Always You (Love Hurts 1)

“They have a pool, you know.”

I turned around. She was leaning against the opposite wall, her head tilted to the side as she studied me with her deep green eyes. Her long dark hair hung in waves down her back. She looked familiar, but that wasn’t surprising, considering she was probably in one of my classes.

“A pool?” I repeated, bemused.

“Yes. Like, a betting pool. On who is going to be the first to kiss you.” She shook her head and smiled as she rolled her eyes. “The winner gets nearly a thousand dollars.”

I laughed. That explained a lot, actually.

A week ago I was an unemployed teacher fresh out of college. Ready to take on the world, I could handle anything—at least, I’d thought I could. After less than a week here, I was beginning to regret my decision to teach high school students—especially when those students consisted only of hormonal teenage girls. This place was my idea of hell.

What the fuck had I been thinking?

Teaching at a prestigious girls’ boarding school was a role I hadn’t contemplated, nor did I think I’d ever stand a chance in hell of getting—and I probably wouldn’t have, if it hadn’t been for the headmistress being an old friend of my mother’s. Yes, even though I was twenty-three, Mom was still interfering in my life. One call had gotten me an interview, and from there I had scored the job. My perfect grades, outstanding recommendations, and great outlook on life were just what they needed, apparently.

It was ironic, all things considered, that they saw me as a fresh, look-on-the-bright-side kind of guy when the reality was so different. I guess I was better at internalizing my feelings than I thought.

I looked at the girl again, trying to place her. She was in one of my classes, but so early on, all the girls blended into one another.

That’s right. Wrenn . . . something.

Quiet and studious, she was one of the few girls I had crossed here who seemed to have some sort of plan for her future. Of course, that assessment was based off a couple of lessons and one homework assignment, but I got the feeling that most of the girls couldn’t plan past their outfits for the next weekend.

“You’re in my history class, right?” I asked her.

She nodded and smiled, adjusting the strap on her backpack over her shoulder. “Wrenn. I’m in your Monday morning and Thursday afternoon classes. History and Sociology.” She blushed suddenly, her eyes growing wide with horror. “I’m not part of the pool,” she added quickly.

I laughed as her face went red.

“I mean, not that I don’t think you’re attractive, but—”

“It’s okay,” I interrupted—mostly to stop her from digging a deeper hole for herself. “Just quit while you’re ahead.” I chuckled as she cringed again. “Anyway, I appreciate the heads up.” I winked and walked past her down the now empty hall. “See you Monday,” I called.

I made my way to the teacher’s lounge, thinking about what Wrenn had told me.

A betting pool.

God, as if things weren’t hard enough, now there was money on who could make me act inappropriately first? I’d had girls requesting one-on-one tutoring, girls leaving me gifts on my desk, and the number of g

irls “dropping” things while I was in their close proximity so they would have to retrieve them, asses high in the air, would almost be funny if it were happening to anyone else.

Hell, one girl had her father make a sizeable donation to the History department, stating that my techniques had encouraged his daughter to take her education more seriously. I’d been here a week! She was taking something seriously, but I doubted very much that it was her education.

Taking my lunch out of the fridge, I smiled and sat down next to Mark. At twenty-seven, he was four years older than me, yet the only one even remotely close to me in age. Every other teacher here was over thirty—with some having taught at the school for more than thirty years. Talk about feeling out of place.

Don’t get me wrong. Everyone was nice, but the difference in age made it difficult to evolve relationships beyond the usual small talk. At least with Mark I could talk about football, or cars, and whatever else. The other teachers and their talk of politics and evolution intimidated the shit out of me.

My first impression of Tennerson Academy had been holy fucking shit.

Tennerson has consistently been in the top twenty preparatory schools in the country. As a senior school, it accepted students aged between sixteen and eighteen.

It had been exclusively a boarding school until 1983, when it began accepting day students as well. Today, the hundred and thirty-eight residential students were divided among five houses—each house accommodating up to twenty students. In each building there was a leader and two teachers. The remaining teachers either lived on or off campus.

As a new teacher, I was living on campus in my own unit, which somewhat resembled a hotel suite—modern and clean—located in the teachers’ quarters.

Thank fucking Christ they hadn’t put me in one of the residential houses. I wouldn’t rule out being attacked in my sleep by some of these girls—girls who were used to getting exactly what they wanted.

This was so much more pressure than your usual teaching job. Here, you’re around it 24/7. That’s a hard thing to adapt to when you lack experience.