Teaching Willow: Session One Read online

  Does he know? Could Ebon possibly know?

  He has never acted like that in class before. He’s never acted like that anywhere before. Not to me, at least. Either he knows that the other night was all a ruse or he’s…he’s…he’s what? Teasing me? Trying to get me to admit something or do something? Maybe. But what? What could he possibly want from me?

  I stop on the way to my car. He did tell “Sage” that he wanted me to finish the story. Maybe he wants to know more about how she feels about him. Or maybe he was trying to tell me that he wants to give me input on how he feels about her.

  Bile rises in the back of my throat. I don’t think I could sit and listen to him gush about my sister for the sake of my story. It’s my story. With him. His relationship with Sage has no place there, no business there.

  Of course, Ebon doesn’t know that. In fact, he thinks that’s exactly what the story is about.

  I resume my walk with a big sigh hovering in my chest. I’ve done this to myself. I should never have written the story in the first place. None of this would be happening if I had just kept my imagination to myself. But those old demons…they came upon me so unexpectedly. My reaction to Ebon was…intense. I thought I was finally over all that happened those years ago, over all those feelings, but…evidently not. Practically every sentence in my story screams that I still have issues. Unresolved issues. I’m just glad Sage didn’t see it that way. I don’t know what she thought of it, other than it was a great piece of fiction. But she’s not exactly the most perceptive person in the world. I love her and she’s my sister, but she can be a bit self-involved.

  None of this really helps me figure out what I’m supposed to do, though. Should I ask Ebon?

  No! my mind yells before the question is even a complete thought.

  Then what? What should I do?

  Nothing, I answer. It’s the only thing I can do.

  I’m nearly at my car when I hear someone calling my name. I turn to find Tiffany running toward me.

  “Wait! Aren’t you staying for practice? I thought you said you were.”

  Shit! Play practice.

  “Oh, uh, yeah. I am. I was just, um, dropping my books off. I thought I’d go get some coffee beforehand. I haven’t been sleeping well.”

  Tiffany’s face falls. “So we’re not having dinner like we usually do?”

  Shit!

  “Of course we are. Duh!” I exclaim, slapping my forehead. “See? No sleep. It doesn’t look good on me.”

  How could I forget about play practice? I know how. Ebon. He’s taking over my life in an unhealthy way. I’d say my old therapist might consider this some kind of obsession. And it might be. But at this point, I don’t care. It’s not going to lead anywhere, so what difference does it make?

  “Come on then, sleepyhead, let’s get a sub.”

  I go through the motions with Tiffany. I listen to her talk about her latest accomplishments in class, which sound incredibly boring to a literature geek like myself. But she’s my friend and I give her my undivided attention (as undivided as it can possibly be in this instance) and I ask questions to show my interest.

  She finally moves on to the play, which I’m a little more enthusiastic about. Volunteering to help with the set and the costumes of the drama class’s production of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet was her idea. She begged me to volunteer as well, citing my knowledge of the work itself. I agreed because at the time it sounded like fun and I could see Tiffany’s point about it broadening our social horizons. Plus, it gets her out of the house for a few more hours a week.

  But now I don’t want to go. I just want to go home and think about Ebon and mull over every moment of our time together and how best to go forward.

  When we arrive at the arts center, I put on my most interested expression as I go about my duties, Tiffany rambling happily at my side. Of course I’m familiar with the scene being rehearsed. It’s the scene where Juliet seeks the help of Friar Lawrence and they hatch a plan for her to take the poison, which makes her seem dead for a short while, in order that she can be reunited with Romeo.

  It’s quite possible that no one in the room understands such desperation as perfectly as I do. Not that I would poison myself to be with Ebon, but I’ve gone to great and somewhat extreme lengths—lying, pretending to be someone I’m not, having sex with him under very false pretenses—to spend some time with him not as student and teacher, but as…lovers.

