Jackie Newman has Mr. Valentino right where she wants him: in the girls’ room. Maybe she’s done it to see if she could get a full-grown man to do something so stupid. (It was easy.) Or maybe she’s done it to test her friend Holly’s claim that it’s way more exciting doing it somewhere you might get caught. And she is pretty worked up, truth be told, even though Mr. V is kind of old, even though she’s got a larger agenda tonight, even though the chances of their getting caught are pretty much zero: The only thing going on in the building at this hour is cheerleading practice, which she got out of early, telling Coach Taylor she had cramps from hell. And that’s a quarter-mile of dark corridor away.
Her ass -- no longer a butt, but an ass -- is on a sink; Mr. V. is between her knees, rooting into her neck, making these funny grunting sounds that almost crack her up. But then she sees her face in the mirror on the opposite wall, sees the scene playing out as in an mpeg clip on some porn site, and it suddenly feels serious. She watches her eyelids droop, feels herself smile into his collar, feels his -- his -- thing pressing now against her -- her --
Is it true, she whispers hotly against his ear, you’re gonna be hosting that new Bethel sports show every Saturday?
When, after a moment, he registers the question, he smiles, sucks her lower lip. Nods.
I want to be on it too, she says. Every week. Right there with you.
He grins expansively. I can make that happen.
Really? Promise?
Promise.
To reward him, she lets out a little gasp -- a tiny squeak -- when his fingertips brush her inner thigh just inside her sweat-damp gym shorts.
