My Darling Arrow (St. Mary's Rebels 1)

There’s even a whistle around his neck. Along with that big watch strapped to his wrist, he looks so freaking unapproachable and authoritative.

Mindful of a few lingering students around the field, I step closer to him. He barely shows any reaction to that but I don’t get deterred. “Aren’t we gonna, like, talk about things?”

His jaw moves then. “Does it involve soccer?”

“Well, no. But –”

“Then, no. We aren’t going to talk about things.”

The sun is setting, and the sky is all burnt orange, illuminating the golden strands of his hair. I rub my fingers together, remembering the velvety feel of them.

That gives me the encouragement to go on. “So what, I’m supposed to run around the field until you tell me to stop?”

He gives me an inscrutable look. “That’s the idea.”

“And you’ll watch me.”

“I’ll watch you, yes.” He taps his watch with his finger. “Now get moving. We’re losing daylight.”

I cock my head to the side and give him a small smile. “Fine. If you want me to run for you, I’ll run for you. And if you want to watch, you can. But let me tell you something, Coach, I’m not afraid to make a show out of it.” Then I lower my voice to a whisper. “For you.”

And that’s what I do. I give him a show.

I pump my bare legs and run around the field. I smile at him every time our eyes meet. And he watches me and that smile with a ticking jaw and narrowed eyes.

And when we’re done, I untie my hair and shake it out. Because he likes me messy.

I even stretch out my muscles for a few minutes.

Once that’s done, I bend down slowly to collect all my things. All in front of him, all part of a show.

I have no idea where I learned these things but I’m not going to stop myself now.

“Thanks for the lesson,” I tell him when I walk over to his still-immobile and watching form all sweaty and flushed. “I think we really worked on my knees and my posture, don’t you? Can’t wait until you work on me more.”

Okay, so maybe that last line was a little cheesy.

But whatever.

I never said I’m the goddess of seduction. I’m only Salem, a girl with witchy eyes and a witchy name. Not a witchy heart though.

I ride the high of that win – and I do think it’s a win because his veins were bursting out of his tanned skin and his jugular was perpetually taut by the end of our session – until I find a note in my locker the next day.

That was quite a show you put on for me yesterday. I’ll admit that I underestimated you. You looked really determined as you ran around the field, bouncing your little legs and working hard for me like you were interviewing for a job position.

As tempting a candidate as you are, I’m afraid I’ll have to decline the offer of you spreading those legs for me and volunteering up your swollen and tight and pouty pussy for my pleasure.

At this time, I’m looking for someone more experienced. Someone who doesn’t come just by riding my thigh and me playing with her nipples. Someone with an actual résumé of fucking. So I don’t have to waste my time teaching her basic skills such as how to suck my big, fat cock or how to ride it.

Someone with whom I can skip to the part where I fuck all my frustrations out.

Good luck, next time.

I almost crumple his note when I finish it. I almost dash upstairs to his office and slap him in the face for being such an asshole.

Throughout the day, his words echo in my head and they’re still echoing when I’m at the library with Poe, Callie and Wyn working on my trig homework. Maybe that’s why I miss Arrow walking down the aisle. But my girls don’t miss him.

In fact, Poe even calls him over. “Hey, Coach. Fancy seeing you here.”

My head’s bent and I was about to write something down on my notebook – though I can’t remember what – when I feel him walking up to our table in the corner.

As soon as he reaches the desk, Callie bursts forth, “Are you looking for something in particular? A book, perhaps.”

I am going to kill her, Callie and Poe both.

“Maybe we can help you look,” Wyn says, and I add her to my list.

I thought they were my friends. I thought they cared about me.

In all fairness, they don’t know anything. As in, they don’t know his secrets – the fake injury and the cheating; and mine – that I’m in love with him.

All they know is that I blush really hard when he comes around and disappear in bars when I see him standing in a corner. And sometimes I stare off into the distance for long periods of time.