  The ladies in the dressing room need a different set of costumes, so I make my way around stage left with an armful of velvet that smells like a musty closet. I nearly trip over my own feet when I look out into the auditorium and see Ebon talking with Mr. Hildenbrand, the theater professor.

  What the hell is he doing here?

  My pulse thunders behind my ear drums, muffling all other sounds until they’re nothing more than a softly roaring backdrop for the fearful beating of my heart. He looks up as Mr. Hildenbrand points to the right and sweeps his hand left, across the stage. Ebon’s eyes follow his hands and skim right over me. Air freezes in my lungs when his gaze stutters and then darts back to me, clicking to a stop.

  Ebon nods as he listens to Mr. Hildenbrand, but he never takes his eyes off mine. I’m completely unnerved. I’m struck motionless, forced to stand with my load at the edge of the curtain until his gaze sets me free.

  Only it doesn’t. With trembling hands, I watch as Ebon says something to Mr. Hildenbrand from the side of his mouth and then moves away, making his way along the row until he’s in the aisle directly in front of me.

  Our eyes are locked as he climbs the stage steps and walks slowly toward me. My knees quake and I beg them not to give out on me until I’m alone, away from all these curious faces. Away from Ebon.

  “What are you doing here?” Ebon asks politely, not stopping until he’s far too close to me.

  “Ummm,” I murmur, disconcerted. I can smell his shampoo and a vision of me threading my fingers into his hair as he licked between my legs flashes through my mind, bringing heat to my face.

  “Trying your hand at acting?”

  I feel my mouth drop open and I have to make myself snap it shut. I close my eyes and shake my head to clear it, anything to break the spell of his disturbing stare.

  “Ummm, no, I, uh, I’m helping my friend with the stage and the costumes. Just volunteering.”

  “Ahhh,” he says noncommittally, sliding his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and rocking back on his heels. “It’s never a bad idea to have us literary types around for a Shakespearean production, right?” I smile, but say nothing. “Mr. Hildenbrand and I worked on a similar play together in college. I just dropped in to see how it was coming together.”

  I nod and smile again, cursing myself inwardly for standing here like a knot on a log.

  Ebon clears his throat. “So, since you’re not taking up theater, does that mean you’ve had time to write more of your…story?”

  His eyes are fiery. I wonder if he’s remembering touching me, touching the body he thinks belongs to my sister. I wonder if he’s regretting saying goodbye.

  “No, not yet.”

  “You need to get on that,” he says with a smile. “Maybe I can talk to your sister about my role in it. Give you some more material to work with.”

  Talk to Sage? How? Stop by work? Call her?

  My heart stops. Completely stops for a fraction of a second. That has to be what it is, because it actually hurts when it starts beating again at such a rapid rate.

  “No!” I say too quickly. I make myself pause and speak more casually. “Uh, no. She, uh, she’s really busy this week.”

  Ebon’s expression is matter-of-fact. “Is that so?”

  The only thing I can think of is the truth. “Yeah, she took a consulting job.”

  “Really? Huh. Interesting. She didn’t mention it the other night.”

  “Well, if you two broke up, maybe she didn’t think…” I trail off. I don’t even know how to finis
h that sentence.

  Ebon’s frown deepens. “What? That I would care? Am I really that guy? The one who turns into a douche after a break up?”

  “No, I’m sure you’re not. And I’m sure she doesn’t think that.”

  “Hmmm. Maybe I’ll get in touch with her this weekend. I don’t want any hard feelings between us.”

  A million things are running through my mind, all of which strike me mute just long enough to miss my chance to come up with something—anything—that will help avert disaster.

  “Okay, well, I’ll let you get back to it. I’ll see you Wednesday, Willow,” he says, his eyes flaming into mine again.

  I stand still as a statue as I watch him walk away, wondering if I imagined the heat in his eyes or if it was there because he was thinking of my sister. I can’t help but admire the width of his shoulders as he turns to let another student pass him on the steps, or the way his jeans cling to his butt as he heads back up the aisle to say his goodbyes to Mr. Hildenbrand.

