Chapter 8
The schoolyard was a tapestry of autumn decay—crimson leaves clung to rain-damp benches like dried bloodstains, and the air tasted of woodsmoke and impending frost. Iolanda twirled a lock of her honey-blonde hair, her cheeks flushed pink from the cold (or mischief), as Elena glared at her. The two sat under a skeletal maple tree, its gnarled branches clawing at the slate-gray sky. A bitter wind rattled the chain-link fence, carrying the distant laughter of students hurrying to class.
“Don’t you want a boyfriend too?” Iolanda pressed, her breath fogging the air. She drowned in Pietro’s oversized varsity jacket, the sleeves swallowing her petite hands.
Elena’s leather boots scuffed the pavement as she recoiled. “Iolanda! Stop. I’m happy alone. And you swore you’d quit this.” The lie tasted metallic on her tongue.
“But Bucky was nice!”
Elena’s shrug was a practiced act, honed from years of deflecting pity. “He ghosted me. Happy?” She tugged her charcoal turtleneck higher, the wool scratchy against her throat. The bruise beneath it throbbed faintly—a memento from Loki’s teeth.
Iolanda’s gaze sharpened. “Shattered heart? Or hiding fun marks?” Her eyes dropped to the purple bloom peeking above Elena’s collar, a mottled stain she’d conveniently forgotten to conceal.
“TV marathon,” Elena snapped, rising. The bench screeched against concrete. “Not everyone’s as… vigorous as you and Pietro.”
“We’re engaged!” Iolanda laughed, flashing her diamond ring—a gaudy thing Pietro had bought after too many tequila shots. The stone caught the weak sunlight, scattering prisms over Elena’s scowling face. She checked her rose-gold watch. “You’re late for Professor Weird.”
Elena groaned. “Ugh, him. He stalked me to the restaurant last night. With his girlfriend in tow.”
Iolanda’s nose wrinkled. “A girlfriend? And he still eyes you?”
“Men are pigs,” Elena muttered, stomping toward the lecture hall. Brittle leaves crunched beneath her boots, their corpses scattering like secrets.
* * *
The classroom was empty when Elena arrived. Zemo stood rigidly at his desk, his jaw clenched as she sauntered in. They exchanged stiff pleasantries, both pretending last night’s encounter hadn’t happened.
Zemo’s gaze lingered on her turtleneck. “Dressing for the cold, Ms. Van Houten?”
Elena smirked. “Just a stylish choice.”
Every time he turned his head from the chalkboard to the classroom, Elena, who was doing everything but paying attention to the lesson, would distract him. The man tried to take slow breaths as she reapplied her red lipstick, but he was losing control of his body. Zemo hurriedly sat down at the teacher’s desk while Elena stared at him, her lips pressed together, trying to spread her lipstick. Elena grinned. She could tell she had given him an erection. Zemo wasn’t going to let her get away with it. “Care to share what’s so amusing, Ms. Van Houten?”
She tilted her head. “Ask your girlfriend. She’ll explain why women… entertain themselves.”
Zemo’s knuckles whitened, gritted his teeth as he found himself alone with Elena in the classroom again in his mind. He had walked over to her in a few steps and had grabbed her neck. He was watching her from the bench now, staring with doe eyes at the man standing in front of her. "Let's see what else that mouth can do besides constantly breaking my heart, Miss Elena?" Even in his imagination, the girl would reply, "Not much different than your girlfriend's mouth," and Zemo would say, "I don't care about the rest of the world, Elena," and after embracing her, he would sit her down on the bench and quickly settle into her...
“Professor?” The man was pulled from his thoughts. He cleared his throat, fighting the urge to pin Elena, who had challenged him, over his knee right here and spank her until she went mad with pleasure. “You still haven’t turned in your homework, Miss Elena?”
Elena shrugged. “I have two boyfriends. They keep me pretty busy.” Zemo’s heart clenched as the rest of the class stared at her in shock. He had already lost control. He hoped she was joking, but jealousy was eating away at him. It was quite an accomplishment for Elena to make such a calm man feel all sorts of mixed emotions in the space of an hour.
Zemo shot her a dangerous look as his erection grew even larger. “Then tell your boyfriends that if you don’t turn in your homework, you’re not going to pass my class. I suppose they can leave you alone for a while to do your homework?”
Elena shook her head as if laughing at some secret joke that no one else understood. “Oh, you have no idea, Professor.”
When the lesson was over and the class was dismissed, Elena was the last one left.
Zemo waited for the girl to get ready to leave the classroom and as she approached the door he stopped Elena from his seat. "Miss Elena, do you have a minute?"
The girl grinned. "I always have a minute for you, Professor." She was trying to excite the man and she was succeeding.
"Do you really have two boyfriends?" the man asked. Say no. Please say no.
The girl shook her head. "Two right now. I can always have a third." She fixed her eyes on the still seated man. "I hope you didn't get hurt too much," she said in a voice that pushed Zemo to the edge. She meant his erection. She left the classroom without waiting for an answer.
Zemo didn't know what to feel. He was dying of jealousy. He was dying of desire for Elena. And he was surprised at himself for being excited about the possibility of a third lover. Third. Third is still a number.
His fist clenched. The lie tasted like her lipstick—sweet, metallic, addictive.