Dawn Atkins - Wilde for You

“I remember,” he said. She’d been studying biology when he’d joined her on the couch while he waited for Sylvia and they’d commiserated about GPA pressure and the stifling nature of lecture halls, moving on to discuss a global sweatshop protest they’d both attended, then to their beliefs on social issues—poverty, ecology, the proper role of government.

The words flowed easily, as if they’d known each other for years. They’d disagreed some—Cricket was more black and white in her beliefs than he was—but with humor and mutual respect. In short, they’d connected. Intellectually, emotionally and, um, sexually. Somewhere in there, she’d started drinking his beer. Then let it slip that she thought he was cute.

And he’d told her she was pretty, and she’d mumbled something about mistletoe, cupped his face with both hands and kissed him…like he was some exotic fruit she wanted to get every juice from.

He’d kissed her right back, a tsunami of lust pounding through him. She’d tasted of beer and peppermint and smelled of cinnamon and vanilla and spice—fresh with a winter bite. She’d slipped onto his lap and he’d held her tight. She’d felt delicate, but springy. Strong and hot.

There was something not to be missed about that encounter. Like snow in Tucson. So rare you had to drop everything and run outside to let the flakes fall in your mouth. Come to think of it, they’d been nowhere near any mistletoe….

“Me, too,” she said, taking another step forward. “I remember, too.” Electricity zinged between them. He could swear the jungle vines swayed in the static. “We had a great talk. And everything…”

She was looking him over, head cocked like it had been that night right before she’d kissed him. Then her gaze dipped and snagged on something.

His left hand. The gold band gleamed under the fluorescent lights like a treasure.

“You’re married?” she said. Did she sound disappointed? And why did he hope so?

“Um, yeah. Absolutely.” He twisted the ring with the fingers of his other hand.

“How long?” she asked.

“Two years.” Forest and Anna thought that sounded like enough years to be solidly married and not attract newlywed jokes.

Cricket nodded slowly. “Kids?”

“No.”

“But soon?”

“When the time is right.” This was true. He did want kids. After he had a real wife, of course. “You’re not married?”

“Are you kidding? I’m just figuring out what I want to be when I grow up. When I’ve got that handled, maybe I’ll find someone. When I’m ready to hibernate.” She shrugged as if that were unlikely, then tilted her head again. “Is it good? Marriage, I mean?”

“Sure,” he said, the lie giving him a twinge. It would be good, he was sure.

She’d obviously picked up his discomfort because she said, “Really?”

“It has its ups and downs,” he said to cover his hesitation.

“Yeah. Same with any choice. The pros and cons and ups and downs. I hate that.” She bit her lip, then seemed to cheer up. “Anyway, I’m happy for you, Tucker. Really.” Her expression warmed, calling back the intimacy of their evening together all those years ago. “She’s a lucky woman.”

“I don’t know about that,” he said.

“Oh, I do. You were a great kisser.” She elbowed him playfully in the side.

“I’d say that was all you.”

“Team effort.” She sighed. “That night was something, huh?”

“Yeah. Something.”

“I couldn’t believe how much I blathered on and on.”

“We had a lot to talk about.”

“Yeah. A lot.”

They stopped talking for a long moment. The beat of attraction thudded in Tucker’s ears.

He’d thought about looking her up after Sylvia and he broke up, but they were near graduation, and he’d been disturbed by how powerfully Cricket had affected him. He’d felt out of control, the way he had in high school. Besides, he was too tame for her, he was sure.

With a start, he realized he’d held Cricket’s gaze way too long for a married man—even one experiencing ups and downs in his marriage. “Anyway, that was a long time ago.”

“And now you’re an administrator. Wow. I would have figured you for an ACLU attorney or some intellectual rabble-rouser.”

“I considered law, actually, but education is important. It’s a way to influence the next generation.”

“Sheesh, that sounds ancient. The only generation we’re old enough to influence—or even talk about—is the Pepsi one.”

“How’d you get into teaching anyway?” he asked, not liking how she made him feel like an old fogy. “Weren’t you studying nursing?”

“Turns out blood makes me faint. It’s, like, a reflex. I catch sight of red and everything goes black.” She shrugged. “Kind of lame, I know.”

“You can’t help your reflexes,” he said.

She smiled. “Sounds better than being a flake, huh? So, after that I tried social work.” She made a face.

“No good?”

“Too much bureaucracy. You can save the world, but only after you fill out the correct forms.”

“In triplicate?”

“Exactly. Then last summer I was a counselor at a summer camp for low-income kids and really loved it and I realized teaching might be my thing, so I thought I’d see how it goes. Science is cool, too. I love biology. Chemistry’s a little scary, but I’ll figure it out.” She looked around the room, her eyes narrowing in evaluation. “What do you think of my rain forest?”

“Impressive.” He’d have to say something about the fire code before she hammered up more vines.

“This will be the framework for teaching biology,” she said. “Everything will be tied to this—ecosystems, conservation, the greenhouse effect, species differentiation. Plus, we’ll do writing and art projects, along with science.”

“A thematically based integrated curriculum.”

“Wow.” She blinked. “And I just thought it sounded fun.”

“That, too.”

“So that’s how you get the big bucks—coming up with big hairy labels for fun stuff.”

“Pretty much. It’s a great idea, Cricket. Innovative.” And a fire hazard. He had to tell her so. It was his job. “The only thing is we can’t have anything flammable within six inches of the ceiling tiles.”

“What? Oh, right. Good one.” She slugged him gently on the arm.

“I’m serious. It’s the fire code. And the trees will have to be dealt with, too—the branches trimmed and that one—” he pointed “—needs to be moved so it doesn’t block the exit.”

“It took me four hours to get this stuff up. And the trees took forever to situate.”

“I’ll help you move them.”

“How about if I just take my chances with the fire marshal?”

“I’m afraid I can’t allow that. You’ll still have the jungle effect with your animals and bulletin boards.”

“Come on, Tucker. You’re not one of those rules-are-rules guys, are you? In college, you were at the demonstrations, ready to get arrested with the rest of us.”

“We had permits.”

“Please, sir, can we protest? Sheesh.” She rolled her eyes.

“The petitions and meetings with the university president achieved what we wanted. The demonstrations were mostly to make us feel better.”

“That’s not true, is it?”

“More or less. The point is that if you play by the major rules, you can bend the minor ones. And safety’s major.”

“So I’ll pat down the kids for matches.”

“I’ll get another ladder and help you.”

“I’ll handle it,” she said, her eyes sparking with irritation. And stubbornness.

“Okay, then.” He lifted his clipboard, pen at the ready. “Is there anything else you need in the way of furniture, equipment or textbooks?”