  “Who was that?” Tiffany asks, coming up behind me.

  “That was Eb- Mr. Daniels, my Mod Lit professor.”

  “He’s your teacher?” she asks incredulously.

  I turn to frown at her. “Yes. Why did you ask like that?”

  She gives me a dubious look. “You could’ve fooled me. He looked awfully…interested to only be your teacher.”

  “Tiffany,” I hiss, taking her arm and pulling her to a quiet spot behind the curtain. “There’s nothing going on between us. And you can’t say things like that. He could get in a lot of trouble.”

  “Well, if he was sleeping with a student, he’d deserve to get in a lot of trouble.”

  My frown deepens. “But he’s not, so please drop it.”

  “I will, but you’d better watch that, Willow. He looked…well, just be careful. I’d bet you big bucks that he’s got a thing for you.”

  “He dated Sage, silly. It’s probably because we look alike.” My answer is nonchalant, but my insides are clamoring. Could it be…? Could he really…?

  No. He couldn’t. He doesn’t.

  But no matter how many times I tell myself, it doesn’t extinguish the little flicker of hope that warms my belly. And it won’t matter anyway, if he finds out what I’ve done. I still need to figure out what to do about Sage.

  By the end of practice, I’ve rolled this mess over and over in my head a million times and I think I’ve come up with a plan. On the way home, I stop by the supercenter and purchase a pay-as-you-go phone. The only thing I can really do to make certain that I know exactly what’s going on between Ebon and Sage without Sage knowing is to keep an open line of communication between them. So I’m giving Sage a new phone and a new number. And I’ll continue the ruse a little longer.

  It’s later, as I’m lying in bed considering how happy it makes me to have an excuse to continue on as Sage, that I begin to become concerned. I shouldn’t be this happy to deceive someone I love. Or to pretend to be someone that I’m not. But it does. It makes me deliriously happy. It seems that I have no shame when it comes to the things I’d do for Ebon. Evidently, I’d jump at any chance to talk to him in a more…intimate way again, even if I can only do it as Sage.

  TEN- EBON

  Willow’s on my mind. Again.

  Seeing her tonight in the context of Romeo and Juliet only adds another layer to her appeal. In my mind, the relationship that I share with the Masters sisters is every bit as complicated and convoluted—and the outcome will probably be every bit as tragic—as Shakespeare’s work.

  It started out as an attraction to Sage, but that was going nowhere beyond a little bit of sex. Then I met Willow. I felt drawn to her on a deeper level, but I couldn’t explore it because she is the forbidden fruit, so I pursued something less than meaningful with Sage. That was selfish and stupid, but it’s not like Sage thought it was anything more. I never gave her that impression. The most depraved part is that, all the while, I craved something more with Willow. The more I was around her, the more intrigued I became. Her complexity, her…duality compels me. I can relate to it in ways she can never know. Unfortunately, the less able I am to satisfy my desire, the more it haunts me, the more powerful it becomes. From innocent to fascinating, from curious to ravenous. Classic forbidden fruit syndrome.

  So what do I do? Like a dumb ass who thinks with his dick, I re-engaged the sister, telling myself that it would be cathartic and that it would ultimately allow me to cut ties with both siblings. Only now that I’ve had a taste of what it might be like to be with Willow—hearing her filthy words drip from identical lips; understanding what lies in the taboo recesses of her mind; being able to experience it while in the physical presence of Sage’s willing body, a body which I imagine to be as nearly identical to her sister’s as her face is—I’m even hungrier. Rather than satisfying my appetite, it increased it tenfold, having the exact opposite effect that I’d hoped for. It stirred glowing embers that I’d been trying to ignore. And now they’re a raging inferno.

  I grit my teeth against my stupidity, against my inability to control my libido any better than this. The worst part is that I know, deep down, that all this happened because I wasn’t really genuinely interested in controlling myself. I didn’t want to stay away as much as I wanted to explore this. Once Willow’s pages were thrown into the mix, my good intentions went right out the window.

