Olive had imagined a couple of ways of celebrating surviving her first year as a high school guidance counselor. Cake, had been one. Alcohol, had been another.
Mr. Griffith’s (Jack’s) hands cupping her ass as she perches astride his hips rocking pretty darn shamelessly against his pretty darn impressive erection while their mouths are otherwise occupied by kissing frantically?
Yeah, that hadn’t been the plan.
For the record, Olive is twenty-six and well out of high school and his divorce has been finalized for years now. Just in case you were wondering and you know that you were.
Oh, and she can totally explain all of this. You know, the whole kissing and rocking hips thing.
As per usual, it all goes back to that time in high school. Olive finished school and jumped into college with a fair amount of enthusiasm. Funnily enough (or maybe not), she settled on psychology as her major. She’d had high hopes of finally figuring out why the heck people behaved as they did. Needless to say, she still has no clue as to the ‘why’ of it all, but she’s coming pretty close to figuring how to at least deal with the behavior. The decision to become a high school guidance counselor came about more or less because she tried an internship with a small private practice and the only thing she liked was talking to the teenagers.
So, she took some more classes, got certified and there she was: Olive Penderghast, High School Guidance Counselor.
Because, while having all the kids ostracize her and call her names in high school hurt like nobody’s business, having an adult, someone she thought would do the right thing, guide her to do the right thing, having that person equivocally throw her to the wolves? Yeah. That kind of fucked her up.
Oh, and this is totally all leading up to the whole making out with Mr. Griffiths (Jack, dammit!) in the staff room of the school she now works in. And, in case you’re interested (and you know that you are) his hands are now massaging her ass and her tongue is tracing the shell of his ear and they’re both really getting into it.
She was more than a little shocked to get hired so quickly by a school in northern California. It’s got a dictator for a principal, a harridan for a PE coach, and an odd assortment of people ranging from the very nice to the very weird to the somewhere in between for teachers. So, your typical American high school. Olive felt oddly comfortable.
On her first day she was introduced to everyone as they gathered in the staff room, the assistant principal (‘Margaret Hathaway, but call me Margie!’) showing her around. And as they came up to a man with shaggy, sandy hair shot through with streaks of gray, something in Olive’s brain shrieked and she immediately felt nauseous.
“Olive Penderghast,” Mr. Griffiths said holding his hand out for her to shake. “I’d call this ironic, but I’m not Alanis Morrisette.”
“Should we just call it a bizarre combination of fate and the way the wind blows?” she said shaking his hand and hoping she doesn’t have her weird smile on her face.
“I always thought you’d be a writer,” he said, leaning against the wall, his eyes narrowed. “Guidance counselor?”
“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” she said wincing visibly.
He gave her a grin that was part grimace, part amusement at her expense and the nausea receded slightly.
Turns out, Olive is really good at the whole guidance counselor shtick. She likes to listen and she’s not afraid of giving her opinion and this makes her something of a hit with the students.
It also turns out that Mr. Griffiths (oh, for god’s sake, JACK!) is more than willing to forgive and forget. She only attempted one try at apologizing and he just held up his hand and gave her a look and then said, “She screwed me over, too. I’m good, Olive. Let it go.”
After that, it’s coffee in the staff room and snickering behind their hands at staff meetings. When he complains about the students, she offers perspective. When she complains about the students, he just smirks and tells her to suck it up. Which is exactly what she needed to hear.
The whole thing is somehow a very workable trade-off.
(Oh, she’s now got her head tilted back while he mouths at the pulse in her neck and her hands are gripping his shoulders. ‘Cause you know you were curious.)
The coffee in the staff room eventually becomes coffee after school at one of the numerous cafes in town. Olive wondered if that wasn’t the smartest of ideas, but she’s gotten rather addicted to his sarcasm and the way the skin next to his eyes crinkles whenever he laughs.
She knows it’s not a smart idea when she hears his knees pop and the first image that hits her brain is one of her kissing his knee. Oh, yeah, you read that right. She wants to kiss his knees. As in, trace her tongue around the circumference of his patella and then move up his body. The image made her shiver and considering he was standing right in front of her at the time and there must have been some sort of look on her face projecting all her innermost kinky thoughts about his body, because his lips parted and his eyes hand-to-god darkened.
