The Goal (Off-Campus #4)(51)

His fingers start rubbing a long path along the side of my neck, drawing out a low moan. Shit, that does feel good. I guess Stacy’s right. I did need more attention on my neck.

“Good job, John,” Stacy coos. She straightens and addresses the class. “Now, I’d like you all to imagine a favorite memory. Something very good in your life. Close your eyes and bring that recollection to the forefront. Pin it to the wall of your mind’s eye.”

“I’m envisioning one of us is a Cyclops.” Tucker’s breath tickles my ear, and I start to feel something completely inappropriate downstairs.

“Maybe the one eye is your dick,” I counter.

The couple next to us huffs loudly. We both ignore them this time.

“All this shushing reminds me of the library.” His lips brush my earlobe. “Actually, it’s worse than the library because there’s no tables to hide my hand creeping inside your skirt.”

I squirm. “Shut up.”

“She told me to go to a favorite memory. Most of those involve either my big head or little head between your legs.”

“The important thing,” Stacy says with a raised voice and a pointed glare in our direction, “is to find peace. Now close your eyes and picture your happy place.”

Tucker hums.

Gotta admit, my recent good times all involve Tucker too, but this is definitely not the time or place to get horny. So I pull up the crimson shield and try to channel the euphoria of the news of my law school admission. That was a good memory too.

“Partners, as your mama is breathing, please give her a good massage around the neck and shoulders. Many mamas hold their tension there. Don’t be too gentle. Your mamas are pillars of strength. The next video we will watch is of the birth itself.”

Stacy taps something on the laptop attached to the projector. An image of a pair of giant cooking tongs appears on the screen. Okay, maybe they aren’t cooking tongs, but they look a hell of a lot like them. The camera pans out and we see the tongs being held by a masked surgeon. As the scene unfurls, a gasp fills the room.

A woman’s spread legs appear and it’s not pretty. I cover my eyes. Tucker’s hands tighten around my neck.

Stacy’s cheery voice narrates the scene. “Remember your happy place as we watch these next few videos. The implement being used is not a torture device but rather a forceps. If you’re not able to push with sufficient strength, your doctor will be forced to use these to pull the infant from your uterus, which can affect the shape of your child’s head and possibly lead to brain damage. Keep breathing, mamas. Partners, keep massaging. This is what will happen if you can’t conquer your pain. Remember that your mind controls the outcome.”

There’s another collective intake of breath as the screen shows a scalpel cutting into the flesh of a woman.

Tucker’s grip grows tighter.

“You’re choking me,” I mutter.

He doesn’t release me. If anything, the constriction gets tighter.

“And here we have the C-section. The infant will shy away from the light when the stomach cavity is cut open. The doctor has to reach in and drag the baby out of your stomach. Again, if you are unable to do your duty as a mother and push your baby down the vaginal canal, your doctor will be forced to cut the baby out.”

I tug on Tucker’s fingers. “You’re choking me,” I repeat.

Stacy taps to another scene. A gush of fluid and blood and, is that shit? pours out of the woman on the table.

“This is the most natural thing in the universe as evidenced by births in nature,” she says in a dreamy voice.

A montage of the bloody birthing scenes of different mammals follows.

I grab Tucker’s middle finger and wrench as hard as I can.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, falling away immediately.

“You were choking me!” I snap.

“I thought you said I was joking you!”

We stare at each other, filled with equal parts horror and hilarity.

“Communication is always the key,” Stacy sings from the front.

Laughter wins out. Tucker and I collapse against each other. We can’t stop laughing, and after a few seconds of calling our names and clapping for attention, Stacy finally asks us to leave.





30




Tucker


Fourth of July

“On a scale of one to I’m-ready-to-jump-out-of-this-speeding-truck, where are you on the freak-out scale?”

Sabrina jerks her head away from the car window. She’s been staring at the Boston scenery as if she’s never seen it before, never mind that she’s lived here her whole life.

