Chapter 1
I rolled over slowly, my back pained by the stiff mattress. My eyes winced and I peered over at the shoddy brown closet door with the Pearl Jam poster taped haphazardly upon it. I sat up suddenly.
Shit, what time is it?
I fumbled around on the bedside table until my hands found my phone.
7:30. Damnit. I'll have to hurry.
Without even a glance to see if he was awake or not, I rushed around to gather my things. I found my jeans stuffed in a corner by the dresser, my bra buried under some sheets on the floor, and my t-shirt hanging lazily off the edge of a wood-framed picture I could only assume was of his mother.
Uh, oh; he's a mamma's boy. I'd better make this quick.
Within seconds, I was dressed and ready to make a very discreet exit. I grabbed my purse and rushed down the hallway.
As I prepared to turn the corner, the front door in my sights, I collided unexpectedly with Four as he exited the kitchen. We crashed violently into each other, our belongings flying to the floor. I pulled myself to sit and glanced at the items on the floor – my purse, my phone, his phone, his wallet, his keys…his keys?
"Sorry…" he said, "I, uh…I thought you were still sleeping."
"Yeah, likewise," I responded, regarding him with utter confusion. "You going somewhere?"
"No – well, not yet anyways. I was just running out to my bike to grab something." He eyed my keys dangling from my purse. "Where are you going?"
The moment had come; time to break his heart. I was too tired to do it tactfully. "Home. This isn't my apartment last time I checked."
He regarded me incredulously for a moment. "Huh…" He stood up and shoved his wallet in his back pocket. "All right. Well, see ya." He turned back towards the kitchen.
My jaw dropped as a sharp pang of insult shocked my system. I stood and followed him. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"
He paused and shrugged. "It was a good time; maybe I'll see you around." He disappeared into the kitchen without another word.
I huffed, following behind him. "What, you don't even have the common courtesy to see me to the door?" My face burned red hot. I hardly knew what I was so worked up about. I usually dreamed of an easy getaway.
"It always happens this way," he muttered to himself. With a belabored sigh, he reached for my hand with patronizing gentleness. "Look, Tris, it's been fun, it really has. But this is all there is for me. There's nothing long-term for me; it's just the way I am."
His speech sounded rehearsed; much like the one I was used to delivering. I wrenched my hand away from his. "That's not what I meant, jackass. What do you think I was doing, preparing to write you a love note?"
He shrugged with a smile. "It wouldn't be the first time."
I rolled my eyes. "I was trying to get out of here before you woke up. If I'd known you were already out here I would've gone out the bedroom window."
His face fell. "You were gonna ditch me?" He scratched his chin. "I guess there's a first time for everything..."
He contemplated for a moment while I straightened my shirt. That's right. I ditch my dates. Not the other way around.
"Well, then I guess this is your lucky day," he said finally. I looked at him expectantly. His eyes turned wicked. "See that door over there?" Like an idiot, I looked. "That's the way home."
He turned back to the stove and pulled out a frying pan, chuckling. I fumed. "You're an ass."
He turned to me with a broad smile. "Finally: a girl that gets me."
I scowled, but quickly took a different tack. Casually, I turned around to head for the door. "You're right, I do get you; what little of you there is."
It was a low blow, but it had the desired affect. A smile spread across my face as I heard his footsteps rushing up behind me. "Whoa, whoa, now hang on one second, sweet cheeks, you can't go around spewing lies like that. There is nothing wrong with my, uh…"
I turned and looked at him innocently. "Oh, I know. Nothing was really wrong with it. It was just, ya know…meh."
I reached for the door. "Okay, okay," he said, giving in and stepping in front of me to block my exit. "I know what you're doing and I'm not falling for it. You're trying to get under my skin because I showed you the door. Okay, fine, I deserve that."
I smiled a sardonically, "Whatever you need to believe is fine by me, honey." I pushed past him and opened the door with enough force to knock him backwards. I started quickly down the steps, relief washing over me as the fresh air hit my face.
He followed behind. "Need to believe? No, no, I don't need to believe anything." I couldn't help but smile. He was making a fantastic idiot of himself. "I know how women think. You'll play all sorts of little games to try to get me to call you. It's not gonna work. I never order seconds."
