Prey

I feel embarrassed and am glad the place is so dark. “I'll buy us another one.”

“Don't be silly. I just want a taste.” She slices off a sliver and eats it. I watch her red, red mouth the whole time.

She says, “I'm glad you and your father showed up at school the other night. So many parents blow off these meetings. I had five no-shows. Can you imagine? You're lucky to have a father interested enough in you to come.”

“He tries,” I say. “He travels a lot because of his work. I, um, hang by myself most weekdays.” I don't know why I told her that. Why would she care?

“Yet you keep your grades up. That's commendable. Many teens left on their own would be less studious.”

She sounds like a teacher and I feel something cozy evaporate in the air between us. “Call me Mr. Studious.”

“I couldn't help noticing your mother didn't come. Does she work nights?”

I stiffen. “She doesn't live with us.”

“My parents are divorced too.”

A natural assumption, but wrong. “They're not divorced. Mom's dead.”

Lori's expression is shock, then sympathy. “I'm so sorry, Ryan. I had no idea.”

“I don't talk about it.”

“I can see this is painful for you—”

“Naw,” I say, leaning back in the booth. “I don't remember her because it happened a long time ago— when I was two.” Emotions come bubbling up in me and I push them down. “If Dad didn't have pictures, I wouldn't even know what she looked like.”

She leans toward me, reaches for my hand, and I let her take hold. “Well, whoever raised you did a wonderful job. You are an intelligent and charming young man.”

My insides go mushy. Lori's so beautiful, I just want to lean over and kiss her. Kiss her? What am I thinking?

“I used to want a mother more than anything. I asked Santa for one when I was four, but he didn't deliver.” I give Lori a smile; Honey calls it my “now that you're hooked, let me reel you in” smile. I know whenever I'm doing it, and I turn it on high beam for Lori. “I'm over it now. A mother would only ask me a lot of questions like ‘Where are you going?’ and ‘Who are you going with?’ Who needs a surveillance junkie?” I'm thinking of Joel, whose mother plays Twenty Questions every time he starts to leave the house, and Honey's mother, who fires off a series of probes if she comes home fifteen minutes late.

“You may be right about mothers being overrated,” Lori says. “Some aren't worth much.”

I wonder if she's referring to hers, but I don't ask. I'm totally into here and now. “Something I'll never know anything about,” I say.

Lori sips her coffee. I watch her, feeling more comfortable by the minute. The gap between us has closed a little; I can almost forget that she's my teacher. We listen to the music together. “You have a better view of the quartet,” she says. “Mind if I sit next to you so I can see them without turning around?”

I slide over and she joins me. When the outsides of our thighs touch, I feel a surge of energy shoot through me. Her perfume is all around me, and my jeans grow tighter in the crotch. She's staring straight ahead as if she doesn't even know the effect she's having on me. I swallow a mouthful of coffee and burn my tongue. The pain is the only thing that keeps my hands from touching her warm leg.

Once the set is over, Lori says, “We should leave before it gets any later.”

I could sit here all night, but I agree. It's 10:45, and my curfew is 11:30, plus Dad's home from the road all this week.

In her car, Lori says, “I'll have to drop you at the end of your block. Is that all right?”

“Sure.” The gap between us is widening again. I have no car. I have a curfew. I have a parent who'll ground me if I don't show up. I hate being such a kid!

When she stops at the top of my street, she says, “Here you are. Four houses down on the left. Sorry delivery can't be to your door, but I don't want anyone to see you get out of my car.”

I nod, open the door. “I had a good time. Thanks.” I settle on the word “good” because “mindblowing” would be over the top.

“So did I.”

I get out, wishing I didn't have to leave her.

She leans toward the passenger window as if she's forgotten to tell me something. “Maybe we can do it again sometime.”

“Anytime.” My mind grabs hold of the straw she's offering, and my gaze shifts to her breasts stretching her sweater tight. “Next time, I'll pay.”

She laughs. “Absolutely.”

I watch her drive away, shove my hands in my pockets and head for my house. It's not until I'm up on the porch that it hits me—she never once asked me for directions to my home. She drove me straight here, knew just what house was mine, as if she's come here before.

Lori

The evening at the coffeehouse went better than I expected. Ryan was nervous. He's not shy; I know that from my classroom. But tonight I could see that he was uncomfortable and unsure of himself and of me. I did all I could to put him at ease and it worked. As I watched him loosen up and begin to talk, share and laugh, I was again struck at how mature he is for fifteen. And at how beautiful he is to me.

I was mature at fifteen too, but for different reasons. No matter now.

Being with Ryan makes me feel carefree and young. Tonight I wasn't the sexy Ms. Settles he knows from world history. I was Lori, the pretty girl in the back of one of my high school classrooms. I was the girl guys liked to look at and longed to touch. I want Ryan to touch me. I saw in his eyes that he wanted to. When our legs brushed against each other, I felt his muscles tense, saw his hand tighten around his coffee cup. Dead giveaways.

When he looked into my eyes, I knew what he was thinking, and even now, sitting here in the dark in my apartment, I relish the smoldering fire he's ignited in me. I can't wait to have his hands and mouth on my skin. I think about when it will happen, and where. I don't want to plan it. I want it to happen when he's as ready in his head as he is in his body. And it will happen. I know it just as surely as I stare out at the night sky.

I take a sip from my wineglass, roll the stem between my fingers. The information about his mother was surprising. He wouldn't tell me how she died, and I knew better than to press him about it. He'll tell me when he's ready. Until then, I'll be patient and understanding. So very understanding.

Our coming together is like a slow dance to be savored and enjoyed. We come close, touch, retreat, spin and balance with purposeful and intricate steps that will lead to only one place. My anticipation is allconsuming.

Ryan

Lori and I go to the coffeehouse a lot. Mostly on weeknights when my dad's out of town. She picks me up after dark at the end of my block after we make sure no one's watching. I like being with her. I like talking to her. It's hard in the beginning, but then not at all. She tells me that she grew up in Seattle, went to college in California.

She says, “I always knew I'd be a teacher. When I was a little girl, I'd play school in my room by lining up all my dolls and stuffed animals and teaching them their ABCs.”

“Did they learn them?” I ask.

This makes her laugh. “Only in my imagination. I was an amazing teacher in my imagination, and could make a teddy bear do anything.”

“Do you have sisters? Brothers?”