The murderous look on his face slowly turns into a sly smile as he takes me in, all of me, looking me up and down. “And you look exactly the same. Except you have clothes on now.”
I manage to keep my empty smile in place. During our month together, we spent the whole time in bed pretty much. Only getting up to eat on the rooftop of Little Bird. Our own private sanctuary. “What are you doing here?” I repeat out loud this time.
“Are you a teacher here?” he asks, ignoring my question for a second time.
“Yes, I am, actually.” He gives me a cheeky smile, eyes lighting up with delight, so I add, “Science department.” I manage to put some conviction into my voice as I say it. We’re not at The Little Bird anymore, his domain. This is my place of work. I don’t know why he’s here, but it’s jarring given that he is the first guy I’ve ever slept with, lost my innocence to, and he’s here at Reynard’s on my first day as a teacher here at this school. The last thing I need is baggage following me to my new job.
“No shit.”
I cock my head at him. “Do you teach here too?”
Romain’s smile turns dark. “No, I don’t teach here.”
Then it dawns on me.
Underneath his jacket, he’s wearing a stark white shirt and gray jumper with purple edging around the collar and a black blazer.
Part of Reynard’s emblem can be seen on the blazer pocket.
Fuck.
He’s wearing a school uniform.
Dread, icy-cold and devastating, spears me in the gut.
Romain—the hot, young guy from the bar, who I let fuck me in every way, is a student at Reynard.
I try to breathe, but I can’t quite drag in any air. I can’t even swallow.
“Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he asks all too innocently, lips curling up at the ends. Nothing about his smile is angelic.
“You’re…” I can’t bring myself to say it. I stare at the collar of his jumper, which has the school colors embroidered on it. Instead, I bite my lip.
“Fucking hell, you’ve only just figured it out.” He shakes his head.
“How…”
“Knowing you’re my teacher makes what we had together hot as fuck.” Romain smirks, giving me a once-over the way I did him the first time we met. Heat spreads to the rest of my body, and I force my gaze elsewhere. I fumble with the papers in my hands, shoving them into my bag. My face is burning, and my body is tense. I need to get out of here, but he’s blocking my way. Tall and broad-shouldered, he’s not like a student at all.
But he is a student. My student.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
Even if he’s studying A-levels, then he’s eighteen, maybe? No older than nineteen. How old was he back then? Fifteen? Sixteen?
Please, God, don’t let him have been underage.
But I know he was just by looking at him in his uniform.
I frown at him. “How old are you—were you?”
His smile becomes sly. “You want to know if I was underage?”
“Keep your voice down!” I say, drawing him to the side.
“I love it when a woman takes control,” he chuckles, letting me.
Once we’re out of the walkway and the view of anyone walking by, I let go of him and square off, glaring at him. “How old were you?”