Earn Your Extra Credit (Steamy Teacher Romances #2)

by Meghan Quinn

like rum,” I say, licking the rim of my glass rather aggressively. “I’ve never been this attracted to rum, but I’m feeling . . .” I pause and roll my head to the side. “Dare I say, I might have a crush?” “I’ve had a crush on liquor before,” Cora says while sucking on the end of a cherry stem. “It ended poorly. We broke up the next morning while my body revolted over giving the intoxicating beverage a chance.” “What was it?” “Fireball.”

“Fireball is a devious bastard. Grabs your attention, makes you feel all warm inside, and then BAM!” I smack the table. “Trouble. That’s what it is . . . just trouble.” “Fireball is like the bad boy you should stay away from.” I nod. “If Fireball had a mode of transportation, it would be a motorcycle, and you know Fireball wouldn’t wear a helmet.” “Or a condom,” Cora adds. “Fireball is too good for a condom. For any protection.” “Fireball says FUCK condoms and then shoots its load on your back.” I gesture with my hand. “And it’s a cinnamony load.”

“I believe we’ve reached the threshold of loving Mai Tais or hating Mai Tais. If we drink one more, we’re going to regret our decisions, but if we stop here, we’ll remember how much Mai Tais make us feel valued and respected, unlike the shrewd Fireball.” I press my hand to hers and speak with my heart. “I want a long-term relationship with Mai Tais, a meaningful vacation fling that will mean something to me when I’m sixty and thinking about my younger years. I don’t want to be resentful and rigid when thinking about them . . . like how you feel about Fireball.” She nods. “I hear you and I see you.” She drops her cherry stem to the counter and takes a deep breath. “I need a Pop-Tart.”

“That was very kind of you. Let us know if you need anything else . . . like a shot of Fireball,” he says with a smirk. My eyes widen as Cora gasps next to me, hand to her chest. “How dare you bring up an ex-lover? You know we’re in a weakened state.” “That’s why Fireball is the bad boy of liquor. It doesn’t care about your feelings; it just keeps you coming back for more.” I stand from my chair as Cora reaches out her hand. “No,” I say into her ear. “You’re strong. You don’t need Fireball. It’s not good to you. It doesn’t care about your feelings.” I wrap my arm around her chest and slowly pull her away from the bar. “It loves me.” “It doesn’t,” I snap back and then calm my voice to a whisper. “It . . . doesn’t.” Resigned, she nods, and I hold her hand, guiding her away from her toxic lover.

We turn the corner and find the gift shop, which is still conveniently open. “The motherland of snacks,” Cora whispers. “Do you think they have Pop-Tarts?” “Not sure, but if we put out good vibes, we might be able to manifest it.” I pause in our pursuit to the store and take a deep breath. “Dear Hawaii, please provide us with the sweet, sugary nectar from Kellogg’s.”

Can we cue up a slow clap for the rum concoction? Because, well done on the mindfuckery. Well fucking done. Boss-level mindfuckery. Bringing a parent to an island in the middle of the ocean, changing his personality completely, and then attaching him to the girl—two years my senior—who used to torture me all throughout volleyball practice. Not just attaching, but marrying him. Ha. Oh, good one. This is really freaking good. “Why are you slow clapping?” Cora asks me. I look down at my hands—they’re moving without my knowledge. I shake my head. “Can’t tell you, but I do think I’m having some sort of weird episode.”

Maybe it’s the athlete in me. Maybe it’s the Mai Tais. Maybe it’s my jealous breasts who wish they were as perky and nice as Ashley’s, but I up the ante on the delusional situation I seem to be in. “Oh, we’re together. We, uh . . . we’re actually engaged too but we’re not saying anything since we’re here on our friends’ wedding trip.” “You’re ENGAGED?” Cora brings her hands to her head in utter shock. Ugh, how could I forget she was still here?

Ashley smiles at me. “I can’t wait.” And then she comes up to me and pulls me into a hug. “We’re going to have the best mother-daughter relationship.” When she lets go of me, she pinches my cheek and then steps away. Giving me a small once-over, she says, “And maybe while you’re here we can go shopping together, get you something more . . . modern?” “That would make me very happy, seeing you two spend some time together.” Over my dead and Mai Tai’d body.

“Sounds dreamy,” Lindsay says, rising to her toes and pressing a kiss to Gunner’s jaw. “Anything for my girl.” “Oh-kay,” I say, louder than expected, my irritation level high. “I’m going to go this way.” I point to the right. “You two go that way.” I point to the left. “And for the love of God, don’t follow me.”

