’ll probably cry more.