  I’m walking through the door of my house when my phone bleeps with an incoming text. I don’t recognize the number, so I touch the green square to view the message.

  (Sage) Ebon, it’s Sage. Just wanted to give you my new number. I took a new job. New job = new phone. I know we said goodbye, but I thought if you ever needed to reach me… xoxo Sage:)

  I stop. Right in my tracks. Already, there’s conflict building inside me. I did say goodbye. I walked away. For good reason. I need to leave it alone.

  But then the side of me that likes to play devil’s advocate rears its ugly head. It says that I don’t want Sage thinking I’m the bad guy, that I don’t want her thinking I’m just heartlessly walking away and that I won’t ever contact her at her new number. That would be really shitty of me, right? Right.

  Before I can think better of what the hell I’m doing, I’m back in my car, driving to Sage’s. I sit in the parking lot outside her apartment for another ten minutes, at turns talking myself out of what I’m about to do and then excusing it. I look up at the balcony. I see only the pale blue glow of maybe a computer monitor from what looks like Willow’s room. No other lights are on in the apartment, but I know Sage is awake. Well, at least she should still be.

  In the end, I break down and text her.

  (Me) Can we talk?

  I wait. That’s a pretty simple question. I’ll let her response guide my next step. If she doesn’t answer, she’s asleep. If she does, then…

  About thirty seconds later, I get a response.

  (Sage) Of course. Is something wrong?

  I debate how to answer that. I decide to go with honesty.

  (Me) I can’t stop thinking about the other night. I know we said goodbye, but…

  I groan at her response.

  (Sage) Me, too.

  My fingers hesitate only briefly.

  (Me) What are you doing right now?

  Her response is rapid.

  (Sage) Lying in bed.

  I pull the keys from the ignition and get out of my car. Without giving it any more thought or allowing myself another opportunity to do something less crappy and more rational, I walk toward her apartment.

  (Me) Come to the door.

  I don’t knock. I don’t want Willow to know I’m here. In fact, I kind of like the thought of her being right in the next room…lying in her bed…possibly sleeping naked, with nothing covering her but a thin sheet…

  I grit my teeth as guilt washes over me. If I do this tonight, I need to be honest with Sage about what this is and where it’s going. Which is nowhere.

  But I can’t s
top yet. I need one more time.

  There is silence on the other side of the door for a couple of long minutes. I wait patiently because I know how women are. I know she’s likely scrambling around her room, straightening up or making sure her hair is attractively messy.

  Finally, I hear the muted click of the dead bolt being turned and then the rattling of the knob just before the door opens. My jaw drops when I get a shadowed glimpse of the girl standing in front of me.

  “Sage?” I have to ask. Free of makeup, with her hair pulled up in a loose pony tail, she could be Willow. All too easily, she could be Willow. That’s the second I think I lose it.

  I see her nod and that’s all it takes. I burst through the door, pulling her against me with one arm while I close the door behind us with my other. And then both of my hands are free.

  I crush her mouth against mine as I let my fingers run wild. I can’t wait to touch her. Her lips are soft beneath mine. Ready. Eager even. My palms meet skin at nearly every place I touch. She’s wearing some of the tiniest shorts I’ve ever felt and a tight little tank top thing that hangs loose over her stomach.

  I back her up farther into the room, my mouth devouring hers as I push one hand up her shirt and the other one down the back of her shorts squeezing her plump ass. Her nipple beads into my palm and I tweak it. I feel her groan vibrate along my tongue.

  But then she pulls away.

  “Shhhh,” she says softly, putting one finger over my lips. “Willow can’t know.”

  “I wasn’t the one making noise,” I growl, my cock throbbing painfully at the reminder that Willow is so close. But, in a way, she’s right here. With all the typical Sage accoutrements missing because of the hour and unexpected nature of my visit, this might as well be Willow.