3. Hots for Teacher

CHAPTER 3

HOTS FOR TEACHER

VAN HALEN

I can’t get her out of my head. I tried watching TV, reading a book, even wrestled the dogs, and still she’s in my fucking head. Now, I’m pacing the living room, trying to figure out what the hell I’m supposed to do next while also practicing how to pronounce her name.

“Re nah tuh. Renaaaht. Naughty Renate—y. Don’t be a dick, Cooper. Renate.”

It’s driving my dog, Lulu, nuts because she’s trying to follow me around thinking we might play again. She’s a Boxer I rescued a couple of years ago to give my other dog some company, and she’s a goofy ball of energy. Pongo, the eighty pound Pit Bull, is the laid back one that’s now staring at me like I’ve grown another head. He’s trained to sense shifts in my mood, and I’m pretty sure I’m sending his sensors into overdrive today.

“I should call her, right? Fuck, what would you do?” I ask Pongo, but he just drops his head back onto his paws and pretends to sleep. Some help he is. I rehearse what I’ll say on the phone and use Lulu as my stand-in.

“Hi, my name is Chase Coo…nope.” I shake it off and start again.

“Hello, I was, uhh, at the art painting thing last…Jesus.” I take a few quick breaths, shake my hands, and jump up and down a few times. I’ve got this. What kind of fucking professional actor am I that I can’t even make a phone call? Fuck it! I’m doing this. My hand hits my empty pocket and my shoulders shrug.

I’m not doing this. Lulu yawns at me before she flops onto the floor, bored with my stupidity.

“Yeah, you’re right. I suck at this. Thanks for that vote of confidence.” I pull my hair up, trying to get it out of my face while I figure out what to do next. “Maybe I should call Dani. Her sister might know who Renate is and Dani would play matchmaker. She loves that shit.”

Pongo replies with a huff and rolls onto his back.

A thought pops into my head and I can’t help but laugh. “Dude, could you imagine if Renate turned out to be Dani’s sister? That would be weird as hell, huh?” I shiver at the thought when I let it sink in a little more. “Don’t even wish that into existence, man! One Dani is enough. Even knowing there’s another one out there is fucking nuts.”

I trudge to the fridge and take out the orange juice, chugging straight from the bottle. Bourbon would hit the spot better, but it’s a bit early for that, and it’s gym day. If I puke, Steve will fucking kill me after he’s done laughing his ass off about it. More quick breaths as I center myself and grab the phone off the charging dock. I haven’t been this fucking nervous since…since. Since I had a panic attack in the middle of a damn audition. At least that worked out for the best because the movie bombed hard and I got picked up for an incredible show after that.

This isn’t a movie, though. It’s bigger.

I grab the phone and open the phone app and freeze. “NOPE! Fuck.” I open the messenger app instead and pull up Jamie’s thread.

Dude, what was the name of that school?

JimJam

Literally called Hollywood Tech and Arts, man. Are you drunk?

Wait…why?

Nothing and fuck you. My agent asked.

JimJam

Bullshit. Call me later when you’ve thought of a better lie.

If I tell him now, he’s going to talk me out of this. I could ask him who she was, since he talked to just about everyone last night. But if I describe her as the knockout short chick with the pouty lips and thick thighs? He’d slap me through the phone. He had to have noticed me watching her last night. There was no trying to hide it.

I’m arguing with myself over what I should do, and when I glance down again, I’ve already Googled the school and my thumb hovers over their phone number. I check the time and scoff. I don’t have a fucking clue if the schools are open right now or not.

“ Hollywood School for Technology and Arts. How may I help you? ”

A real person? People still answer phones? Come on Coop, head in the game!

“Yes, hello! My…wife and I have been checking into schools in the area and we spoke to a teacher at your school the other day. I believe her name was Renate. I don’t recall her last name.” I’m laying it on thick, slipping into a character I played in a television show years ago and hoping like hell this lady falls for my bullshit. “She teaches something to do with art… or technology?”

Fuck, you’re an idiot, Cooper.

“Oh, Renate Silva?” the voice on the phone asks. “She’s the head of our technology department.”

“That sounds right. Hispanic, long hair, in her late twenties or early thirties?” I sound like an absolute douche. I hope this doesn’t get back to her. Although, I’m sure it will, since I doubt many ‘fathers’ call the school with physical descriptions of teachers they’re trying to reach. Stalker!

“Yes, sir. That’s Ren. Did you and your wife have additional questions about the school or anything else I can help you with?”

I’m about to say no and hang up in sheer panic when I get an idea. “Well, we’d like to send her a small gift, something to thank her for her help. A token of our gratitude. Would that be possible? Not to her home address, obviously, but something to the school?”

“Yes, sir. We would take the deliveries in the office.”

“Perfect. Thank you for your time.”

