Absinthe: So, you just want phone sex …
Kerouac: Yes.
Absinthe: And no matter how hot and bothered I get you, you’ll never change your mind?
Kerouac: Never.
Exhaling, I rest my chin on my hand and glance away. I suppose if we’re never going to meet or know each other’s real names, I can be as dirty as I want to be with him. I can tell him everything without giving two shits about whether or not he’s going to judge me because it won’t fucking matter.
Absinthe: Fine. Lay it on me. Tell me how you’d fuck me in a library.
Kerouac: I’d make you wear a skirt.
Absinthe: You’d MAKE me wear a skirt?
Kerouac: Yes. I’d make you.
Kerouac: By the way, you’re not wearing panties.
Absinthe: Obviously.
Kerouac: I’d take you to the F-K aisle, turn your back toward me, and spread your thighs. My hands would pull at the hem of your skirt, revealing your ass. If anyone walked by, they’d see my fingers trailing up your inner thighs and plunging into your wet pussy. You’d moan, and I’d cover your mouth. We have to be quiet.
Absinthe: Damn, K. This is, um, good. Keep going.
Kerouac: Your hips would buck against me. You’re so fucking hot you can’t even stand it, and you’re close, but I won’t let you cum unless you’re riding my cock. Pulling my fingers from your slit, I give you a taste before massaging your tits and pulling your body against mine. When you whimper and beg for me to fuck you, I’ll have to tease you first … I’ll have to remind you that I’m in control. Dragging the tip of my cock along your seam, I’ll slide my length inside you at the height of your anticipation.
Absinthe: Go on…
Kerouac: With your hands gripping the bookshelf and your hair gathered in my fist, I’ll fuck you like the dirty girl you are, demanding your silence and commanding your body in ways no other man has done before.
Absinthe: Wait. How do you know what other men have done to me before?
Kerouac: Seriously?
Absinthe: Just kidding. No man has ever fucked me in a library, that right there probably puts you at the top of my list. Forgive me for interrupting you. Continue.
Kerouac: Through the shelves, we see someone coming. The librarian. I press my thumb against your clit, circling it as I fuck you harder and faster, my cum jetting inside you as your body melts against mine, your pussy clenched in spasm. Pulling myself out of you, I zip my fly and you straighten your skirt. The librarian comes around the corner, giving us each an evil look. And then she carries on her way, none the wiser.
Absinthe: Not bad.
Kerouac: Not bad?
Absinthe: Yeah. It wasn’t bad. I mean, I’ve been touching myself this whole time. And I came. Please tell me you’re not one of those guys who needs constant reassurance.
Kerouac: I’m not.
Absinthe: Good, because you won’t get it from me. If we ever fuck in real life, I’m not going to lie in your arms and cry because the experience moved my world. I’d probably climb off you, wipe your sticky semen out of my pristine vagina, and make myself a sandwich in your kitchen wearing your shirt.
Kerouac: We’re never going to fuck in real life, so …
Absinthe: Yes, K. You’ve made that clear. Thank you for the reminder though.
Kerouac: Same time tomorrow?
Absinthe: Oh, you got your rocks off and now you’re done with me?
Kerouac: I ordered food. It just arrived.
Absinthe: Sure.
A picture fills our chat screen: white Styrofoam containers filled with pad thai noodles and spring rolls.
Absinthe: You didn’t have to prove yourself. I was only fucking with you.
Kerouac: Tomorrow? Seven pm?
Absinthe: If you’re lucky.
A knock at my door prompts me to shut the lid of my laptop, and before I get a chance to answer, Bree barges in.
“Where’s my gold cross necklace?” she asks, her blue eyes wild and her tone accusatory.
I lift my palms. “No clue.”
“It was in my bathroom next to my sink this morning and now it’s gone. I need it. I have a test in fifteen minutes, and it’s my good luck charm.”
“You know good luck charms don’t actually work, right? It’s all in your head.”
Her face is red, her lips shaky, and she begins rifling through my closet, through dresser drawers. Tossing throw pillows and dirty clothes off the floor, she turns my room upside down.
“You took it. I know you did.” Bree points, wearing her mother’s scowl.
“I can assure you, I didn’t touch your stupid necklace. Thing’s ugly anyway.” I roll my eyes. “What would I even do with it?”
“I don’t know … pawn it?”
I smirk. This girl has never even set foot in a pawnshop. She’s never known the burden of having to pawn your brand-new shoes for lunch money, which happened to me on more than one occasion, I might add.
“A piece like that would get me eight, maybe nine dollars tops. Hardly worth the bus fare and the trip spent in the bad part of town,” I say.
Her jaw falls. “That necklace is from Tiffany! It’s worth way more than eight dollars.”
“I didn’t pawn it. I’m just saying, if I did, that’s probably all they’d give me for it,” I say.
She stands at the foot of my bed, staring, jaw clenched. She wants, so badly, to pin this on me. More than likely the cleaning lady moved it today or it fell down the drain.
“Don’t you have a test or something to get to?” I wave my hand, shooing her.
Bree lets out a juvenile groan, her fists clenched, and then she spins to leave my room, her cheerleader ponytail bouncing with each stomp. She’d slam my door if she knew she wouldn’t get in trouble for it.
Stupid twat.
Lifting the laptop lid, I return to the chat.
Kerouac has signed off.
Chapter 4
Ford
The garage is filled with random paint cans and yard tools left by the previous owner. They were supposed to clear everything out before they signed the closing papers, but they must have conveniently forgotten a few things.
Sweeping the dusty floor with a push broom while Aerosmith plays from an old tape player—another forgotten possession—I take a break and head inside to grab a Heineken, only I’m stopped by a familiar voice on the way inside.
“Ford,” the man says. I turn to face him. “Thought that was you.”
Superintendent Abbott walks toward me, though he’s nearly unrecognizable in khaki shorts and a golf polo.
“Victor,” I say, extending my hand. “Not used to seeing you out of your three-piece suit.”
This man put me through five rounds of interviews for this position, grilling me with impossible questions and hiding his shock when he realized it was going to take more than that to rattle me.
“So you’re the new neighbor,” he says, staring at my house, his hands on his hips. “The Smiths were good people. Really going to miss them. They don’t make neighbors like that anymore.” He pauses, his smile fading. “So, you getting all settled in?”
I nod, neglecting to tell him I haven’t even been here a full twenty-four hours yet. “I am. Taking it one day at a time.”
“Well, that’s good to hear, Ford.” He pats me on the back. “We’ll have to have you over for dinner one of these nights. My wife, Tabitha, makes a mean duck a l’orange. And I’m sure my daughter would love to meet you. She’s going to be a senior this year at Rosefield. So is my niece. She’s staying with us while she finishes her senior year.”
“Of course. I’d love to meet your family sometime,” I lie.
Shoot me now.
“Anyway, I know the board’s really excited to have you. Your interviews really blew us away, and that recommendation from U.S. Education Secretary Carl Broadbent really sealed the deal.”
Carl is an old family friend who’s never worked a day in his life with me, but he offered. And I couldn’t say no to that.
“I won’t keep you any longer,” he says. “Looks like you’re busy here.” Abbott checks his phone. “Meeting the guys at the club for a round. You golf much, Ford?”