She sets it down and I hear her cut into her pancakes, followed by a moan. A moan that stirs my goddamn groin. I might want her out of here, but that doesn’t mean I’m not affected by her. “These pancakes are making my nipples hard.” Jesus Christ. Don’t look. Don’t even think about fucking looking. They’re probably not hard anyway. She’s saying that metaphorically. I slightly turn my head—because my head is uncomfortable, nothing more—and out of the corner of my eye, I spot a hard nipple. Motherfucker. Pancakes made her nipples hard. What else makes her nipples hard? Donuts? I’ve given her many donuts in the past and she’s never mentioned a hard nipple in exchange.

Even on these excursions. I can just hang back with . . . Keiko. Turning to her, I ask, “Are you excited to learn about chocolate?” “No,” she answers while securing a camera around her neck with a strap. “Any data or anecdote we ascertain on this tour will be a blip in the pool of knowledge I’ve consumed regarding cacao estates.” Or maybe I won’t be hanging with Keiko.

Seems as though she has other ideas than fixing our problem. Fine by me. Two can play at that game. I have no problem taking the silent route. I’ve been doing this for months. No problem at all. * * * Is she really not going to fucking talk? Where does she come off being mad at me? I’m the one doing her the favor. I’m the one who’s going out of my way, taking time out of my vacation to humor her. And now she won’t talk to me? Fuck that.

“I can be around you,” I counter. “I’m sitting next to you right now, aren’t I?” “Yes, but your body language screams you’d rather be anywhere else but near me.” On the contrary, I’d prefer you sit on my lap, wrap your arms around me, and hold me close, but we both know that’s not what you want.

“So, this isn’t an à la carte situation? I can’t pick and choose what I want my future to be?” “No.” “Shame. Could be a business for you. You’re not too shabby at the whole fake fiancé thing.” “Is that a compliment?” “I think it is.” She leans forward and pokes Arlo through the crack of the seats. When he turns around, she says, “I just paid your boy a compliment.” Arlo glances at me and then back at her. “Good. Don’t stop. There better be fucking rainbows propelling you two forward when we get off this bus.”

“Felicitations are in order,” Keiko says when she joins us after visiting the bathroom once we arrived. “Huh?” I ask. Keiko leans forward and says, “Coraline informed me of your visceral relationship and pending nuptials. I would be remiss if I didn’t say I predicted your coupling, but my projection was off. I assumed you would be joined in a committed union a few months ago and would be feverishly having coitus by now.” Dear Jesus, Cora. What did she say? “Coitus?” Romeo’s face scrunches up. Keiko nods. “Penetration.”

“God, you’re cranky.” “It’s fucking humid as shit out here, and according to Barry, the resident farmer, we have another forty-five minutes before we head back to the main farm. I’m starving, hungover, and thirsty. So, yeah, I’m fucking cranky.” He points the machete at me. “And if you were a decent fiancée, you’d have a snack for me in your pockets.” He stares me down. “Do you? Do you have a snack?” “No.” “Christ,” he mumbles and starts moving down the row again. “Carrying this fake fiancé team on my back. The least you could do is have a snack for me.”

“Um, are you okay?” Cora asks, coming up to me. “Never been better.” I smile, gripping the handles of the four-wheeler. “I’m finally seeing clearly.” “Do you realize you’re not wearing a shirt and you have a hole in your bra?” “Yup.” “Okay, and do you realize you have an insane look on your face?” “Oh yeah.” “Fair, fair. And do you realize Romeo is charging toward you with a look of death on his face?” I don’t turn around. I just grip the handles harder. “I dare him to try and get me off this thing.” “So that’s where we’re at right now?” Cora asks, truly concerned. “That’s where we’re at.” “Okay. Good talk, pal.” “Great one.”

I’m going to take that as, in fact, he did get hurt. Seizing life and making it my bitch just backfired in my face . . . and Romeo’s ass. When he finally stands after a few more heavy breaths, he hobbles around, still gripping his left cheek while I chase after him. “Did you pierce your ass? Do you need me to look? Are you bleeding? Do you need stitches? Do you need ice? Should I call 911? I don’t have a phone. Oh God, did I hurt the tree?” I rush over to the tree and notice it’s barely scathed, then I turn back to Romeo, who has murder in his eyes. “Uh . . . is there blood?” I twist my hands together and then hold out my shirt to him. “I can fasten a tourniquet.” Through clenched teeth, he says, “Get on the goddamn back.” “Yup, sure. Probably best.”

“Hey, newly engaged,” Gunner says as he walks up to us, blocking my sun. “Breakfast by the pool? Romantic.” “It would be romantic if my ungrateful fiancée would stop complaining about having to pick up the check,” I say. “You just ate me out of house and home.” Gunner chuckles. “Smell that, Lindsay? That’s love in the air.” Lindsay sniffs. “Ripe.”

“No,” I say, clearing my throat. “Just . . . practicing.” “For what?” Gunner asks. “Guinness Book of World Records’ most inappropriate kiss in front of a dad?”

