Bully to Boyfriend Page 3

  “Okay, that was far better than a Tinder bio,” I giggled, sipping more of my wine. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think you were out of line for breaking up with that girl for liking the Fast and the Furious. I once broke up with someone because all of his décor was superhero themed. Down to his kitchen towels.”

  “That’s not unusual for someone in their early twenties,” Gus defended the guy.

  “You’re right… He was thirty-five.”

  He spat out some wine at that, which caused another eruption of laughter between the two of us. “So, you’re into older guys?”

  I gave a modest shrug, “I’ve found that I don’t have a type.”

  “Certainly not a type for chubby blonde guys,” he chirped, referring to his childhood self.

  I gawked at him. “Well you definitely didn’t have a thing for scrawny girls with glasses.”

  “You dressed like you were from the 1950s,” he teased as he scanned over my outfit, “Though I suppose some things never change.”

  I became self-conscious and pulled my cardigan closer to my body.

  “Hey,” he purred as he reached for my hand, “It suits you. I just didn’t have taste in fashion back then.”

  There it was again, a change in the air around us, but that time I could identify it. Mutual attraction. As I studied the details of his eyes and lips, he did the same. I cleared my throat and withdrew my hand from his, “We should get back to planning uh… the uh…”

  “Literature Brawl,” Augustus reminded me, scooting his chair around to my side of the table so he could review the notes I had taken throughout the meal. We had already agreed on the list of books we would assign and were just still debating which activities to include in the event. He was sitting close enough to me that the smell of his sandalwood and oak cologne made my head spin. He pulled my chair, closing the small gap that remained between us, and topped off my wine glass. “We can get back to that. I just shared quite a bit of top-clearance information with you, Ms. Nunley. You cannot leave me in suspense like this. Tell me anything.”

  “There’s not much to share, I’m as boring as I’ve ever been.” My voice was practically a squeak; I was rattled by his closeness.

  “Please know I’m as sincere as one can be when I say, you’ve never been boring. I think you’re the person who has fascinated me the most in my entire life.”

  “Me?” I snorted, shaking my head. “Why?”

  “You’ve always been passionate and professional, even back in first grade. Yet, you’ve been a mystery all the while. You didn’t have many friends I could probe for information, so I had to sit back and gather my own ideas.”

  “And what ideas do you have?”

  “Well, of adult June, I’m at a loss, but adolescent June…” There was a pause and I could feel his eyes studying me but my eyes hadn’t budged from the papers in front of me. “She was quiet, not because she had nothing to say, but because she was thinking. Thinking far deeper than any kid I ever met. You didn’t read Dr. Seuss or whatever else the others were reading, you read chapter books filled with adventure and character-development. Sure, you had a bit of a pretentious quality to you because you wouldn’t watch many cartoons or see the new ‘hit movie’… because you were looking for things with substance. Things that were as real and emotional as you were. And, you wanted to be the best because in your mind, there was no other way to be.”

  I quenched my dry throat with a long sip of wine, flustered by his analysis. He had casually spoken things I had always known but struggled to put into words. “You were watching me that closely, huh?”

  “How couldn’t I? You were nothing like any person my age I had ever encountered. All the others were just too caught up in being young to appreciate it… Admittedly, at a certain point, so did I. Now, tell me if anything has changed. Tell me anything, Tinder bio or word-vomit like I just spewed onto you.” We shared an airy chuckle yet again.

