Plain Gold Ring Pt 01

JUNE

"I'll have another glass of wine," she sighs to the bartender.

He pours the glass and then travels down to the rowdy guys watching the game.

Lisa is late. This is nothing new. What's particularly annoying tonight is that June wanted to go home and take a long, hot bath and soak until she was one big prune. Her graduate classes aren't going as she thought they would. It isn't that they are hard; it is just that there is so much work to do, and so many unnecessary tasks she has to complete. Just that day they had to practice arranging students in groups to work together—how the fuck was she supposed to do that when teaching

math

, of all things?

She senses a man sit down next to her. She hopes he won't be a problem. It's happened more than a few times—usually while June waits for Lisa—that a guy sees a girl alone and hones in on his target. That's the last thing she needs tonight.

"What are

you

doing in a place like

this

?" the man asks, and June looks up with a grin.

"Mr. Carver!"

He laughs and his blue eyes twinkle beneath the bar lighting. "How many times have I told you to call me John?"

June can feel her cheeks reddening. "

John

."

"And how are you doing?"

The situation is so dreamlike that June goes along with it. "I've been better. School sucks."

"I

told

you not to be a math teacher."

"

You

inspired me," she says back, like she always does, and he laughs, like he always does.

It's a joke between the two of them. Well, really for him. For her, it's the truth. He'd tutored her off and on when she first came to live with her aunt Maggie five years before. He'd invite her over to his house and would painstakingly go through the different processes so she could come to the correct solution.

Sometimes June got distracted. His dirty blonde hair would fall a little over his forehead, and his sea-colored eyes would stare at her so intently that her palms sweat. And his voice! All rumbly and low, and when he spoke softly it made her body rumble to her toes. His strong forearms—shirt sleeves rolled up—flipped the pages, or reached over to point something out to her on her own page. She'd trace the veins that ran up under the skin, catalogued a long scar that she bizarrely wanted to lick and desired to have those arms wrapped around her.

Then June grew older. She accepted that Mr. Carver was a fantasy. She stored him away in that unrequited cabinet we all have in our brains and moved on.

That doesn't mean she doesn't still sneak peeks at him when he's mowing the lawn—shirtless—or when he plays with the kids on the block.

"I can't imagine how," Mr. Carver laughs, drawing her back to the moment. "I'm a shitty teacher."

The bar is thinning out. She moves a bit closer to him.

"No, you aren't. I would've been

screwed

in trig if it hadn't been for you."

Mr. Carver's jade colored eyes fix on hers for a beat too long. Perhaps she's sounded

too

earnest. Or maybe it's because she used the word "screwed". Now that's all she can think about and she's pretty sure even her chest is flushed. Oh,

God

.

He smiles, orders another beer. "Sometimes I can't believe how much you've grown up. You were this scrawny little brat when you moved in with your aunt."

"I was

not

."

She kinda was. She was miserable that she'd been taken away from her hometown where she had friends, even though her mother was the worst and constantly dated abusive druggies.

Maggie was only 28 and June worried she'd seriously cramp Maggie's style. She thought Maggie was going to hate her, was going to be rotten to her. That she was trading one hell for another, that she'd be just like her mom and now she didn't even have her friends to comfort her. Then she gradually learned Maggie was nothing like her sister, and was a better mother than anyone could've been.

That's when June relaxed and came into her own.

"I was

not

a brat," June says again, but this time she can't keep the giggle from her voice.

Mr. Carver smiles and takes a swig of his beer. He watches a game on the small TV fixed on the wall above them, but she feels him move a bit closer to her.

There's something crackling between them. She can feel the tingle on her arm closest to him, and the tickle on the back of her neck.

Maybe it's just the wine

, she thinks, but she knows it isn't.

"So, what brings you here tonight?"

Mr. Carver—

John

—grins. "Now we've both used lines on each other." June blushes and he seems to enjoy making her all flushed and flustered. "Just had to get out. You know how it is."

No, June doesn't, but she can imagine. The Carvers fight sometimes. She is right across the street and she can hear them at night, screaming at one another. Then she watches them in the morning, offering each other a perfunctory kiss before both drive off to work. Seems dreary to her.

"Marriages aren't fairytales," Maggie said once when June commented on it.