I raised my eyebrows as I reached my car. "Seconds? Well you certainly have a way of making that sound wonderfully appealing. Now quit following me, I'm not opposed to using my car to incapacitate you."
He paused as I pulled myself into the driver's seat. "You're really not gonna try to give me your number?"
I rolled my eyes. "If I did that, you might call me."
He shrugged casually. "Nah, probably not."
I huffed and reached for my door. He grabbed the handle and pulled it sharply away from me. "Hang on, now. This is interesting. You really don't want a relationship…you don't date either?"
I smirked. "As much as I'd like to say my behavior today is specific to you, no. I don't do 'seconds' or 'thirds' or even 'fourths'. Seems too much like sentimental bullshit to me."
He pondered for a moment, than grabbed my keys right out of my fingers, tossing them to himself. "Let's go get breakfast."
Oh God, no, not one of those. I groaned audibly. The last guy who took me on as his personal challenge took weeks to shake.
I pulled myself from the driver's seat and chased him down to nab my keys back. "No. I'm going home. I told you: I don't date."
He leaned in and looked me in the eye. "Tris, I can't remember the last time I went on a date, and I'm not about to start building memories. But I hate eating breakfast alone and my roommate is out of town. Since you claim to have no interest in me…" He gripped my chin gently with his hand. "…I see no harm in listening you bitch and whine over a hot steamy stack of pancakes."
I pulled my face away. I wanted to turn him down flat, but a growling in my stomach told me some protein was in order. I exhaled audibly. "You promise me this isn't some lame attempt to get more time with me so you can convince me that you're the only guy I could ever love?"
He smirked. "Wow, what kind of lame-ass men have you been sleeping with?"
"You have no idea."
"I don't know, sounds like we might be sleeping with the same people." He walked around to the passenger side. "You're driving."
I reluctantly returned to the driver's seat and he plopped himself in the car next to me. I paused. "I don't know this side of town very well. What's good? I'm kinda picky – I only like bacon and eggs."
"Oh, I know baby," he cajoled. I smacked his arm and pulled out.
He guided me to the iHop. I should've known that was our destination; he was way too immature to appreciate good food. We were seated immediately and he ordered four smiley-face pancakes before I even picked up the menu.
"Seriously?" I said as the waiter walked away. "What are you, an eight-year-old?"
"I always order smiley-face pancakes after a good lay. Gets me full and prepped for the next one." He rubbed his hands together enthusiastically.
I ignored him and turned my attention back to the menu.
"What's your post-coital tradition?" he asked.
I didn't even look up. "I don't know what you mean."
"Oh come on, every player has one. A little ritual or something that helps draw out the endorphins."
"'Player'?" I regarded him over the tip of the cheap laminated paper. "Been watching too much 'Sixteen Candles' lately? I'm not that lame. I just go about my day like normal people."
"Oh." The waiter dropped off two glasses of orange juice and two coffees and took my order. Four wadded up his straw wrapper and tossed it aside. "So what do you do for work?"
I threw my menu on the seat. "I thought you weren't interested in me."
He raised his hands in surrender. "Jesus. Fine, I won't talk."
I nursed a few sips of my orange juice and enjoyed the silence. But within a few minutes, I had to admit that it was nice to have someone interested in doing more than calculating the size of my boobs.
"Ratley High School," I said.
"Huh?" The goofy look on his face almost made me giggle.
"Ratley High School. That's where I work. I teach English."
He peered at me curiously. "Oh my God…Ms. Prior…I should've known. You're the new teacher – the 'bombshell' all the senior boys keep talking about. Ha! I'm officially the envy of the entire high school." He laughed to himself.
"Excuse me?" I seethed, "What the hell are you talking about? And how do you know my last name?" Suddenly horror stories of female teachers sleeping with their teenage students started running through my head.
There's no way. I'm not that stupid; he can't be that young.
He extended his hand to me. "Mr. Eaton. Biology and chemistry."
I stared in shock, then sunk back into my seat, fully aware that I was leaving him hanging. "Oh my god, the man-whore…"
He laughed heartily. "Are they still calling me that? God, that better not get around to the students."
"Oh, don't worry, there's not a single teacher in the entire district who wants anyone to know she gave it up to you."
He scowled. "They should be proud. I'm a picky fucker."
I raised my eyebrows. "Clearly."
Our food arrived and the waiter made an awkward attempt at remembering who got what. "The lame-ass baby pancakes are his," I pointed to Four.