  Never before had someone had such laser-like focus on me, not even Alora. Most of the time, I could sense that the people I spoke to were just waiting for their turn to speak and share their opinions, rather than taking in the meaning of what I was sharing. This was new, and terrifying, and thrilling all at the same time. “Well, I…” I drifted off, not having composed an articulate thought yet. I closed my eyes and searched around the inside of my head, something noteworthy or anything that wasn’t about how dull my routine had become since returning to our hometown. When I opened my eyes, the wine guided me in courage to look at him. He leaned into me, ready to soak up anything that came from my lips; his gaze was intense but friendly, and for the first time since the days I had with my grandmother, I felt like I was the only other person alive to the person I was speaking to. “The cliché things to know is that I’m a twenty-something-year-old woman that’s very into wine and true crime. I often listen to podcasts about cooking while on my short drive to work. If you were to walk into my house, you would either think you stepped back in time or into a thrift store, depending on how you feel about midcentury furniture and décor. None of which is expensive except for my modest collections of bound books and old vinyl records. That time era feels nostalgic to me, even though I didn’t live through it. While, yes, the world wasn’t perfect at the time by any means, it feels… simpler yet stylish. There was an art to everything, from furniture to curtains to coasters, you know? Mass-production was just coming onto the scene, but it wasn’t like what you experience today walking into a store. I don’t know… modern feels soulless to me, as pretentious as that may sound,” I emphasized to draw a parallel to his analysis of me, “I paint on the weekends, even though I’m not great at it. It’s just something to do, I suppose. My only friends are Alora Chace, the math teacher, my sister, and my roommate from college, and we don’t speak frequently. None of that bothers me though because I don’t care for social outings. I’m a homebody. My happiest is a Saturday with a home-cooked breakfast and dinner, with reading or painting or documentaries between the meals. My very best friend was my grandma, but she passed away years ago… And I miss her every day without fail. Whether it’s because I think of something I wish I could share with her, or because I smell lavender, or find an old movie that we would watch together. I guess she’s the reason I love everything I do, but it’s only because she’s single-handedly the best person I ever met…” My eyes were misty. “Sorry, I get a bit emotional when I drink…”

  Before my hand could reach my face to wipe away a tear which hadn’t yet fallen, Augustus’s thumb glided across my lower lid. When I gathered the strength to return my gaze to him, I found his eyes were just as dewy as mine. Then, the unexpected happen. I threw my arms around his shoulders and pressed my lips to his. Augustus didn’t hesitate, his own arms snaking around my waist and pulling me closer, returning the kiss with fervor and urgency.

  Chapter Four

  He paid the bill and we left the restaurant quickly. The next thing I knew Augustus and I were kissing, leaning against his car. His lips were soft and eager, but not forceful. I felt an explosion of desire with each kiss that I had never felt with any other partner. With each brush of our lips we expressed the newfound passion and addressed the intense rivalry of our past. Gus’s body pressed me against the cool metal and glass of his car as his hands took in the shape of my sides, a groan of satisfaction sounding from the back of his throat.

  Then, we fumbled with the car door and fell into his backseat. My head was spinning both from the wine and arousal. The cool air of the car was soon heated by our hot breaths as we moaned and writhed together, stumbling to unbutton and slip off each other’s shirts. The furthest thing from my mind was the hatred I had been harboring and obsessing over since seeing him. All I could think of was the tender look in his eye as he absorbed every syllable I spoke and the context behind them, and how unbelievably handsome chubby Augustus Gloop had become. It wasn’t the fact I was making out with my grade school bully that was unbelievable in that moment, it was h
ow intensely I desired him. Romantically I knew I had always been a pill to swallow. I wasn’t easy to convince to go on a date with and something like a Rubik’s cube when it came to figuring out how to get me into bed. Yet there, in the back of Augustus’s car in the parking lot of our small town Italian restaurant, my body cried out for his touch. Maybe it was the wine talking, but there was something about every slight touch that felt right. As if those were the hands my body had been waiting on my entire life. They were warm and big and careful, not in the way that made me feel breakable—but cherished.

  His tongue was smooth and skilled, roaming my lips and mouth and neck with freedom. I could taste the wine whenever his mouth pressed against my own. Augustus hovered over my body, his tall form cramped into the back seat. His pelvis pressed into mine and even through the fabric of his pants and mine, I could feel his excitement. Bravely, I maneuvered a hand between our bodies and stroked along its impressive shape. Augustus shuttered and peeled away from my mouth to peer down at me. “You’ve always been full of surprises, June, and the main one being you drive me absolutely fucking crazy.”