"But they seem so..." but she cut herself off because she knew Maggie's always been aware of June's flaming crush.

Tonight, with the wine in her system and Mr. Carver's smile turned her way, June feels wild. And a little bad.

Her phone vibrates. It's Lisa. Says she can't come after all. June would be annoyed if she didn't have Mr. Carver next to her.

"Is that a

boyfriend

?" he asks teasingly.

She puts her phone away and smirks. "

May

be."

"Well, hopefully he's good to you."

He keeps his eyes on the TV but she feels as if he's very aware of her. She tells herself she's crazy, finishes her glass of wine.

"So, what's he like?"

"Who?" she asks, her brain feeling a little foggy.

"The boyfriend."

"Oh. I don't have a boyfriend. I was kidding."

Mr. Carver's eyebrows go up and he tosses her a disbelieving look. "Why not?"

June laughs. "Why is it that people always act horrified when a girl says she doesn't have a boyfriend?"

"I didn't—"

"Relax," she snickers, "you're off the hook." She gets nose to nose with him. "This time."

They're so close she can feel his hot breath spreading across her face and the heat of his right thigh through her dress. She can smell his familiar cologne and her mouth waters. She can't help herself; her eyes drop down to his lips.

Then the light from the TV flickers on his wedding ring. That plain gold ring. She jumps back and nearly knocks over her empty wine glass.

Mr. Carver is breathing heavily. "Jesus, are you okay?"

"I think I need to get home."

"I can drive you. You've had too much to drink to drive."

He's right, damnit.

He throws some bills on the bar and then heads out into the humid night. She has no choice but to follow.

_____________________________________

"Do you seriously have Hootie and the Blowfish on right now?"

"It's the radio, June, I can't help it."

She's glad they're back to their usual banter. That whatever...

that

...was is gone.

"Clearly it's because of the station you listen to."

"Whatever," he says, but he's grinning as he makes a turn.

She has a horrible suspicion that the chemistry they shared tonight is only dormant. It's waiting until the next time June and Mr. Carver aren't on guard, and then it'll slip right back in and shock them both.

It's about then that June realizes she's a little drunk, and that she's finally in front of her house.

"Thanks, Mr. Carver." She pushes the door open.

"John," he automatically corrects.

She glances at him over her shoulder and gives him a small smile. "John."

As she undresses that night, the wine makes her feel all sultry and decadent. She could call up her quasi-boyfriend Tom. He's snuck in here before and they've had sex quietly. Maggie never knew the difference (June suspects she probably knows, but she's just

that

cool).

Tom comes with too many complications. He's so

heavy

, so

serious

. He's mentioned kids before and June panics. She's only 23. Kids seem like such a foreign entity to her now. Like aliens. She'd be less surprised to see an alien in her room than a kid coming out of her vagina.

So she plays a little with herself. She's not even sure if she means to come. Sometimes coming isn't the point. It's just enough to feel luxurious. Attractive. Sexy.

Her bedroom window just happens to look towards the Carvers' house. She watches, fascinated, as each light turns off. The couple is going to bed.

June hates Mrs. Carver a little. It's not even because of the jealousy thing. Or, at least not entirely because of it.

Mrs. Carver may smile and attempt to play the Mrs. Cleaver act, but June knows she's playing pretend. She can

see

it in her eyes, beyond her perfect smile. June's noticed the condescending and impatient way she's talked to the older ladies on the block. She's watched Melissa when she thinks no one's looking. At block parties, she always sidles up to the men and laughs too loud. Touches them too much. There's just something about her June can't stand, or trust.

She's beautiful, too,

of course

. Aren't they always? Black, fluffy hair falls down her back in perfect waves. She wears a dress every day—typically a shade of red or pink—and the heels the woman manages to walk in boggle June's mind. But walk in them she does, and how she walks could hypnotize even the most disinterested person. Her hips sway, her muscular legs gracefully pulse with each step and the heels she wears only emphasize her ass as it dances through the air. It's an art form.

There must be

something

good about her, because Mr. Carver loves her. It stabs June in the heart every time she sees him looking at her, worshipping her.

That didn't stop him tonight, however, as that

something

passed between them.

John,

June thinks, slipping beneath the covers.

