Stopping just far enough that we were clear of listening ears, I faced the soccer match and spoke to her at my side.
“I meant what I said.” I spoke softly. “I am very happy with you, you know? Especially with the way I woke up the other night.”
I caught her sharp intake of breath and saw her thumbnail go immediately between her teeth. She was trying to hide a smile, and I found it endearing and frustrating. Hiding what was going on between us had an element of excitement and turned out to be great foreplay for later. We were living two different relationships, so it kept things constantly new and unpredictable.
However, I wanted us to have liberties that we couldn’t have in public. I wanted her to smile at me and to be able to reach out and touch her.
But I couldn’t, and that part was getting increasingly annoying.
“I want to do that to you again,” she said softly, her breathy voice turning me on.
“Do you?” I played, remembering waking up and how my hands instantly went into her hair as she took me into her mouth.
“Yes,” she responded, dropping her voice to a small whisper. “I’ve been thinking about it all day.”
And I looked down at her, seeing her eyes locked on the match and an innocent blush cross her cheeks as she bit her nail.
Damn. I blinked, turning back toward the field, realizing I didn’t know when I was going to see her again. And I needed her soon.
“Good job!”
She suddenly broke out in a yell, clapping her hands, and I shifted, refocusing my attention and seeing Christian and his teammates celebrating on the field.
I let out a frustrated sigh and clapped as well, feeling like a bigger asshole because I’d missed it.
You can do a couple things and succeed, or you can try to do fifteen things and fail at all of them.
My son’s black hair was shiny with sweat, and I smiled, seeing him enjoying the win with his friends.
“Mr. Marek, may we have a picture?” a woman asked, holding some high-tech digital camera.
I nodded, but Easton pulled out of the picture before she took the shot, adjusting her ponytail and trying to act nonchalant.
The woman shrugged with a polite smile and walked off.
I narrowed my eyes, studying Easton. “It’s just a friendly shot for the school paper,” I assured her, having seen the woman’s school sweatshirt. “A parent and teacher talking isn’t scandal-worthy, Easton.”
She didn’t make eye contact or say anything, and before I could pry, she smiled widely, seeing Christian heading over.
“Hey, great job,” she exclaimed. “You did amazing.”
“Yes, you did great,” I told him, seeing his smile fall when he looked at me.
“Were you even watching?” he shot back.
I dropped my eyes, thankfully disguised behind my glasses. I didn’t think he’d realized I was here, since I’d been late. But he’d known, and he’d seen that I was, again, distracted.
Inhaling a deep breath, I lifted my chin. “I thought we could go to Sucré for some dessert before dinner,” I suggested. “To celebrate.”
He shook his head, brushing me off. “I’m going to hang out with friends.”
“Your friends can wait an hour,” I pressed. “If Ms. Bradbury came, would you be less bored?”
No sense in coddling him with a softer approach. My son wasn’t an idiot, and I wouldn’t try to play him like one.
“Thanks, but I need to get home,” Easton interrupted.
“Christian?” I prompted him for an answer, ignoring Easton’s protest.
He looked between his teacher and me, seeming to consider it. “Can I drive?” he asked.
The corner of my mouth lifted, actually liking his boldness.
When I didn’t answer right away, Easton stepped in, urging me.
“No, he can’t drive,” she answered for me. “Ty—” She stopped and corrected herself. “Mr. Marek, he doesn’t have a permit,” she pointed out.
I eyed Christian. “Have you ever driven before?”
“Not in the city but yes.”
I nodded, giving in.
He turned and started walking for the parking lot, and I followed, glancing behind me to a baffled Easton.
“Get in the car,” I ordered. “Don’t act like you’re thinking about saying no.”
“No, wait,” Easton burst out. “That’s a light!”
“Shit,” Christian cursed, and I shot him a glare. I didn’t have a huge problem with swearing, and I didn’t mind him working me a little, but I didn’t want him taking advantage. Fourteen-year-olds shouldn’t swear, especially not in front of their parents.
He’d stopped at the red light, just like a pro, but after a second he started to go through it, thinking it was just a stop sign.
“It’s confusing,” he barked. “There are so many stop signs, it throws me off when they have a light instead.”
“And half the streets are only one way,” Easton added from the backseat.