Always You (Love Hurts 1)

All you had to do was look around the teacher’s lounge: Tennerson’s liked experience, and lots of it. That made me feel nervous—like everyone was wondering what I did to get the job. Hell, I sometimes wondered myself how I got this job.

Oh wait, that’s right: my interfering mother.

“Tuna fish?” Mark screwed his nose up as he glanced over at my sandwich.

“You don’t have to eat it,” I told him, taking a big bite and washing it down with a soda.

“Yeah, but I have to smell it,” he retorted, moving a seat down.

I rolled my eyes at him. “Are you going to Layna’s tonight?” I asked him. Layna—the headmistress—and her husband, Dan, lived in a house behind the main building. Every Friday night, she and Dan hosted a dinner for the staff.

I’d known Layna for years, though we had only met a handful of times at big family events. She and Mom spoke regularly, but living so far away from each other made catching up hard. It was those big events—like Dad’s funeral—where I had actually met her.

Mark nodded. “Probably. Nothing better to do, may as well get a free feed, huh?”

“My thoughts exactly.” I chuckled.

“Glad your first week is over?” he asked.

I groaned. “That would be an understatement. I just found out there’s a betting pool on which one of my students is going to kiss me first.”

Mark laughed, banging his fist down on the table. I glowered at him. Was it really that funny?

“Seriously? Watch out, dude, these girls are brutal. That’s the trouble with rich kids—they’re used to getting whatever they want, no matter the cost.” He glanced down to his beer belly. “Not sure why they’re not trying to hit me up, though.” He grinned.

“No idea, dude.” I laughed. “But I have to admit, I’m glad this is only a short-term contract.”

“You say that now, but give it ten years. A pretty girl paying attention to you then will be the highlight of your week.” He laughed again as I shook my head. There were so many things wrong with what he’d just said that I didn’t even know where to start.

“I don’t know about that, but I do wish girls had paid this much attention to me in college.” I chuckled.

Mark snorted. “I find it hard to believe college girls were doing anything other than throwing themselves at your feet. And think about this: all those pretty college girls you were fucking last year? They were these girls only a year or two earlier.”

I rolled my eyes as Mark guffawed loudly. He was trying to wind me up, but there was some truth to his comment, and it made my inexperience and close age to these girls even more obvious to me.

Last year I wouldn’t have blinked an eye at the thought of making out with a hot freshman. Hell, my friends and I used to prey on ‘fresh meat’ as they called them.

They would be these girls in a few short months, and guys just like me would be all over them. I stood up, tossing my half-eaten sandwich in the garbage can, suddenly not that hungry.

I sighed, thankful there were only eight weeks of the school year left.

Surely I could handle eight little weeks?

Chapter Four

Dalton

The one good thing about living on campus? Two minutes and I was home.

Back in L.A., I’d still lived at home with Mom and spent half the day in the car getting to and from my classes. Here, I could get up fifteen minutes before my first class and still be early.

I made my way over to my unit on foot, crossing the sprawling green lawns that separated the school from the residential units. Trees lined the border of the entire property, most of them hundreds of years old, creating a feeling of privacy. My unit was in a cluster with fifteen others within an old, dated, red brick building.

Inside was a complete contrast. Everything had been remodeled, with modern new furniture, and finishes in grays and neutral tones. The living room was huge—as was the bedroom. The kitchen, though cramped, was complete with all the latest appliances. I even had a small balcony, which overlooked the entrance of the school.

I slapped my keys down on the counter and went straight for the fridge, grabbing a soda and some leftover pizza from the night before. Walking over to the sofa, I flopped down and flicked on the TV. My first week was officially over, and I had survived. Barely.

Eight more weeks.