John

"I can't make fucking casseroles," Melissa screams, throwing the burned plate across the room. It slams against the wall and shatters. "

Fucking deal with it!

"

"I never asked you to," John says quietly. He's still at the table, fork and knife in hand. This outburst isn't the first, but it's the most violent.

Lately she's growing more and more impatient with him and he can't figure why.

She scoffs. "Right. You just

happened

to mention how your mother makes the

most

delicious casseroles. I can take a hint. I'm not stupid!"

"Melissa, we were just having a conversation!"

"You put so

much pressure

on me!" She paces and runs her hands through her black hair over and over again.

Marriage has made her into a bit of a wild thing. John knows she sometimes views it as a cage, and resents him as her abductor, as if he were peering in at her. She blames him for the pressure he supposedly puts on her.

And maybe he

does

pressure on her. He wants children. Six years they've been married. They're both 33. He's ready. They're pretty well off financially—though Melissa picking up the extra shift at the vet hospital would help—and it would thrill both sets of parents.

Yet Melissa is reluctant. Every time he brings up having kids, she gets this peculiar look on her face and he gets this horrible sensation that his marriage is turning more into a nightmare than a fairytale.

_______________________________

The Bud in his hand has grown warm but he's too lazy to go fetch a colder one. He chugs the rest of it and puts it on the coffee table, purposefully missing the coaster so that it'll leave a ring on the table. He loves how that annoys the shit out of Melissa.

As if it were staged, Melissa comes out into the living room at that exact moment. Her eyes immediately narrow when she spots the empty beer can tarnishing the coffee table she bought with his money.

For once, she doesn't say anything. She's dressed nicely—a floral dress, lots of gold jewelry dripping from her neck, ears and wrists.

"I wish you weren't going out tonight," he sighs.

Melissa sits on the couch beside him and slips on some fuck-me pumps. "We're going to have a few drinks at Carrie's. Three hours, tops."

"And that's how you dress to go over to a friend's house?"

He doesn't want to sound like one of

those men

, but he can't help it. She really is dressed inappropriately, and coupled with her behavior the question just flew out.

Her eyes narrow and he's immediately sorry he's asked. "Damn, John, could you for

once

give me a fucking break?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize that visiting

Carrie's house

with all her

goddamn cats

was the equivalent to a night out on the town."

She laughs under her breath and touches the side of his head. He leans into the touch but she's already standing and smoothing down her dress. He hates that she's so fucking beautiful, and so fucking mean sometimes. Her hair has a few sparkly barrettes placed just so, so that they resemble a crown. And her eyes look blacker than usual due to all her eye makeup.

"You goin' to meet your boyfriend?" He grins and clutches her thigh.

She snatches her hand away, cheeks red and eyes sparking meanly at him. "Very funny."

"It was a joke."

"Imagine if I said it to

you

."

"Mel, I—"

"You'd have a

shit fit

. You would be

impossible

." She heaves a breath. "Are you going to call

June

over and fuck her, John?"

John's eyes pop open. "Jesus, Melissa."

He has no idea why she brings June up. Does she know about the night at the bar? Nothing happened. Not really.

"I see how you look at her. And God knows she worships you."

He ignores the strange flop his heart does and shakes his head. "All I want is you."

Melissa still looks a little angry, but there is a smile flirting with her lips.

He takes her hand and kisses it. "I'm sorry."

The smile on her face grows.

She touches him again and it's madness that he can feel so hot for her so quickly. "I'm sorry, too. You're right, I haven't been fair." She puts her purse over her shoulder. "We'll talk more about it when I get home."

But she doesn't come home. She texts him a few hours later, when he's almost crazy with worry, that she had too much to drink and is crashing on Carrie's sofa.

The bed is empty and cold. He longs for a warm body to lie next to. His cock wants a pussy to slide into. He's aching and alone and it's so ridiculous that he readjusts his pillow and forces himself to go to sleep.

________________________

The next afternoon John grabs a beer and sits on the stoop, like he does most other days. He needs the fresh air. He also likes to watch the neighbors.

Particularly June Silva.

He isn't proud of it. Not remotely. He used to tutor her when she was a teen. He never once thought of her in a romantic way until the summer after she graduated. She was playing around with some friends in the front yard with a hose. The girls were squealing and cursing and spraying each other. Just being girls.