I don’t even wait for her to end the call, hanging up and cheering like I’d won the lotto or something. “Renate Silva! Head of the Technology department—wait. Silva?” I pull up my contacts and scroll through. Sure enough, there’s Dani’s name followed by Silva. Oh, I will never hear the end of this. Jamie talked to Renate last night, but they weren’t acting all buddy-buddy or anything like I thought he would act toward Dani’s sister.

I cannot have the hots for Dani’s fucking sister. Can I?

Both dogs sit there staring at me like the moron I am as I drop onto the edge of the couch. I let out a slow, deep sigh, unsure what to do next. It’s the first person who’s caught my attention in years and it has to be my friend’s sister? Dani is like my sister, which makes this all so wrong.

Am I overreacting? Like I don’t do that every damn day of my life.

I’m flipping through flower shops when my kid brother comes barreling in the front door with a case of beer under each arm.

“C, you here?” As Devin yells out, Lulu leaps from the couch and slides across the floor in a frantic effort to reach him.

“Yeah. Living room.”

“I got beer! Oh, and no practice tomorrow morning. The ice is fucked up.” There’s a thunk as he puts the beer down and the sound of Lulu’s feet tap dancing on the tile stops. “The Zamboni caught fire, man,” he says, coming into the room.

“What?” I glance up from my phone and see Dev holding my dog like a baby, even though she’s almost sixty pounds of muscle. “What do you mean, caught fire ?”

“I dunno, that’s what the ice guy said, man. They were flooding the ice and the damn thing started smoking and then, BOOM! Fire.”

“Wait, it exploded?”

“No.”

“Boom means it exploded, dude.”

“Whatever, man! Can I turn on the game? We’re playing against Jacksonville in two days and I want to see if their new forward holds up to the hype. I heard he’s killing it, and I don’t wanna come off like a damn newb between the posts, you know?.”

I nod. I don’t think my little brother will ever outlive his frat boy lifestyle. He’s a good guy, and a phenomenal goalie, but he can be a bit of an idiot sometimes, but that’s goalies for you. Devin puts Lulu down, turns on the recorded game, and goes to put the beer in the fridge. He hands me a cold one when he comes back and I take it without looking up.

“Nah, don’t get those. Those are for old ladies.”

“What?”

“The flowers. I mean, unless you’re getting them for an old lady.” He watches my reaction with a big smile, but his face drops when I continue to stare at him. “Dude, what? Those are what you’d buy for someone’s grandmother or like a teacher or something.”

“Well, maybe she is a teacher, fuckface.”

“Ohhhh,” he nods and thinks about it for a while as he sits. Lulu jumps up next to him, pushing me over as she works her way under his arm and halfway onto his lap, licking the condensation off his bottle. He doesn’t even notice as he continues to pet her. “So, why are you buying flowers for a teacher?”

“Because I ran into her last night and?—”

“With your car?! Jesus Christ, man! Wait, which one? The Jag?!”

“Shut up, no, not with my car!” I push the idiot’s shoulder, sloshing his beer, but like a true Canadian and goalie, he saves it. “It’s, I dunno, I met her at a thing and I just, I dunno, want to send her something…nice.”

“Nice as in thanks for being a teacher or nice as in I wanna get in your pants ?”

“Kind of…in the middle? Why?” I take a long drink as we watch the center take the puck from behind the net, skate down the ice, and score on a one-timer. “Is that the guy?”

“Yeah, that’s him.” He plays the shot back a few more times in slow motion and hits play again before turning to me. “Dude, if you’re not just being nice and you want a date out of this, flowers aren’t the way to go. Do that later, but don’t go overboard.”

“Overboard?”

He flashes me a goofy grin, “You know, like when you bought the cute girl with the accent a whole ass kitchen remodel after you’d dated her for, what, a month?”

“Jessica, and we dated for almost a year.” I act offended, even though I’m not. “Man, I couldn’t cook in that tiny excuse for a kitchen she had. I made an absolute mess the one time I tried.”

“As big of a mess as when you walked in on her getting railed over that sweet ass marble countertop by the construction foreman you hired? Exactly how many meals did you cook after it was done?”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“Not an answer.” Devin glares at me before he holds his hands up. He should expect me to swing on him for that, but I cut him some slack. “I’m just saying you should slow it down a bit. It’s been a while since you went for more than just a quick hookup.”

“I have dated since—” I think hard and realize there’s nothing. Nothing but regrets and too many faceless women. “—nevermind. Whatever. Fuck you.”

“No thanks. So, uh, who is she?”

I toss the phone on the coffee table and sit back with my arms crossed, trying to keep my head out of the past. I don’t need Jessica in my head anymore. Her or any of my other so-called girlfriends.

“She’s nobody. You’re probably right.” I should forget the whole thing ever happened. Forget meeting her. I suck at relationships, especially over the last few years. No matter how hard I try or how sure I am that I want something, shit comes back up and bites me in the face.

We sit in silence for a while, watching the game, until Devin elbows me in the arm. “What does she teach?”

