Did it help? No.
Do I still think about her? Hell, yes.
I should stop.
This won’t have a happily ever after.
But I can’t.
I won’t.
The next day drags. Speech and Debate is the kind of class that is very hit-and-miss. If you have a few intellectual students in class, it’s the most fulfilling and exhilarating thing that can happen to you as a teacher—which is why I picked this subject over anything else. But if you are working with a bunch of idiots, you’re kind of wondering why the hell you were so hell-bent on becoming a teacher in the first place. My undergraduate degree is in law. I’m very good at what I do. I can make a good living out of it. A living that includes a six-figure salary, sports cars, and friends in high places. Instead, I made a conscious decision to teach others the art of debate. Hopefully, by the time my job is done here, every student of mine will be able to bullshit their way out of a murder case without breaking a sweat.
I stride in the hallway at the end of the day toward my class, ready to grade some papers. It’s going to be a long evening, but I have my can of Cherry Coke and my cigarettes for my break—shit, I smoke full-time now, since I discovered Ryan was right under my nose—I can’t even complain when Shelly asks me to buy her a pack.
I open the door to my classroom, lock it for good measure—I hate to be interrupted when I read and grade papers—spin around, and see Remington Stringer sitting in the front row, her designated seat, looking me straight in the eye.
“School is over,” I growl, perhaps a little too aggressively, but we need some space between us. Fast. This is getting out of control. The last thing I need right now is more Remington time, but I guess that’s the least I can do seeing as I’m about to take the only person who is there for her soon.
“I know.” She shrugs, popping a fruity gum that sends shivers down my spine. She smells damn good, and that’s another problem with her sitting so close to me. “But I’ve decided to keep my detention time with you. You’re here, anyway, so why do you care?”
“Because it’s both inappropriate and pointless,” I shoot out, scrubbing my two-day stubble.
“I would have to disagree with both assessments, Mr. James. There is nothing inappropriate with me doing my homework in your class while you’re grading papers, and it actually does have a point, because as you’re well aware, I have enough distractions at home. It’s hardly a suitable environment to study in.”
She does well in my class, and I know exactly what she goes home to. I’ll give her that. And I’m too tired to argue, anyway. At least here, I know she’s safe. From him, anyway.
I walk over to my desk and dump the stack of papers. Her eyes are following me. I arrange my red and black pens, take out my laptop, then check my phone for messages from my parents and Shelly. All throughout, she is still watching me. And I like it. I shouldn’t, but I do.
“Eyes on your work, Stringer.”
She licks her bottom lip slowly and blinks once. I do the same, but hell if I meet her gaze. Not going to give her that power over me. She’s just a goddamn kid.
Only she doesn’t seem like a kid.
“I’m wet,” she murmurs. My eyes snap up.
“What the hell did you just say to me?”
“I bet,” she corrects, her smile casual, “that you’re not as cranky after hours, Mr. James.”
“You won’t find out either way,” I mumble, dropping into my seat.
“I already do. You gave me a ride, remember?”
Of course, I remember. I wanted to walk right into her house and rip Ryan to shreds. To reach right into his chest and stop his heart from beating. But I say nothing. I should kick her out. The protocol would advise me to do so, very strongly. Actually, I’m already crossing boundaries just listening to her dirty little mouth telling me that she is aroused. I should be dragging her by the ear to the headmaster’s office and slapping her with detention for the rest of the year. But I don’t play into her game. She wants me to do just that. Wants more detention. More attention. Honestly, she should and would be expelled for the type of shit she’s pulling if anyone else knew.
“Miss Stringer, I’d hate for you to kill your only chance of getting into a decent college without having to strip your way through, and for what? A crush? Cut the bullshit.”
I stripped myself from niceties and hit her with the uncomfortable truth. Because that’s the reality of things. Remington Stringer is going to be stuck here forever if she doesn’t snap out of it, and she does have a crush on me. The fact that the feeling is mutual is beside the point.
She doesn’t submit under my stare, nor does she seem fazed. Any other student would be in tears by now. I don’t take shit from anyone. And I’ve made more than one student cry when I crushed their little student-teacher fantasy. But this girl is not scared. She is programmed differently. I can see that.
“You wouldn’t jeopardize my future.” Her big, red smile widens, and she slacks against the back of her seat, drawing lazy circles with her black fingernails over the flash of her cleavage.
“Oh? And why is that?”
“You like me too much.”