Mistletoe Kisses

Chapter One

Callan

I love Noelle in white.

I particularly like her in this white sweater. The way the soft fabric hugs her gentle curves, the way she bites down on her plump lower lip and tugs anxiously at the too-long sleeves as she waits for the bell to ring and free her from my clutches.

Not literally, of course. Noelle Harper is stunning, and I won’t deny I’ve woken up hard as a rock many a night after dreaming about having her in my clutches in the most literal sense, but she is also my student. A senior in high school, barely even legal—not worth my time or attention, but there’s something about her. Something magnetic and lovely, something beyond the way her tits look in that sweater.

My gaze shifts back to the paper on my desk. Noelle’s paper.

Until I reached hers, my bored gaze moved across bland, forgettable line after bland, forgettable line as I worked my way through the stack of papers that needed grading.

An untalented lot, my students. If their parents weren’t flush with enough cash to pay their admission to this godforsaken school, each one of them would peak as a key-holder at one of the various local fast food joints. Doesn’t require much thought or attention to wade through their always uninspiring efforts.

Then—as usual—once I got to Noelle’s work, I became distracted. I read her analysis of Dickens' Great Expectations and found myself enthralled and disgusted and in fucking awe of the way she spun her web of words, somehow sucking me into it even though I couldn’t agree with her less if I actively tried. It’s as if she sees the whole world through a rosy lens, even the dirtiest, darkest parts of it, and she wants to shine a light on it for everyone else to see, too.

Caught up in her point of view, I thought I’d steal just a glance at her. I should have known better. Rarely am I satisfied with a mere glance.

While my other students are annotating a page of text I handed out to keep them busy after the test they took earlier, Noelle has already finished both. She’s bright and her mind must work quickly. I can’t always tell from her in-class presence, but I think that’s because I make her so uncomfortable. I know there’s an intensity about me some find off-putting, and seeing from the peek I get into her mind that it’s full of rainbows and love, I’ve no doubt she’s one of them.

It probably doesn’t help that half the time when I look at her, I get distracted by every part of her and try to burn her into my memory so I can think about her later, when she’s not there to blush and notice like she might when I do it in person.

When I read her papers, though, that’s when I can see who she really is. Her prose is confident and well thought out, her style charming, and it all flows so seamlessly.

She’s talented, I only wish she realized it. I’m not easy to impress, and despite my difference in opinion, I’ve never been able to put down one of her papers. When they’re finished, even adequately so, I always wish she’d have written more so I could keep strolling through her mind.

My gaze rises so I can look at her again, but this time, I catch her looking at me. Her eyes widen ever so slightly at having been caught, then her gaze darts away. She goes back to tugging on the sleeves of her sweater, as if trying to hide even more of herself from my gaze—like even her exposed palms are showing too much.

She’s not wrong. I think even her fucking palms could get me going.

I shake my head at myself and let out a small sigh, dragging my gaze away from the girl. I don’t think about what time it is as I pick up my red pen and start to read through her paper a second time. Now that I’ve read the whole thing already, I’ll be able to pay more careful attention and leave helpful feedback.

Only, I got so distracted by Noelle, somehow class is over. The shrill ringing of the bell drags my attention to the clock—that can’t be right, can it?—and then my students immediately begin shuffling around, eager to put their things away and get out of here.

They all know better than to leave without my permission, though, so a dozen sets of eyes settle on me.

Not Noelle’s, though. She’s still avoiding my gaze like she knows better than to lock eyes with me for more than a split second. Smart girl.

“You’re free to go,” I tell them, signaling a little more shuffling. “Bring your annotations with you to class on Monday, and we’ll go over them then.”

Now chairs scrape cheap linoleum as they stand and begin to chatter. Mine is the last class of the day for them, the final circle of hell they must survive before returning to their expensive sports cars and cushy homes. Consequently, there’s a hum of excitement like there always seems to be, as if surviving to the end of my class warrants a badge of honor they can proudly display to those who might question their grit.

Speaking of grit, my gaze catches on Percy Bennett, the least literate of my students, but the most promising athlete. Ordinarily I don’t pay him much attention, but right now he’s stopped beside Noelle’s desk. She’s still seated, so she has to look up at him, her big emerald eyes attentive as he speaks to her.

“Brutal test, huh?” he says, to make conversation.

Noelle offers a polite smile. “Oh, yeah,” she lies. “Really rough.”

Percy nods, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans. The school has uniforms, but every other Friday the students get a dress-down day, and today’s one of them. For Noelle, it means snug jeans and a tight sweater. For Percy, it means a pair of overpriced jeans and a pastel polo that makes him look even douchier than he actually is.