He smiled. "That's right, put those suckers right here. Evidence of good memories…"
I blanched as he shoved the first two in his mouth, half a pancake at a time. I picked at my omelet. "So you're a teacher…and a chess enthusiast on the side?"
"You could say that," he mumbled over his chomping, "Teaching doesn't always come easy to me, but chess is a different story."
"Really?" I didn't think chess came easily to anyone…
"I won, didn't I?"
My mind reflected on the night before. I had arrived late for the tournament, notebook and recorder in hand, prepared to help document the event with my students for Journalism 101. I had made the mistake of wearing heels and found myself clamoring and tripping through the back of the crowd as I tried to find a reasonable viewing perch. The first hour of the tournament was boring as hell with silent players and spectators and nothing but a few finger-to-palm claps when one of the players won.
At the end it had come down to Four and one other guy, Scott. They played vigorously until the last move. Scott was dripping sweat while Four grinned confidently over him. I found myself strangely drawn in by the sense of competition and willpower between the two. I silently cheered for Four – I always root for the cuter one – and, just when Scott announced 'check', Four's hand flew swiftly across the board, executing a final move with his Queen.
"Check mate."
For the first time that night, the crowd went wild. A rush of adrenaline ripped through my veins and I found myself jumping up and down and cheering. When Four stood up and raised his hands into the air in victory, scanning the crowd with those penetrating brown eyes, I planned my own checkmate.
I glanced at him across the faded yellow table. He's a walking contradiction. A chess-playing science teacher who rides a motorcycle and sleeps around like friggin Fonzi. Amusing.
"What exactly were you doing at the tournament?" he asked with a snort.
I didn't like the insinuation behind his inflection. "I'm teaching a Journalism class. It was a project for the students' report card." My hand flew to my mouth. "Oh shit, I hope none of them saw us leave together!"
Four shook his head. "Don't worry, I always make sure the coast is clear before I take a slutty chick home."
"Hey!" I threw my fork at him. "I'm not a slut; I'm just very…independent."
"Ouch! Whatever, I don't care. I think it's badass."
"Anyways, it's 2015. Slut-shaming goes both ways, man-whore." I giggled.
He laughed and then looked at me curiously. "You mentioned last night that you didn't have a place. Is that true? Are you homeless right now?"
"Well, not exactly. My car has a very comfortable backseat. I just haven't found an apartment yet."
He swallowed. "That piece of shit Chevy Impala has a comfortable backseat? Come on - there's a reason I didn't try to poonslap you in the parking lot." I raised an eyebrow. That was definitely a term he picked up from the students. "My cousin and I are looking for another break on the rent. Why don't you move in with us?"
I threw my arms in the air. "Really? After this whole conversation we just had and you're already trying to get me to move in with you?"
He looked at me like I'd suggested evolution was just a theory. "Dude, get over yourself. You're hot, but, Jesus…unless you have connections to the Playboy mansion, I don't see anything long-term between us." I snorted and relaxed a little. "We have an extra room and you need one. Anyways, you're cool." He grimaced. "I can only imagine how miserable it would be to get stuck with some chick friend of my cousin's who has seen Zack and Miri Make a Porno too many times."
I chuckled. "Okay, okay, I guess I'm a little sensitive. I've had too many guys shopping for rings after just one very average fuck, you know?"
He shook his head. "Nah. I don't, thank God. But I have had to shake the occasional stalker."
Silence ensued for a few moments. "So your roommate is your cousin?" I asked. "Is he an ass too?"
"She's a 'she'. And she's weird as fuck but she's no douchenozzle."
I laughed. "Fair enough."
Suddenly an idea hit me; the best idea I'd ever had in my life. It would make both our lives easier and help me ensure that Four was, in fact, not interested in him. I looked up at him concentrating on his food like most people concentrate on solving quadratic equations. If he was offended by my idea, it was back to the backseat of my car for a few more weeks. But if he liked it…
"Four. I just came up with the best idea."
"Okay…" He regarded me doubtfully.
"We both like to get 'poonslapped' sans commitment, right?" I air-quoted the word.
"Uh, well technically I like to 'poonslap' others. I'm not a big fan of being 'poonslapped', if you know what I mean." I glared at him impatiently. "Sorry, sorry - semantics. Keep going."