  I wasted no time kissing his neck, wanting to hear more moans and groans escape him. Hearing him in pleasure from my affection was satisfying in the way cracking into a crème brûlée was, or sticking your toes in warm sand, or hearing an orchestra reach the climax of a symphony. I wanted to hear more, I wanted to feel more of his excitement. Augustus was the person who I felt hated me the most in my life and there he was, shuttering over every kiss and stroke of my hand. At that point, I couldn’t tell if I was drunker off the wine or the power that realization gave me.

  Making quick work of the buttons on my high-waisted pants, Gus brushed his fingertips down my stomach and across my pelvic bone before finding its way to my center. A small gasp slipped from my mouth, a mixture of surprise and arousal. He pushed his finger into me and my hips arched into his movement. I tugged at his belt before getting it unfastened. Propping himself up once again he peered down at me, but I couldn’t read the look on his face. He stared down at me for what felt like eternity and I could only stare back with a look of longing.

  Then, Augustus shook his head. “I’m sorry… this isn’t right… We’ve been drinking and…” his lips pressed together, “I don’t want to do anything that you’d regret in the morning…” His words took a minute to process and then a moment longer, as I hoped he was joking. He wasn’t. Withdrawing from his touch, I sat up and found my shirt on the floor of his car and slid it back on hastily. “Man, if our classmates could see us now.”

  Logically, I knew it was his weak attempt to make a joke to lighten the awkward situation, but it touched a nerve deep in my mind. “What, they would laugh that you tricked Little Miss July into fooling around?”

  My voice had more bite that I intended, but I was in the wake of a storm of embarrassment and rejection. “June, it’s not like—”

  “Not like what? I’m sorry if I misread the evening of getting me alone, then drunk, then acting like you cared, and getting me into your car—”

  “Hey,” he chirped. “You kissed me.”

  “And that played perfectly into your plan,” I fired back. “Try and tell me this entire night was just about planning the Literature Brawl,” I used air-quotes for emphasis.

  “Well…”

  “That’s what I thought. I have to go.”

  As I opened the car door, he chimed in again, “June, you’ve been drinking.”

  “So have you. I can get myself home.”

  With that, I got out and slammed the car door shut. With a hasty pace, I walked toward my house. It was only about a mile away, and even in my tipsy haze I knew that I could text Alora and she would give me a lift to my car in the morning. Hugging my cardigan close, I did my best to compose myself but I couldn’t seem to catch my breath. How could I have just allowed myself to slip into his arms so easily? To throw myself at my grade school bully? Why did I let myself drink the wine and get carried away? How could I be so stupid? I let him convince me he was a changed man with just one conversation. I hated him at the start of the day and I somehow let him finger me before midnight. God, what was wrong with me?

  My cheeks were wet. When had I started crying? I only prayed it hadn’t been in front of Augustus. What if he had been trying to be a gentleman? That would be sweet, but we had a turbulent history. How else was I supposed to feel after the emotional rollercoaster of the day, and right after he had touched me in the most intimate way? Was I disgusting? Was he just seeing how far he could push me to go before rejecting me? Was this some twisted reclaiming of power? I couldn’t know Augustus’s intentions, but I did know how they made me feel, and that was thirteen again, on days I would go home crying to my grandmother about how terrible he and his friends made me feel. It had only happened a couple times, but the hurt in my chest resembled then. Loneliness, humiliation, and self-disgust that I would let another person let me feel so low.

  I stumbled my way home and fell into the pillowy safety of my couch, clutching a throw pillow to my chest and crying until there was nothing left to feel and I let sleep carry me away.

  Chapter Five

  It took every ounce in my body not to call out of work the next morning. I wanted to hide away and wait for the day to come that Augustus left town. However, I knew that my landlord wouldn’t care about my heartache when the rent was due. Dragging myself through my morning routine, I soon found myself in my usual spot of pouring a mug of coffee. Alora had taken me to get my car, and hadn’t pried into why I had left it at the restaurant.

