A few days had passed since their date.
Persha had been bubbly ever since.
They would steal glances at each other from time to time.
When they passed each other in the cafeteria, or when they would get into the same elevator, they would make out before the elevator stopped.
He even goes to see her at her departmental office, and that’s where he was right now.
He was sat on top of her desk while she focuses on centering the clay on the potter’s wheel.
“I thought you only sculpted,” he says, his voice breaking the silence.
Her eyes flicker in his direction, taking her hands off the clay.
“Sculpting has different departments…
I choose to be a professional in my profession,” she says, going back to pulling the walls of the clay.
Persha stares in awe as the clay takes form.
He walks closer to her, careful not to interrupt her focus.
“What are you making?” he asks hopping off the desk and walking behind her, leaning down to her ear so he could get a better look.
“A jar,” she answers, not looking away from what she’s doing.
She could feel Persha’s breath on her neck, but she ignores it.
“Babe,” Persha whispers, watching her eyebrows twitch.
“Mm?” she hums in reply, not stopping her sculpting, still pulling the walls of what she’s making to get the perfect shape.
“Can you teach me how to sculpt?” he whispers again.
This time, she stops, turning off the spinning wheel.
She tilts her face to look at him.
“It’s pointless if you don’t have passion for it,” she says, glancing down at his lips.
“I don’t mind if it’s pointless.
I’d love to be able to do something that reminds me of you,” he says, smiling.
Before she gathers her words to reply he’s leaning down to capture her lips, he pulls her up by her shirt, attempting to make her stand.
She catches on, reaching for the rag beside the spinning wheel still kissing the eager boy.
She uses it to wipe her hands.
She throws the napkin to the floor, grabbing him by the back of his neck and walking him backwards to her desk.
Persha’s back hits the table, their lips still locked in a deep kiss, her hands groping and grabbing at his ass.
Persha moans into the kiss, arching his back, pressing his body closer to her’s.
His fingers roam all over her body.
He could feel his boxers dampen with pre-cum.
“Ah~ fuck,” he moans out as Zabi’s tongue and teeth bite and suck at his neck.
She licks at the hickey she’s made, her fingers slipping under his shirt to tug and twist at his nipples.
“Mnhh…
that feels good,” he moans, his head falling back in pleasure, feeling her fingers pinch and tug at his buds.
A sharp knock rasps at the door.
Zabi doesn’t stop, ignoring whoever was at the door.
The first knock was loud enough but the knocking kept getting louder and more frequent.
“Babe~…
babe~, someone’s at the door,” Persha gasps out, pleasure still lingering in his tone.
I don’t care,” she says, still pressing kisses to his jaw, neck, and lips.
Then the sixth knock came, even louder.
“Babe~…” he whines, trying to persuade her to let him go so they won’t get caught.
“Ughhh,” Zabi groans in frustration, finally letting him go to attend to the person at the door.
She straightens her shirt, pausing for a while to collect herself.
She opens the door, not expecting to see who she sees.
Marcel.
She all but stares at him, her silence enough to force him to state his business.
“Um…
we have a meeting in like…
30 minutes,” Marcel says.
Persha had hopped off the desk, adjusting his clothes.
He makes eye contact with Marcel, averting his gaze when Marcel’s eyes began to wander.
“Is that all?” Zabi asks, her tone flat.
“Yeah…
um, sorry for interrupting,” he says.
He looks at Persha again, who’s looking out the window, completely ignoring him.
When he sees a big red mark on his neck, of course he knows what it is.
And with how pink his lips are, he knew what they had been doing.
His blood boils with anger as he fakes a smile before turning to leave.
Persha moving on made him angry.
He walks to the location for the supposed meeting, fuming in rage.
The boy who he thought he had broken had been put together again, but no matter how you fix a broken glass, there’d still be cracks, and he was going to widen those cracks.
***
Baylee notices Persha has been acting weird lately, sneaking around, making late-night calls, being overly giddy, and spending too much time at the Art Department.
It was weird.
It wasn’t like Persha to do those things.
So when he follows him one time, he lands in the school’s football stadium.
Standing by the rows of seats, he sees them, Persha and Zabi.
Persha was smiling from ear to ear, while Zabi ‘smiled’ at him before pulling him in for a kiss, and his mouth falls open, eyes wide in shock.
“What the fuck,” he curses out.
Persha had a lot of explaining to do.
He doesn’t keep it to himself for long.
They were sat in the cafeteria, enjoying their meals.
“I saw you and Zabi locking lips at the stadium,” he blurts out, watching Persha choke on his food.
He hands him a cup of water to wash it down before he chokes.
“Baylee!” he whisper-shouts, lowering his voice into a quieter whisper.
“Don’t just say shit like that…
what if someone hears?” he says, frantically looking around to see if anyone caught on.
“No one heard…
so what’s up with that?
Persha sighs.
“I’m sorry for keeping it a secret.
I wanted to tell you…
but…
you were so against it before, so I thought to keep it to myself for a while,” he explains himself.
He could see the hurt in Baylee’s eyes, the said boy nodding.
“My point still stands.
She’s not someone capable of dating, Persh…
you’d only get hur—” he says, Persha cutting in.
“Don’t say that about her.
You don’t know her like I do…
she might be closed off, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t deserve love….
We’re an item now,” he says, irritation slowly creeping into his tone.
Baylee catches on, lifting his glasses to rub at his eyes.
“Yeah, sorry,” Baylee says.
He doesn’t say anything about it again, the table falling silent.
“Look, Baylee, I know you’re just trying to look out for me…
I get that…
but…
she’s what I want now…
what I need now….
And I don’t care about the consequences,” he says, watching Baylee nod, accepting his words.
“Yeah, she better treat you right, or I’m knocking her out,” he threatens.
Persha laughs, throwing a piece of cabbage at him.
“Shut up,” he says.
“I’m not joking.
Woman or not, I’m throwing hands.”
They both laugh and bicker, all forms of misunderstanding out of their systems.
***
His steps were soft as he headed to the elevator.
He got in, pressing the button for the 6th floor of the building.
The doors closed as he leaned back, resting his head against the elevator wall.
It didn’t take long for the elevator to ding, signaling his arrival.
As he stepped into the quiet hallway, the familiar big red door sat at the end of it.
His steps were non-existent as he headed toward the door.
Now in front of it, he typed in the code, stepping inside when it opened.
And there she was, seated on the big red sofa, twirling a glass of wine.
The only reason Baylee knew Persha had been sneaking around and going to the Art Department was because he had been doing the same.
And the reason for his adventures was dressed in lace, looking right at him.
Tiffany Haydes.
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