"Okay, so I was just thinking – what is better than having a wingman when you're trying to hook up?
He shrugged. "A hooker?"
"No!" I was running out of things to throw; I settled for my coffee spoon. "Idiot. The answer is a wingwoman. Just think – if you had me with you at a club, or a bar, or a…."
"Chess tournament?" he suggested.
My face scrunched. "A chess tournament?"
He nodded. "Great place to meet women."
I stared blankly. "So…you go to chess tournaments to get laid?"
"No, I play in chess tournaments to get laid. Works every time. I believe you can attest to that."
I couldn't believe my ears. "You're kidding me."
"What, you think I do it for fun?"
I honestly didn't know how to answer that. I couldn't imagine playing chess for fun or to get laid. "So…you've spent years honing your skills to win tournaments so you can take a nerdy spectator home? I'm sorry, but that sounds really, really lame." He looked at me knowingly and I shook my head. "I get it, I fell for it – but other girls have too?"
He smiled. "Just the smart ones. And don't be ridiculous – I haven't spent years honing my skills. It's just a sport that happens to come easy to me."
"A sport…" My head bobbed up and down as I tested the idea that chess could actually be considered a 'sport'.
"Look, girls don't go looking for dates in bars anymore. They're there to hang out with their girlfriends, get drunk, and inflate their ego while a bunch of guys flirt with them. But a chess tournament? It's perfect: only smart girls go there, I look awesome when I win, I'm hotter than every single guy there," - as I recalled my own experience the night before, he started to make a lot of sense – "and it's an unexpected place to meet someone hot, smart, and interesting. So it feels novel and exciting."
This guy was a genius. Before I knew it, I was grinning ear-to-ear.
"So picture this, Four," I waved my hand in the air as if painting an exquisite portrait with my fingers. "We're at a club – or chess tournament, but for now let's stick with the more likely scenario – and you're at the bar flirting with a girl. It's going well, but you could use a little bit of extra 'umph' in your game."
"I don't know what makes you think I don't have enough 'umph', but go on."
"Suddenly, I walk up looking ridiculously hot and sexy. You somehow manage to pretend you don't notice and then I start pawing at you, trying to get you to dance."
"This sounds like a bad idea."
"Then, instead of being drawn in by my irresistible charm – "
"Charm? Is that what you call it?"
" – don't change the subject – you completely ignore me, removing my hands from your body and saying something along the lines of 'sorry, I'm busy right now, sweetheart'. Your eyes never leave hers and suddenly she feels enigmatically special. Wham bam: you're in!" I slapped the table enthusiastically, my veins alive with possibilities.
"Okay, okay," he bobbed his head, "I can see this working. The script needs a little help, but I see where you're going."
I frowned. "What's wrong with the script? Your line was genius! What the hell would you say?"
"Oh, I don't know…'sorry, I'm busy right now, sweetheart' just doesn't have a lot of pizzazz. I'd go for something more along the lines of 'why don't both of you come to my apartment and we'll steam things up?'"
I stared in disbelief. For several minutes. The grin playing on his lips didn't even falter.
"What? We'd both get to experience a threesome and get some strange in the same night. It's perfect!"
I shook my head. "I'll give you some more time to work on your lines."
"Whatever. You've just given me a new goal – getting you back in my bed with my next lay."
I rolled my eyes again but couldn't help but laugh. "We are going to have some fun this summer. Between my creativity and your brains…"
He shrugged. "I'm going to have some fun." He gestured towards me, "You're going to need a little work if you want me to work the wing for you."
I scowled. "There's nothing wrong with me or my approach." I settled back into my chair. "Anyways, you'd be better off worrying about how you're going to be able to stand someone like me living just one door down from you. It's not going to end well if you get all sentimental."
He looked me over for a moment, considering my statement while he sipped his OJ. "Nah, I'm not worried."
I noisily snatched the bill from the waiter who had just shown up to deliver a refill. I threw a few dollars on the table and scrawled my number on the back of the receipt paper. "Just call me when you've got the lease paperwork ready."
He glanced at the small strip of paper as he finished off his last pancake. "Says the girl who claims she didn't want to give me her number…"
I stood up and leaned over him so my breath tickled his ear. "Try not to smudge the ink with your lube."
I stalked off with a satisfied smirk on my face.
