Her Dirty Professor Series (21+)

He snorts.

“As if. All hormones, no discipline? We’d end up dead living like that.”

I merely grin, somewhat sardonically.

“Life will be the death of me. And you too!”

“Hardy har har,” is all Rick says sarcastically in response. Finally, we pull up to our old high school, and look out the window at the nondescript building. Once such a monolith, it seems almost dinky now. The concrete block is a drab tan, and scraggly shrubs decorate the front lawn, which is more brown than green. The only modification is a large banner that reads ‘Welcome Back’ in bold, cursive lettering. I wouldn’t call it tacky, but the decorating committee isn’t about to win any awards. I bet they trot this sign out for every reunion, come to think of it.

The driver lets us out at the front of the building before pulling away from the curb and my brother and I pause for a moment, staring up silently at the tan building. The facade is cracking in several spots and the bricks could use a pressure wash. Inside, the muffled beats of some cheesy band can be heard, and my shoulders sag.

“Regretting this already?” my brother asks ruefully.

I shake my head.

“Never. Let’s do this.”

With that, we walk inside. Our backs are straight and affable smiles decorate our faces, but I’m getting the feeling that this evening will likely be disappointing. Do we really want to hang out with suburban moms and dads who have gained thirty pounds? People who have never left our little hometown, and who still think New York is the big, dangerous city?

Unfortunately, when we enter the gym, our worst fears are realized. If I had thought the outside banner was tacky, I was ill prepared for the horror show that’s taken over the old basketball court. Balloons in varying colors and sizes serve as centerpieces for free-standing tables, which are covered in rainbow-colored paper tablecloths. Pinatas dangle from the ceiling in random places, and there’s a stack of folding chairs by the door.

“Where did they get this stuff?” my brother breathes. “The local five and dime?”

I merely sigh.

“Don’t judge,” is my low voice. “Someone volunteered to do this, so we need to be grateful.”

“But pinatas?” my brother asks. “What are those for?”

I merely shrug, as we’re cut off.

“Hola big guys!” greets one overweight man. “It’s Mexican fiesta time!”

My brother and I share puzzled glances.

“But we’re in Wyoming, not California or New Mexico. Wouldn’t it make more sense in those states?”

The tubby man won’t be dissuaded.

“No, because these pinatas were on sale, and every high school reunion needs a theme. So Mexican Fiesta it is! I’m Larry Crandon. Remember me?” he grins broadly. “I played the tuba in the Sheridan Band.”

I nod slowly. I remember a pasty, pudgy boy with a golden instrument wrapped around his torso. Yep, this could be him.

“Hey Larry,” I say, shaking his hand jovially. “It’s good to see you again. I’m Ryder, and this is my bro Rick.”

My brother smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Hey hey hey, big guy!” Larry greets. “So you guys are part of Ayema, aren’t you? I swear, all the ladies in Sheridan are going ga-ga over your leggings. I love them too,” he confides in a low voice. “Especially the ones where the bottoms are sheer.”

I smile tightly.

“That was a small manufacturing defect but it’s since been corrected.”

“No worries!” Larry chortles again while slapping his stomach. “My wife’s got five pairs and I love ’em!”

My brother and I smile politely. That was a PR fiasco, to put it mildly, and we had to recall millions of defective leggings. But it’s good to hear that at least someone out there likes them.

Unfortunately, the night just goes from bad to worse. At some point, I begin to wonder what Rick and I ever had in common with our high school classmates. On the one hand, I understand that we’ve been gone a long time. But on the other, it’s hard to believe that people have so little ambition sometimes. Are insurance sales really that attractive? To each their own, I suppose.

For the next hour or so, Rick and I make the rounds, greeting former classmates here and there. Most of our football buddies are as predicted: they’re married, sporting beer guts and thinning hair. They talk about their jobs and how they still like to get hammered at the Rodeo Ranch on Thursday nights while riding the mechanical bull. Weird. That’s what we used to do ten years ago. Yet, they haven’t moved on.

Just as bad are some of the former “hot girls.” Time hasn’t been kind, to say the least. Smooth skin is now wrinkled, and more than a few are sporting highlights so fake they must be out of a box. Cindy Walker, our former hook-up, giggles and blushes when she sees us. I guess she’s better than the rest, seeing that she’s still somewhat in shape, but then she leans in and reveals that she’s divorced and dating someone not from Sheridan, as if that’s a big taboo. Rick and I look at each other before smiling politely.

