I snort and go to walk away, but she moves with me.
“Please? I really want you to come with me.”
“I don’t know, Len.”
As we stop outside our first period classroom, I can see the moment it clicks for Lennon. She peeks in and spots Asher sitting at his desk, then turns back to me.
“You know, Mr. Hawthorne is the football coach this year.”
Groaning, my head thumps back against the wall. “And, your point?”
“Meaning, he’ll be at the game.”
She bounces her eyebrows seductively, knowing all about my lady boner for our English teacher. In my defense, he was my one night stand weeks before he became my teacher. However, I’d be lying if I said the whole person-of-authority thing isn’t a turn-on. Between the way he took control the night we spent together, and the way he looks in that suit—it’s a lethal fucking mix.
“Fine,” I cave. “But we’re taking my car.”
Lennon chuckles. “Yes, because I’m going to complain about riding in your expensive-ass Lamborghini. That thing is better than sex.”
“You’ve never had sex.”
“Ugh,” she groans as we turn into the classroom. “Just rub it in, why don’t you?”
I’M ONLY HALFWAY THROUGH class and ready to rip Skye’s eyes out of her head. I swear to God, the way she gawks at Asher, unashamed and like she’s mentally undressing him in her mind— it’s fucking infuriating. Doesn’t she know to be discreet?
It’s been five full days of having to sit in here with him for an hour and a half every day, and each time it gets harder. He’s the most laid-back teacher I have, probably due to the fact that he doesn’t want to be here in the first place, and if the sight of him didn’t make me want to jump his bones, he would probably be my favorite. However, how can a teacher be your favorite when they absolutely refuse to even look at you?
Sometimes, when I’m trying to focus on the assignment he gave us, because redoing my senior year for a third time isn’t something I’m up for, I can feel someone’s gaze burning into me. It’s intense, with a tension there that’s completely unmatched, but whenever I look up, it goes away, and I don’t find anyone staring back at me.
Does he really have to look that good all the time? I’m honestly not sure what’s worse—having to look at him in a suit every day, or knowing exactly what he looks like underneath it.
“Okay, who can tell me the main plot of the book so far?” he asks, walking around to lean against the front of his desk.
As he crosses his arms in front of his chest, the fabric of his shirt stretches across his bulging muscles. I bite my lip to suppress the moan that wants to leave as I remember what those babies can do. The way he held me up against the wall, and then carried me across the hotel room. Fuck.
I’m so lost in my pornographic daydream that I don’t even notice I was called on until Lennon nudges me with her elbow. I look around and realize that all eyes are on me, including Asher’s for the first time since our little spat in this very room.
“I’m sorry, what?”
He clears his throat. “The plot of the book. What is it?”
The answer is there, right at the tip of my tongue, in the front of my mind, but it’s blocked by images of him doing magical things to me with his mouth and the way his muscles flex when he cums.
I shrug. “I have no idea.”
“See me after class, Miss Callahan.” He shakes his head and moves onto someone else.
Oakley leans toward me with his fist covering his mouth. “Way to go, firecracker. First week of school and you’re already in trouble.”
“Says the guy who has already skipped four classes. Who are you trying to be, me?”
“That depends,” he smirks. “Are guys like you your type?”
“Mr. Beckett, something you’d like to share with the class?”
The grin drops right off Oakley’s face, as if he actually finds Asher to be intimidating. Then again, I’m yet to see what he’s like during football practice. If it’s anything like the way he is in bed, all bossy and demanding, they’re screwed. Shit, there I go again, thinking about what he’s like in bed. Ugh.
Oakley shakes his head and centers himself in his seat. “No, sir.”
Asher nods slowly. “Keep your attention on me and off her, or you won’t be starting in tonight’s game. Got it?”
“Yes, sir.”
The bell rings and everyone gets up. I take my time, knowing I won’t be leaving just yet. Lennon gives me a look that silently wishes me luck as she walks out the door with the rest of the class. Once they’re gone and we’re left alone, Asher turns to face me. I grab my things and make my way toward him.
“You wanted to see me?”
He hums then looks out the door to make sure no one is around. “You need to pay more attention in class.”
I snort. “Is that all?”
“No. You also need to refrain from biting your lip—at least while you’re in here.”
At the sound of his words, a whole new dose of confidence flows throughout my body. I take a step closer and let my eyes take over his body. I bet that suit would look a whole lot better on the classroom floor.
“And why’s that?” I ask, biting my lip teasingly. “Can’t handle it?”
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. “Tessa.”
It’s difficult to contain my amusement, but I manage to do it as I run my hand down his arm. “What’s wrong, Asher?”
In a swift move, he grabs my wrist and holds it firmly away from his body. “Stop. This isn’t the time or the place to play your little games.”
“And when is the time? While we’re making flirty eyes across a bar, or when you get me alone in a hotel suite?” I stick my tongue out seductively while he watches, not saying anything. “You remember that night, don’t you? The way you made me scream for hours?”
Just when I think I’m starting to get somewhere, he releases me and steps away. “Not going to happen, Callahan. Now go, you have a class to get to—part of being a student.”
Rolling my eyes, I turn on my heels and walk out of the room. Asher may think he’s the one in control, but he just slipped up. Now I know one of his weaknesses, and I’m going to use it to play him like a violin.
I PULL UP TO the dance studio, ignoring all the people who gawk at my car as I get out. The music from inside can be heard from the sidewalk, and I can see Lennon dancing through the window. She’s so talented, with the things she can do with her body. It’s incredible.
And then there’s Brady. Twenty-three years old and looking like a fucking God, Brady Laurence is everything sexual fantasies are made of—and as straight as a circle. Maybe if he was flamboyant and had rainbows and glitter coming out of his ass, it would be easier to not be attracted to him. Unfortunately for girls everywhere, that’s not the case. He’s 180 pounds of muscle and pure manly man, except for maybe the fact that he’s a better dancer than most. Although, in his defense, that’s what happens when you grow up with your mom owning the studio.