There’s no actual rule against them dating or whatever, but starting something with a fellow teacher that happened to be her former teacher was not really on Olive’s agenda for the year.
But, as it always turns out, some things are just sort of inevitable. Like Lindsay Lohan going back into rehab for the fifth time. Or Olive and Todd breaking up (really amicably, they still email each other) because they got accepted to schools on opposite sides of the country. Or her parents adopting another kid. (Tracy. She’s from Korea and she’s adorable and awesome and has totally taken over Olive’s old room.)
Or...making out with Jack (No! It’s Ja--oh, wait) in the staff room on the last day of school.
Yep. Totally inevitable.
Every little laugh, every moment when his hand hovered above her lower back as she preceded him out of a room, every single conversation about anything and everything and sometimes even nothing at all, has led up to this.
It led up to the last day of school and finding themselves the only ones left in the staff room at four-thirty in the afternoon on a Friday discussing Tolstoy of all things. They realized they were the last ones in the room, possibly the entire school and stood up at the same time to leave, which brought them far too close together. Olive knew she made that face of hers and his eyes did that darkening thing and they leaned in at the same time.
Lips met, hands fumbled against bodies, but then a rhythm was found and holy crap the man can kiss. She’d never been kissed quite like that before.
Which brings us all the way back to Olive straddling Jack on a chair in the staff room. His hands slide from cupping her ass to her thighs, then up her sides and Jesus Christ the man has large hands. Her breasts fill his palms and she groans and he groans. He shifts her closer and his hands get trapped between her breasts and his chest and her nipples are hard and she shudders.
“Okay?” he mumbles against her mouth.
“Oh, yeah,” she mumbles back. “Totally copacetic.”
She feels him grin at her word choice and she has the fleeting idea that he would get along well with her dad, which is a disturbing thought to have on multiple levels.
“You know,” she says, her head falling back once again because apparently Jack enjoys kissing the length of her throat. “This might be going well past fraternization rules.”
“Yeah, it probably is,” he says as his hands slide around to her back and his mouth continues to do magical things on her skin.
“Funny word, fraternization,” Olive says letting her hands roam his shoulders and chest, loving how soft his old button-down shirts are and wondering if he might let her wear one. “Kinda sexist, really. I mean, shouldn’t it be more soro-frater-nizing?”
Jack pulls away and meets her gaze and she’s really relieved to see just as much trepidation in his eyes as she’s feeling. But, as usual, what he says next is exactly what she needs to hear. “Olive. We’ve moved beyond fraternization. We are currently ‘making out’. Which I’d like to lead to ‘making love’.”
Oh, there it is. That fluttery feeling that always fills her veins whenever she watches Sixteen Candles or The Breakfast Club, but it’s underlined with a serious dose of gravitas which makes it even better.
She smiles, frames his face and kisses him. But, then stops with an, “Oh! It’s the last day of school!”
“Sooo, if you take me home right now, we can do this for ten weeks without interruptions or pesky staff meetings,” she says, bouncing a little and grinning.
Despite himself, he grins a little too, but says, “As flattering as it is, your faith in my sexual prowess may be a tad bit misplaced.”
“Oh, come on, old man,” she says rocking her hips, “I bet you can keep up.”
“Dear God, I hope so,” he says his eyes closing at the feel of her.
Olive smirks and give him one last kiss before grabbing his hands (Away from her ass, again! Clearly a butt man) and standing up, pulling him up with her.
His knees do that popping sound and she can’t help but kiss him again. He pushes her against the door and pushes his thigh between her legs. As her head thuds against the door and they shift against one another, Olive wonders two things.
One) Is the sound of his knee popping going to turn into some kind of Pavlovian cue for her to french him?
And two) Are they going to make it home or is she going to have her wicked way with Jack Griffiths in the staff room?
Oddly enough, the answer to both questions is a resounding ‘yes’.