God

, he thought,

like some cheesy movie—all young girls playing around in water on a sticky July day

.

It amused him at first. Then turned him on in a flash when June had to run over and get Betty, her dog. Betty had gotten loose and had come across to his yard, shaking water from her fur.

June jogged over in a simple light pink top and white shorts. He'd almost have preferred if she had a bathing suit on.

"Sorry, Mr. Carver." She gave him a grin, a grin she'd given him many times. But he was struck by it for some reason, and struck even further by the image of her hardened nipples poking through the flimsy, wet pink tank top. He shouldn't have looked at them, or continued to stare at them, but they were perfect and set fire to something inside him.

She wrestled with her dog and he was hypnotized by the sight of her breasts swinging back and forth. They were smaller than his wife's, but not tiny by any means. A perfect set, really.

That's when he took in the rest of her. Warm honey-colored hair that fell just below her shoulders, and secretive hazel eyes that looked at him as if she were thinking something funny about him. God, she was perfection at eighteen, and he suspected she'd be pretty much perfect the rest of her life.

He hopped up too late to help. She'd already grabbed Betty's collar and was back in the street.

"Sorry," she said again.

"No problem!" he called out, far too loudly.

She got back to her lawn, laughing and whispering with her friends.

The years passed. She went to a nearby college. He saw different boyfriends pick her up. He worried she'd get lost somehow, get pregnant or settle down and get married. Not that there was anything wrong with that, but she seemed like the type who wanted to travel and do everything all at once. During their tutoring sessions, they sometimes talked about other things, not just about math, and he remembered thinking she was a bright kid. A special kid.

She'll go far

, he thought.

Now he remembers that summer day from years ago, those perfect breasts in that pink top. And he remembers thinking crazy things in that bar, like dragging her into the bathroom with him and kissing her all over. He felt and feels guilty; Melissa would be heartbroken if she ever got wind of his fantasies.

But that's all they are: fantasies.

Today he spots June coming up the hill at the end of the road. She's wearing a flowing yellow dress and her hair is down, in spite of the cloying heat.

She walks Betty most days since Maggie is pregnant. She married a few years after June moved in.

June talks to the dog as if she were human, and it always makes him smile when he hears them.

"Betty, you

know

you're not supposed to pee on Carl's beautiful grass. If he catches you again, he's going to call Aunt Maggie and she's not going to buy you treats." She scratches the dog's ears. "You know you love those treats, right? Will you be good for me next time?"

She glances up and spots John watching her. Her steps stop uncertainly.

"Hi, June. Hi, Betty."

The sun is just beginning to set and the rays touch June's hair, making it golden and bright. She comes over to him, a bashful smile on her face. She knows he's caught her talking to Betty.

Or maybe she's bashful because of the other night.

"Hi, Mr. Carver."

"

God

!" he groans playfully. "Call me John! How many times do I have to tell you?!"

"John," she murmurs, her mouth opening slowly to let the vowel slip out. Her smile is a little coy, which catches him by surprise. A strange something lurches in his chest.

She looks down, but he can tell she's smiling. "So, how's your summer going?"

Safe move. Boring chitchat.

"It's—" he's about to say 'good' but that's such a pithy lie. "It feels

long

. It's only July 2nd." She's looking at him like he's crazy. "I mean, I appreciate having time the time off. I get all the reading in that I want to do but—"

"I know what you mean," she says, helping him out. "If it makes you feel any better, my mother used to say that by the time the 4th of July came, the summer was over." June looks away from him, staring at nothing down the street. She puts a hand over her eyes to guard them from the sun. She never mentions her mother much. "She was kinda right. I always feel the summer rushes by after that. You'll notice they will start stocking the school supplies in stores. Before you know it you'll be back to teaching math in a stuffy classroom, pining for summer."

Then she looks back at him and he can't help but smile at her. "You're a bit of a pessimist, did you know that?"

Her smile is softer, and he thinks she might be a little embarrassed. "Sorry. I didn't mean to blab so much."

"No. No, you didn't—"

But his words are cut off when Melissa pulls her shiny red car up the driveway. She gets out, wearing a different dress than the one she wore yesterday. Her keen eyes dance between the flustered husband and the mortified girl.