Someone to Love by Addison Moore Page B

it,” I say, trying to drag
myself out my sexual stupor before I find myself in a hard situation. “He’s a good guy. He’s been sick, so they’ve got a T.A.
covering it.” I don’t tell her that I’m the T.A. That I’ll be
structuring a syllabus for the class later this afternoon because
Bradshaw had a lobe of his lung removed last month.
    “I just took it because it sounded like an
easy A.” Her eyes flicker like mirrors in the sun. “But with a T.A.
holding down the fort, I’m sure I won’t even have to show up.”
    Not show up? Sounds like she might be on the fifteen -year plan.
    “Oh, I’m sure he’ll make you work for your
grade.” I blink a quick smile. “In fact, I hear he gets inventive.
He really likes to personalize the syllabus for each student’s
individual needs.” Not really but the idea came to me, so I run
with it. I think I’ll get started on her syllabus right away. I
might even throw in a liability waiver—a hold harmless agreement
for the more acrobatic requirements she’ll need to participate in
if she intends on achieving that “easy A.”
    A half hour later the buzzer goes off, and
about twenty minutes after that, Boppy drags her tail in from her
break.
    “Holy shit!” She snipes while scratching to
remove the tin from Kenny’s hair like she were stomping out a
kitchen fire. She throws her under the sink with half the foil
still glued to her scalp and starts sending up a string of prayers
to the patron saint of fucked-up hairstyles.
    After a good span of eternity, Kenny finally
makes her way to the counter, or at least I think its Kenny. Her
face is scrubbed raw, with her eyes pink and watery like someone
poured in vinegar, but it’s the hair where the real trauma
lies.
    “Oh shit,” I whisper.
    “Oh shit is right.”
    She’s good and pissed, and well, incredibly
irresistible even if she does look as if she’s magically aged about
fifty years. I’m pretty sure she wasn’t in the market for grey
streaks when she came in.
    “I look like a skunk.”
    I make my way around the counter.
    “Kenny, the city kitty.” I pull her in by the
fingers. “Lucky for you, I’m into older women.”
    Her lips quiver like she might lose it, so I
do the only thing I can think of to make the two of us feel better.
I cover her mouth with mine and splurge on a kiss that drives me
deeper into the insanity Kenny has me wrapped in.
     

     
    On New Year’s Eve, Ackerman House gyrates to
raucous, loud hip-hop music that manages to pulsate through every
cavity in my body. Swear to God, I’m about to find the volume
control and turn it down about six notches, which probably
highlights the fact that at the tender age of twenty-four, I’m too
old for this shit.
    Mercifully, the music dies down, and the next
song belts out something a little smoother that my eardrums might
approve of once they stop bleeding.
    “So which one?” Kenny steps in front of me
while eyeing a group of football players. Two of them are engaged
in a mock fistfight that has them socking one another, hard as
possible.
    Tonight’s lesson involves approaching
potential hookups. Not that Kenny will be hooking up with the goofs
running around this place. My lesson is specifically designed to
keep her integrity intact.
    Kenny went all out in the looks department
tonight with her sky-high heels and a black miniskirt that shows
off her luscious limbs. I don’t think I can take much more of her
walking around the house half-dressed, her wet hair, her braless mornings. If she doesn’t give in soon, I’ll fall on
my knees and beg her to have her way with me. She’s got me shaking
just walking past her in the hall. We’ve done the movie and the
dinner thing, twice. I think it’s time to up the ante, lie down and
see if she bites. God, I hope she bites.
    “Okay, see those two guys?” I point just past
the jocks.
    “The cute one with the football, and the
buffed-out guy in a wife beater?” She licks her