“Look at that love dove over there,” Gunner says. “Wanting to play matchmaker.” “I don’t want to play matchmaker,” Arlo groans. “I just want a normal vacation, plus”—he looks around, as if to make sure no one else is listening—“as much as I hate to admit it, I hate seeing you like this. Unfortunately, I care about you.” I clutch my heart. “He loves me.” “He does. Look at that. I think he might have heart eyes for you,” Gunner says. “What if . . . what if he’s marrying the wrong person? What if he’s actually in love with me?” I ask, finishing off my whiskey. “Make your move,” Gunner whispers. “Now or never.” Turning toward Arlo, I reach for his hand and say, “Will you⁠—” “Fuck off,” Arlo says, getting up from his chair.

“Being able to pee faster than the average Homo sapiens, I decided it would not be an issue. So, I undid my shorts, pushed them down with my underwear, and then as I was about to sit down, the door to my stall swung open, and there was an illegal adolescent who pointed at my vulva, laughed, and said, ‘look at her pee-pee.’” I snort so hard my nose actually stings. Cora tries to hold back as well but she laughs out loud and then covers her mouth. “I don’t see how this is the least bit humorous. That child is illegal. They said there would be no youth at the resort, and yet, there is a peeping Tom in our midst, willing and ready to point out unsuspecting vulvas.” She leans forward and whispers, “I exposed my crotch to a child. I could be arrested.”

“Would you have preferred her to call your pee-pee a vagina?” “I would have been far more comfortable with that vernacular.” Keeks takes a sip of her water. “At least the term vagina doesn’t make me feel like a buffoon. Pee-pee has me feeling ridiculed and subjected to playground bullying.” She shakes her head. “The parenting in this country is disappointing. Educate your children to use the proper term.” Keiko holds up her fist and says, “It’s not a pee-pee.” Dear God. “You know, I could see how that’s true,” Cora says just as I spot my dad and Ashley walk into the restaurant. I place my hand on Keiko’s shoulder and say, “I’m sorry an illegal adolescent encroached on your privacy and called your vagina a pee-pee.” “Thank you.” She holds her chin high.

“Why do you have white glue?” Cora asks me as I stuff it in my purse. “Craft project,” I answer. “Liar.” She nudges my shoulder. “What are you doing with that?” Rolling my eyes, I press the button for the elevator, needing to speak with Romeo, and then whisper, “I put some in a bottle of lotion. I’m giving it to Ashley and telling her it’s a special kind of tanning lotion. When it dries, it’ll look as though her skin is peeling. I have two bottles, one for me, one for her.” Cora slowly nods her head. “I see you’re taking the low road. Not sure that’s the right journey for you, but I’ll support it either way.” “It’s appreciated.”

Yes, I might be acting a little deranged. Maybe spit is flying out of my mouth. And, yeah, so my hair is sitting lopsided on my head. But I’m beating her. I’m winning this battle of wills.

“So, what were the voices, then?” Cora asks. “He was watching Pirates of the Caribbean.” The table falls silent while Keiko apparently gathers herself. She takes a deep breath and says, “He knows how historically inaccurate that movie is and my feelings toward its portrayal of the golden era of pirating.” Oh my God. Don’t snort. Be a good friend. Don’t laugh. She won’t appreciate it. This matters to Keiko, so it matters to you. “You’re . . . you’re upset about him watching Pirates of the Caribbean?” Cora asks, her voice tentative, unsure. “Yes!”

It’s always good to walk off the booze, and I’m not that drunk, just drunk enough to find stupid things funny. Like if you look at the number nine long enough, it’ll remind you of a side-on, very sad penis with massive balls that just can’t seem to get it up. No matter how hard you tap on the number nine on your keyboard, it’ll never, ever, become aroused. Even if you put a three next to it—because three looks like boobs—it’s not going to do it. I’ve tried. I’ve attempted a thirty-nine on many occasions but nothing happens. Poor, poor nine. #flaccidforlife

“Our morning was pleasant,” Keiko says while picking up a piece of pineapple bread from the table. “Kelvin and I delighted in some morning fornication while cleansing ourselves in our hotel shower.” Kelvin coughs violently and reaches for his water. Keiko smooths her hand over his back and continues, “It was rather fascinating, actually⁠—” “Keeks, skip the details,” Cora says, sparing us all.

Cora and I laugh out loud just as Gunner and Lindsay arrive. “Sorry we’re late. We were talking to Dylan on the phone.” “Dylan is their son,” Cora says. “Out of wedlock. Harlots over here.” Sherry chuckles. “So, you’re telling me I get to fly a helicopter for a sea witch, who’s also fake engaged to, dare I say, a loud mouth?” I snort. “And two harlots who birthed a son out of wedlock, and a lady in a maxi dress who seems to be the only one who has it together?” “What the hell did we miss?” Gunner asks, making us all laugh. “You’re precisely right,” Cora says. “I’m the only one out of these hooligans who’s normal.” “Then you will be my second-in-command.” “You hear that?” Cora asks, pointing her finger over her head. “Second-in-command.” Good lord.