“You can tell I’m anxious?” She grimaces, her pouty lips flattening out.

“Your fingers are white, so either you’re suffering from a serious condition that needs immediate medical attention or you’re squeezing the blood out of them intentionally.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see her slowly uncurl her fingers until they’re straight and pink again.

“I’ve never met a guy’s parents before,” she admits, fiddling with the radio station.

“Good thing there’s only one,” I joke. Then her words sink in. “Wait—never?”

I remember her telling me she’s never had a boyfriend before, but I took that to mean college. Sabrina is gorgeous. If I saw her in high school, I would’ve laid in front of her locker every day until she agreed to go out with me.

It all makes sense now, why she’s been so on edge ever since I told her that my mom was coming up to meet her. At first, we tried to make a plan for Sabrina and me to fly to Texas, but the cost of two plane tickets and a rental car didn’t make sense, even though it meant Mom rescheduling a few appointments. Besides, turns out a lot of airlines balk at pregnant women flying. I guess they aren’t really keen on deliveries happening on board.

The bonus about staying in town is that I’m able to work this holiday weekend and get some of that extra time and a half that Sabrina’s always bragging about. I’ve been working part-time on a construction crew in the city and making decent money, which is awesome because I’m trying not to dip into my savings unless I absolutely have to.

“I already told you,” Sabrina mumbles from the passenger side. “No boyfriends.”

Abandoning the radio, she sits back with a sigh. Her stomach is big enough that she can’t even cross her arms unless she rests them on top of the bump. Which is not a shelf, she’s reminded me more than once.

“Thought you meant college. Were the boys in your high school deaf, dumb and blind?”

“No. They chased after me, but I didn’t have time for them.” She absently reaches down and rubs the curve of her stomach.

Every time I look at her, I’m struck anew with awe at the fact that my little girl is inside of her body. It also makes me fucking horny as hell. Thank Christ we’re having regular sex again.

“I was constantly hustling for scholarship money,” she goes on. “Working almost full-time at the post office since I was sixteen. In the summers I waited tables at night and worked at the post office during the day. Guys were…unnecessary. Other than, you know,” she waves vaguely toward her crotch. “Plus they didn’t know what to do with their equipment in high school. I was better off taking care of myself at home.”

My dick twitches against my zipper. The idea of her playing with herself makes me light-headed, and I have to wait a moment until some of the blood migrates back up to my brain.

“What about you? Did you date a lot in high school? Were you homecoming king?” she teases.

“Nope. I dated three girls. And homecoming kings in Texas are always football players.”

“You didn’t play football?”

“Not after ninth grade. I played hockey year round. Coach Death’s rink was an hour north and I’d drive there pretty much every day.”

“So tell me about these three girls.”

“You’re that desperate for a distraction?”

“Yes,” she says eagerly.

I tap my fingers against the wheel, pulling up my dusty memories. “I dated Emma Hopkins in seventh grade until she got asked to the homecoming dance by a ninth grader. After that, she was only interested in older men.”

“This is fascinating. Tell me more.”

I grin. I can suffer a little personal embarrassment if it keeps her from worrying about meeting Mom.

“June Anderson was my ninth grade crush. We had nearly all of our classes together, but the clincher was that she could tie a cherry stem into a knot with her tongue. At ninth grade, that was up there with a tightrope walk across the Grand Canyon.”

Sabrina laughs. “I think for some guys it still ranks as one of humanity’s greatest achievements. I bet Brody lists it as a requirement for hooking up with him.”

Her scornful tone doesn’t go unnoticed. The first time that Sabrina and Brody had met didn’t go well. It started with him suggesting that her pussy would be destroyed by childbirth and ended with her telling him that regardless of the state of her lady garden, he’d still never be invited to see it.

“That guy is such a douche,” she grumbles. “Is it terrible living with him?”

Yep.

“I’ve had better roommates.” Glumly, I think about the awesome time I had in college with Dean, Logan, and Garrett.