Somethin' About That Boy

She most certainly wasn’t a girl-next-door type.

She was a ‘I want your panties on my bedroom floor’ type.

Jesus Christ.

Her black sweatpants and black long-sleeved, tight as fuck, curve-hugging top were nothing special.

Unless you looked below the surface. Saw the delicate curve of her hip. The beautiful swell of her breasts.

The delicate slant of her neck that was covered in deliciously golden skin that I wanted to…

She looked up at me, her gaze making contact with mine, and my breath hitched.

Her eyes were fucking purple.

Who the hell had purple eyes?

“All right, ladies and gentlemen,” Mrs. Hooker—dear sweet baby Jesus, how the hell was I going to call her that? —ordered. “Now, who wants to start the introductions first?”

“Mrs. Hooker,” someone called from behind me. “We’ve all gone to the same school for our whole entire lives. We’ve been with the same one hundred and fifty kids since we were all in kindergarten. We don’t need to do any introductions.”

I knew what was going to happen the moment that the kid said that.

“Oh?” Mrs. Hooker said. “What about Mr. Spurlock here? He’s new this year. None of y’all know him.”

“We don’t need to know him,” someone muttered in the back.

“Perry?” Mrs. Hooker said. “Why don’t you start?”

Perry, the girl that was dressed from head to toe in black beside me, sighed.

I grinned at her misfortune, but wiped it off my face the moment she turned her head to look in my direction.

My eyes studied her as she stood up and turned around to face the class.

“My name is Perry Street. I’m a senior this year. I work at the Stop and Go, I play volleyball, and I also run cross-country and track,” Perry drawled.

“Ohhh, Mulan,” someone called from the back of the room. “How’s Mushu?”

I could see the Mulan analogy.

She could pass as the cartoon character’s double.

Hell, she even had the long, flowing, thick hair.

“How about you go f—” Perry started, but Mrs. Hooker cleared her throat, causing her to break off mid-sentence.

I snorted.

She said it so monotonously that she sounded like a computer. Like the fucking Alexa electronics that my mother loved so much.

“Thank you, Perry,” Mrs. Hooker said. “Who’s next?”

It went on like this until it came to be my turn.

I stood up and said my name, keeping my eyes on the girl next to me.

Her long, black/brown hair was in a low ponytail at the back of her head, and the tail was coming over her left shoulder to curve around her breast.

And her eyes were slanted slightly, hinting of Japanese descent.

Maybe not full-blown Japanese, but she definitely had someone in her family that was.

Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest, and she was staring ahead at the chalkboard—what the fuck kind of school still had chalkboards? —and doing her level best to ignore the hell out of me.

“My name is Banner Spurlock. I’m a senior. I don’t work anywhere just yet because I just moved here. But I’ll probably be finding a bike shop or something to work at when I do. I play football and hockey,” I droned.

Mrs. Stripper—I mean Hooker—clapped her hands.

“Wonderful!” she cried. “Well, as I’m sure a lot of you know, my name is Genie Hooker. I graduated two years ago from SFA with my teaching degree…”

I ignored her and instead focused on the girl that was next to me.

Her long brownish-black hair was captivating.

There were strands of it that had the subtlest shade of purple to it, and it almost made her hair look like a galaxy.

And her skin was just fucking perfect.

Her sweatpants and shirt did nothing to hide her figure, either.

Underneath it all, I could tell that she had an amazing one.

Big boobs, muscular legs, curvy hips.

She really did kind of look like Mulan, too.

Not that I’d be telling her that based solely on how she’d reacted when the little shit in the back of the class had.

Crossing my arms over my chest, I leaned back in my seat and thought about my next class.

I also thought about what I would need to do after school.

I had a meeting with the coach about trying out for the team.

I was so in my own head that Perry, the girl I was trying very hard not to study, poked me with a stack of papers.

“Here,” she said.

I took them from her, accidentally brushing my hand against hers.

She jumped and pulled back before I had them fully in my grasp, causing the papers to flutter to the floor.

They landed everywhere, and she cursed, getting out of her seat and rounding it to help me pick them up.

She bent down just as I did, her face only inches from mine.

When she looked up, it was directly into my eyes.

We were only inches away, and I had to fight the urge to lean in and close the distance.