“I don’t know,” Romeo says, “maybe something evil has been . . . sucked out of me.” Oh. My. God. Cora’s eyes widen as she glances over at me. Sweat breaks out on the back of my neck. Divert. Divert. “At least he’s not a giant asshole anymore. So, whatever he’s doing, he should keep doing it.” “I plan on doing it a lot,” he replies, and I swear to God, I’m going to kick him in the crotch when we get out of this helicopter.

“Nothing is going on? Oh, okay,” Cora mocks. “Yeah, I wasn’t even in the back seat with you guys, but I felt the energy,” Lindsay says. “There’s no energy,” I say, sticking to the plan of denial. “Then why were you holding hands the entire time?” Cora asks with a hand on her hip. Lindsay whips around to us. “They were holding hands the entire time?” Exaggerating her movements, Cora nods her head. “Oh yeah, and not like just clasping.” She picks up Lindsay’s hand and weaves their fingers together. “They were linked.” Lindsay’s eyes widen. “Linked fingers are not for friends. Linked fingers are something more. Is there something going on with you and Romeo? I mean, after that kiss in the pool, I’d believe it.” “You guys are looking too far into⁠—” “GASP!” Cora says, bringing her hand to her heart. “Look, she has a hickey.”

Cora pokes my boob. “Right here.” Lindsay moves forward and her eyes widen too. “That’s a boob hickey.” I adjust my shirt, hoping for some coverage. “If you must know, it’s a burn from my curling iron.” Cora pushes my hand away and moves in close. “No, it’s not. There’s no scarring, but there are broken vessels, which indicates sucking.”

“Then we did it again during the night, and then this morning . . .” My face burns up with embarrassment. “Don’t stop now. What happened this morning?” Lindsay asks. “Uh, well, he kind of recorded us on my phone.” Cora immediately dives for my purse and starts digging through it. “Where is it? I need to see.” “Oh my God.” I push her away. “You’re not watching us have sex. Are you insane?” “No.” She keeps pawing at my purse. “I really, really want to watch that.” I swat at her hands. “Stop that.”

Yeah, last night. Hell, I still can’t believe we did that. She was mouthing off, and I told her if she didn’t stop, I’d fuck her on the balcony naked, where anyone could see her gorgeous tits bounce up and down as she clung to the railing. She didn’t stop, therefore, I took her to the balcony, stripped her down, and fucked her from behind while she attempted to stay quiet. Shockingly, she wasn’t as quiet as you’d think. “Are you discussing your endeavors of last night?” Keiko asks while turning toward us. She looks pretty in a green sundress and her hair down. She seems more relaxed than before, and I wonder if Hawaii and Kelvin have been good for her. “Uh . . . yes,” Stella says cautiously. “Ah, it appeared you were savoring some carnal coitus,” Keiko says without hesitation. I spit my champagne back into my flute as Stella goes completely white. “You . . . you saw that?” “Very much so,” Keiko says casually while adjusting her glasses. “I must say, you have procured very exquisite breasts.” I snort so hard I worry the champagne is going to shoot back out of my nose. “Oh . . . my . . . God.”

“One of the things I’ve learned over the last couple of years is this—allowing yourself to live in the past will never allow you to move forward. It’s not productive to dwell in the days that have gone by, but rather learn from them. It’ll take time, but there’s always room for forgiveness.” Looking me in the eyes, he says, “It’s time to move forward, Stella.”

“I like you, Brock, and I know you’d never judge me, but I also feel as though I don’t want to taint the image you have of me.” I take her hand in mine and bring her knuckles to my lips, where I place a soft kiss. “Babe, I saw you at your worst, when you were strutting around like a maniac, machete in hand, and with a prominently displayed hole in your bra. I doubt anything you tell me at this point will taint you.” She chuckles. “You said you liked the hole.” “Still do.” I wink and go back to my chili. “But you take your time. Remember, you’re worth the wait.” “I hope you’re not wasting your time.” “Trust me, I know when I’m wasting my time, and time spent with you is anything but wasted.”

A tear falls down my cheek as I realize exactly how I need to feel. “It’s going to be okay,” I say with a smile, even though it barely reaches my cheeks. “He deserves this. I know how much he wants this change.” “But what about you two?” I shrug as another tear falls down my cheek. “Maybe we were just meant to be friends.”

“God, I’m an idiot.” Keiko clucks her tongue. “Or you’re both abhorrent communicators.” “I second that,” Greer holds her hand up. “Me too,” Cora says. Lindsay slowly raises her hand at me and shrugs. “Sorry, but you two are a train wreck.”