  I nearly collided with a person as I walked out of the lounge, the hot brown liquid splashing out of the glass and down the side of my hand before hitting the floor. “Fuck,” I mumbled, the coffee still at scorching temperature.

  “Jesus, June, I’m sorry,” Augustus rushed, reaching for my hand as if to inspect it.

  “It’s fine,” I replied before moving past him. Usually I would have cleaned the mess myself, but I needed to get out of there.

  He touched my shoulder, “June, wait, can we talk?”

  “I have to prep for class,” I responded coldly, never breaking my stride.

  Much to my dismay, he followed me to my classroom. “June, please, I think we had a misunderstanding last night.”

  “I don’t care if we did or didn’t.”

  “You don’t?” Augustus sounded surprised. “How can you say that…”

  Then I turned to face him, “Because, Mr. Pratt, it doesn’t matter what I think or how I feel about it. What matters is the fact we are coworkers and have to work together to give our students the best experience we can. So, yes, I have to interact with you about the subject of English Literature. Outside of that, I don’t have to think or feel anything toward you, all right? Let’s keep it that way to make life simple.”

  I placed my coffee down on my desk and turned back around to take in his reaction, and Augustus was mere inches from me. He leaned into me, pinning me against the desk with arms on each side of me, his hands flat on the top of the desk. “Last night wasn’t some twisted revenge on shit from over a decade ago, June. Yes, me asking you to dinner didn’t have much to do about the job. That’s because of everything I said last night. You fascinate me and there’s something about you—”

  “Save it,” I snapped, staring him in the eye. “Even if everything was genuine last night, you can’t make up for years of harassment and insults with a dinner. We have a complex history and now we’re coworkers, so it’s best—”

  He slapped the top of my desk. I wanted to jump, but I held my ground. “I don’t want to hear that, June, I don’t. Why do you insist on holding onto the negativity? Is it your own little defense mechanism?”

  “One that you helped to install.”

  His face crumpled at that and he backed away. Wiping his mouth nervously, he headed for the door. “I know I messed up a lot back then, June. I know there’s no sincere way to make it up to you without y
ou thinking I’m trying to get something out of it, and I know that it’s my fault that I can’t. And maybe you can try to deny it to me, but you can’t deny it yourself that what I felt last night. What we both felt. The reason you’re acting like this isn’t because you’re upset about what we did as kids, it’s because you’re scared of feeling something real. I thought something real was what you spent all that time reading those books hoping to find.”

  With that, he exited. A new anger washed over me. Where did he get off thinking he knew me so intimately? How could he try to tell me who I am and what I want? Sure, we grew up together and he was bound to have an opinion, but it didn’t give him the right to psychoanalyze me. I was flustered and overwhelmed; how could he do this to me right before the start of school? Doing my best to recover, I grabbed the bell-ringer sheets and stood by the door, taking in deep steady breaths.

  ~ ~ ~

  In the days that followed, I avoided Augustus the best I could while not drawing attention from students or faculty of the building tension between us. When we passed each other in the hallways, we would give each other polite smiles and swap “good mornings”. There was always a sharp twinge of pain after I saw him for reasons I couldn’t seem to pinpoint. The most frustrating thing of all was that even though I did everything in my power to push him out of my mind, his name and face plagued my mind nearly all day long, every day. There was a hurricane above my head everywhere I went, and it was named Augustus.

  Alora started asking why I was upset, but I did my best to keep responses vague and the blame on stress. I was desperate to shake the horrible and confusing mood that the night with Augustus had put me in, I just didn’t know how. I knew my bad mood was taking a toll on those around me. Restless nights left me drained and that transferred over to the classroom. On the drive to work that next Monday morning, I decided to call my Aunt Marlene for advice. She was my closest relative and had seen her fair share of trouble with men.