Bad Teacher

As I put it on, my eyes keep traveling up and down the closet, and I’m so damn tempted to go through his stuff. I know it’s wrong, but who doesn’t like knowing what’s inside someone’s drawers? Everyone wants to do it, and everybody lies about it. But we’re too curious to say no to ourselves.

Guilty as charged.

I glance behind me to make sure he isn’t there before I open the third drawer and find all his suits and pants. Very slick. And then the drawer below that … I’m guessing gels or shoes?

However, when I open it, I almost choke on my own breath.

Panties.

A whole … drawer … full.

Of women’s panties.

I hold them up. One by one. The craziest colors and designs. None of them look remotely wearable. How the fuck did he get all these? Does he steal them? Is this like some kind of prize he keeps from each of his conquests?

It all sounds so revolting.

And I honestly thought it couldn’t get any worse … until I find one of my own panties right in the middle.

I pluck it out, staring at the pink see-through panties that have definitely been on my ass.

For a second, I try to remember if he stole them from my apartment that night we had sex.

Except … these weren’t the ones I was wearing then, and I can see them lying there in the corner of the drawer.

So this pink one must be …

Everything begins to click.

No wonder the building’s address felt so familiar. TJ Morrows bought my panties.

Chapter 19

TJ

“TJ Morrows!”

She isn’t just calling out for me.

Her voice is like spit fire from a dragon, burning my house down.

I drop everything and rush up the stairs to find her throwing panties out of a drawer I didn’t think she’d be looking through because I never said she could.

When she rises to her feet, holding a specific pair of pink see-through panties, I freeze.

Oh, boy.

“Exactly why do you have my panties in your drawers?”

She asks the question, but I’m much, much more focused on the fact that she’s still looking at them. Her voice is filled with an underlying hate, yet it’s so calm it sends chills down my spine.

“I can explain everything …” I say softly, trying to ease the situation before it gets out of hand. “If you let me—”

“Explain this.” She holds them up by one finger, still not looking at me.

“I …” I frown, my voice lowering as I realize it’s no use to deny it. “You know exactly how I got those.”

“You didn’t get them the night we slept together,” she says.

“No,” I reply.

“You got them off the internet.”

I swallow away the lump in my throat. “Yes.”

Again, it’s quiet for some time. Murderously quiet. And it freaks me the fuck out.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? I should’ve told you that—”

“I don’t wanna hear it,” she interrupts. “Just answer my questions.”

“All right …” I sigh.

“You bought these from me. You’re pantysniffer3000?”

God, I knew I should’ve picked a better name. It sounds so wrong when she says it out loud. “Yes.”

Every time I admit something, it feels like I’m gutting myself, but a weight lifts off my shoulders too. It’s a strange combination that I’m not sure works well.

“And all these other panties?”

“I bought them too. I don’t steal.” As if saying I’m not a criminal makes it any better. Fuck, I’m so stupid sometimes.

She spins on her heels, clutching her panties. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, you don’t get to say that.”

“But I am,” I say. “I never wanted you to find out like this.”

“Yeah, well, you did a great job of hiding it.” The look of disgust on her face makes me so mad that I lash out.

“I didn’t expect you to go through my drawers like some raccoon looking for kitty kibbles,” I growl. “Who does that anyway?”

“Did you just compare me to a raccoon?” She folds her arms, still holding those pink panties I love so much. “And everyone would. You went through my kitchen cabinets too.”

“So?” I gasp. “That’s different.”

“No, it’s not,” she retorts.

“Yes, it is. Closets are sacred. There’s an unwritten rule that no one opens them unless told specifically which drawer.”

“According to whose rules?” She narrows her eyes. “Yours?”

My lips part, but I don’t know what to say. Instead, I just frown and blow out some air. “Look, I said I was sorry.”

“And I should just accept that?”

“Why not?”

“Because everything gets solved by saying sorry? Fuck no.” She scowls at me. “You’re despicable.”

“Thanks,” I say, closing my eyes. “I needed that.”

“No, don’t play the victim here.” She points at me, rubbing it in. “You don’t get to do that. You stole my panties.”

“What? I paid for them fair and square.”

“Semantics,” she says.

“That’s what I always say.”

“So? You don’t own the word.”

“No, but I do own those.” I point at the panties. “Just like I own the others.”