Page 29 of The Prom

It’s been less than twenty-four hours since Imogen left through my kitchen window and I’ve dodged Principal Constable for most of it.

She wouldn’t leave, despite my hints, and I spent the entire evening fending off her advances without laying out the fact that I don’t find her attractive—at all.

She finally left at nine pm and popped up before class, asking for a breakfast meeting. When I took lunch, she joined me and flirted outrageously and I’m almost certain she will be waiting for me when the class finishes. Thankfully, I have a free period and as I head to the car, I take a deep breath and attempt to get my head back into the reason I am here in the first place. Imogen.

The kiss was a distraction. I’m not saying I didn’t want to—ache for it even, but she was asking too many questions and it was too close for comfort.

If anything, the principal did me a favor and diffused a situation that should never have occurred in the first place and as I head toward the academy gates, I wonder how this will end tonight.

I see her waiting, a slight figure with a cowboy hat pulled down over her silky hair. A plaid shirt is tied around her waist, her white vest hugging those curves that have no business being so tempting. She is wearing jeans tucked into white cowboy boots and her eyes are covered with mirrored shades and fuck me, I’m hard already as I imagine riding that particular cowgirl into oblivion.

I stop and she wastes no time in jumping in and smiles. “This feels like a covert operation.”

“And you would know a lot about those, I suppose?”

I raise my eyes and she giggles as she fastens her safety belt.

“I do as it happens.”

“What are you, a spy now?”

I tease her and she laughs softly, a sound that is like sweet music in my ear.

“Not personally, but through association.”

“Tell me about it.”

She takes my question literally.

“My father’s work takes him off on what many call missions. He can be gone for days and we don’t know when he’ll be back.”

“What does he do?”

“Missions.” She grins and I beat down the urge to pull over and revisit what we started yesterday. Why the fuck did she dress like every fantasy I ever had and she has no business looking so desirable when she is out of bounds?

We head off onto the highway and it’s awkward as fuck because I am finding it extremely hard to voice my thoughts.

“So, what did the principal want?”

Her innocent question does a good job of lightening the atmosphere, and I groan. “Me.”

“No way.”

She laughs out loud and I snap, “I’m glad you find that funny. I spent the entire evening fabricating a childhood sweetheart called Sonia, who is the love of my life.”

“Sonia?” she chuckles softly. “I’m guessing Sonia wouldn’t be happy if she knew you were kissing your students and then spiriting them away in your car.”

“She’d be okay with it.” I grin. “We have an open relationship.”

“Obviously, that doesn’t extend to the principal.”

I shiver with revulsion. “Definitely not.”

“So, tell me about Sonia.”

Imogen raises her eyes and I wink. “She’s gorgeous. Much like you, really. Tall, slim, blonde and the prettiest girl I have ever seen.”

“She sounds like a stereotype.”

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