Worst of all, as the reunion wears on, most of our old classmates begin drinking too much, eager for a night away from kids and responsibilities. There’s some drunken carousing, and pretty soon, former football cheers are bellowed into the air. My twin and I join in half-heartedly only because it’d be weird if we didn’t chant with the others.

I’m doing our school’s fist pump in unison with the crowd when suddenly my movements still. My heart begins racing and every cell in my body turns to the gym entrance because an incredibly beautiful woman just entered.

Who is this girl? Her figure is full, curvy and enticing. Her brown hair is wild and curly and hangs midway down her back the kind of hair I’d love to run my hands through. Her ass is round and juicy while her perky breasts heave up and down. She’s dressed in a form-fitting dress, which is a nice change from the khakis and sweater sets most of the moms have on.

The mystery temptress spies our principal, and shyly makes her way over to the older man. He seems to recognize her as she flashes a smile, and they begin to converse.

I elbow Rick in the arm to get his attention.

“Who is that?” I grunt, jutting my chin in the woman’s direction.

My brother takes a moment to glance and does a double-take.

“Wow. I have no idea,” he says. “Maybe she’s a teacher? I’ve definitely never seen her before.”

Shaking my head, I disagree. “For starters, teachers in Sheridan do not look like that. Besides, they only invited the teachers who taught us when we were students, and that’s like two people because they all retired. Did she graduate with us?”

Ricks stares more closely. “I don’t think so.”

I grin wickedly at my twin. “Well, tonight just got a lot better then. Let’s go introduce ourselves and find out who she is.”

Walking quickly, Rick and I make our way quickly across the gymnasium toward the woman and our former principal.

“Well, if it isn’t the Walsh brothers,” the old man greets us with a friendly Sheridan-style fist bump. “How are you fellows?”

I nod. “Good to see you, sir. I’m happy to report that Rick and I are mostly staying out of trouble.”

The principal chuckles at this comment and turns his attention to the gorgeous woman. “I’m so sorry fellows, let me introduce ” but the beautiful brunette extends a hand quickly and introduces herself instead.

“Chrissy Stanton,” she says softly. As I look into her almond brown eyes, something seems vaguely familiar. I try to figure out what it is, but then the feeling slips away, and I smile.

“Ryder Walsh. And this is my evil twin, Rick.” My brother chuckles easily at this introduction and takes Chrissy’s hand in his own.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Chrissy,” his says huskily. I can tell from the tone of his voice that my brother finds the woman just as attractive as I do. As they launch into conversation with Principal Heard, I take the opportunity to observe her once more. Do we know her from somewhere? I don’t recognize the name Stanton and I certainly don’t recognize the stunning woman before me, but clearly, she attended Sheridan High School and she’s familiar with Principal Heard. So we must have met before, but where?

At that moment, Doug Heard chuckles.

“All right, I better let you young people have your fun. There are lots of great folks here, but I still have to monitor the punch so that no one spikes it,” the old man jokes.

“Hey, it wasn’t us sir!” my brother protests hotly, although everyone knows we did the dirty deed during junior prom. I grin mischievously and Principal Heard merely laughs.

“Well, you turned out to be successful young men nonetheless,” he offers kindly. “I’m so glad to see so many familiar faces.” Then, with a wave, he’s off and we’re left alone with Chrissy. The curvy girl turns to us and smiles shyly.

“Well it was nice to I guess re-meet you both,” Chrissy murmurs.

“Do you know Rodeo Ranch?” I ask, surprised by my own abruptness. Where is this coming form?

She looks puzzled, but smiles. “Sure, it’s a dive bar but it’s fun. That is, when it isn’t sleazy. I avoid it like the plague on Thursday nights,” she laughs.

My brother chuckles too.

“Well, spiked fruit punch and chanting school mottos isn’t really our thing,” I offer easily. “Want to head to Rodeo Ranch instead?”

Chrissy bites her bottom lip in thought. But then she glances around the crowded gymnasium before looking back at Rick and me, her eyes shining even in the dim light.

“Honestly, I don’t love spiked fruit punch myself. But I know a much better spot than Rodeo Ranch.”

I don’t even wait to hear what it is. Instead, I semi-bow with a grin.