“Some kind of tech classes. It doesn’t matter. I’m too fucking busy for this shit, anyway.” Pongo comes over and rests his head on my leg. I pet his head without even thinking about it.

“Smart board.”

“What?”

“Look it up, bro. Stop being so fucking old.” He nods down at Pongo before he shifts his attention back to the screen, avoiding eye contact. “I didn’t mean to fuck with you that hard, man.”

“It’s fine. It was me, not you.” What he said about the smart board echoes in my head, so I grab my phone to do a little digging. By the third page, I smack him on the arm.. “You’re a genius.”

“Nah. Some girl at the bar called me a golden retriever, though. I’ll take that.” Devin takes a drink, almost spitting it out as Jacksonville scores another goal. “Fuck—this guy’s good.”

* * *

My absolute favorite place to be during a big Hollywood party? At home. Alone.

I have to attend these social gatherings, but I don’t have to like them. So instead of mingling and getting wasted on cheap champagne, I’m leaning against a wall and playing on my phone to avoid people.

I can bail out once in a while, but if I skip out on too many, I risk becoming irrelevant in the eyes of Hollywood big shots.

I glance around, and as I expected, the whole place teems with boring, pretentious assholes. Just another excuse to throw an obscene, lavish party for a rich old guy who doesn’t give a fuck about anyone but himself. But I’m the nice guy—Hollywood’s sweetheart—so, at the behest of my manager, I make an appearance. It’s amazing how much acting gets done when the cameras aren’t even rolling.

More than once tonight, I’ve let my mind wander back to worrying if the smart board sends the right message. Of course, that implies I have a clue what message I want to send. I’m sorry? I think you’re hot? I pictured you when I was showering this morning and imagined those big, pouty lips around my cock?

I shouldn’t say that last one. Even if it’s true.

“Chase?” I turn toward the voice and force a smile at the woman the agency sent with me, since Cynthia isn’t available. She’s across the room, calling out my name like I’m not six five and easy as fuck to spot. But I remind myself I retreated into an out of the way corner, so I’m actually not easy as fuck to spot. I step out into the crowd and wave when she turns toward me again. Rushing over, she grabs my arm. “Oh, there you are.”

“Yeah, sorry. I needed some air and wanted to check the score on my brother’s game.”

“Great,” she says without an ounce of actual care for me or my brother. I could have told her my house had caught fire and she would have given me the same flat response. “Well. Let’s get you back in there.”

“Sure, yeah.”

Hollywood isn’t easy when you’re like me. I love being on stage; I love acting; I love everything about it, but I’m a bit of an introvert who has to play the role of an extrovert whenever I’m at these events. Sometimes, I need a break to give my internal battery a bit of a recharge, which Cyn knows, but clearly didn’t tell this woman—her name might be Katie. Or Carmen. I suck with names.

Except for Renate.

“They won,” I offer, hoping to at least bring down some barriers and have her talk to me like I’m more than just a thing she’s showing off for the cameras. Show dogs get more respect.

“Hmm?”

“My brother’s team. They…nevermind. It doesn’t matter to you.”

“Oh, there’s that new director everyone wants to work with. Let’s go meet him.” Dragging me across the room like I’m five has me clenching my jaw and ready to bolt. But when she has the audacity to tap my phone? I’m not sure how much more of this I can take. “Don’t forget to update your social media feed, Chase.”

I hold my phone up and snap a quick, stupid selfie of me, making a face that shows how bored and annoyed I am, and post it with the caption: Best night ever! #Fun #Blessed #CanIgohomenow.

She rolls her eyes. I’ll have to do a live video later to make up for that, but whatever. I keep threatening Cyn that I’m leaving social media all together, but she keeps stressing that it’s part of my brand. I shake more hands and flash a few more fake smiles before I hear my name.

“Chase! Chase fucking Cooper?”

“Robbie!” We hug, clap each other on the back twice, and pull away with huge smiles on both our faces. Robbie and I did a movie together a few years ago, and we’ve stayed in touch. “How’d you get suckered into this? I thought you were in Egypt?”

“Filming is on hold while they fight about money and why some white dude was cast as the lead, so I figured I’d enjoy the party. The man of the hour dated my mom, so I love crashing these things and making him relive that and wonder why I keep showing up. It annoys the shit out of him, really. Someday, I’m gonna walk up and call him Dad just to see how hard he freaks out.”

“Dude, you’re insane.”

“Come on, it would be a blast watching that rich bastard sweat it out while he calls his lawyers. Anyway, I’m going to rescue you from Robo-Agent. There’s a bar in the back with this stunning blonde working the bottles. I also brought edibles, so that should help.” Robbie checks around our feet. “Where’s my main furry friend, Pongo?”

“Home. I gave him the night off.”

“Oh, that lucky dog. Literally!”

We duck to the back, and spend the rest of the night drinking, getting high, and avoiding the agency rep.