Page 2 of Forever the Bully
“Let me help.” The offer shouldn’t sound like a demand, but she scrambles my brains. Among the faculty, I have a reputation for being distant and standoffish at the best of times. Not by choice, but because I have a difficult time connecting with my peers.
Always have.
As a kid, no one thought it was particularly odd the only child of parents who never should have procreated didn’t hang out with friends or spend time on the playground. It wasn’t until I reached my teens people started to notice the only time they saw me was in a classroom or on an athletic field.
I was only ever allowed to be the best. The perfect one. Faster, smarter, better than all the other kids. My whole existence was built on showing my father he’d made the right decision in marrying my mother when she turned up pregnant. Proving myself worth sticking around for. As a result, I’d been an insufferable prick as a teenager. In my inability to relate to others and fit in, I’d lashed out and been a jerk to anyone whostood in the way of my being the best. At everything. It made me a bully. And bullies don’t have friends.
By college, I’d learned to fake it until I made it, finally forming a few friendships with students my own age. I developed some interests that helped me connect with my cohorts and share hobbies and pursuits aside from the sports at which my father had expected me to excel. Foolish me. I didn’t anticipate having to put in that same effort to fit in with my peer group as an adult. Now, I know what my fellow teachers think about me.
I’m a snob. Stuck up. A real loner asshole. The irony? Kids think I’m cool now. The kids I would have mocked for being nerds when I was a teenager like me now.
“Help how?” Her suspicious question drags me back to the topic at hand.
Hazel’s got a problem, and I’ve got a solution. An idea hits me like a lightning bolt. A way to solve her crisis, convince my fellow teachers I’m not the sanctimonious prick they assume I am because I don’t loiter in the staff lounge, griping about my students, and lamenting the end to weekends of drunken revelry.
“I’ll pay for Britt’s truck repair.” I barely fumble the offer at all.
“Why?” She’s still suspicious.
“Why would I help a coworker when they’re clearly in need and I have the ability to do so?” I don’t think she likes my question in response to her question.
“Why would you want to help me? You think I’m a clueless Muppet with more nail polish than brains.” Now, she’s not suspicious. She’s outright glaring at me as if I stole the last powdered donut in the breakroom.
“I…never said that?” I’m wracking my memories, trying to think of any time I might have said anything even remotely similar about her.
“Sure, but that’s only because you lack the artistic flair to come up with something so descriptive. But I see how you look at me.” Even a social rookie like me can hear the challenge.
“Look at you how?” Just because I hear the challenge doesn’t mean I can rise above it. Clearly.
“Like you’re imagining how my puzzle pieces manage to be wildly jumbled and impossible to decipher.”
I get the impression, if she weren’t seated in her car, she’d be stomping her foot and slamming her hands onto her hips.
Shapely hips. Ones I’ve spent hours daydreaming of cradling in my hands while driving my cock into her from behind or bouncing her on my lap while holding on to. Forcing my attention back to this moment and not my fantasies takes effort, but I promise myself it’ll be worth it.
“I assure you you’ve misinterpreted what’s going on in my head. Nonetheless, I’m proposing a deal. I’ll pay for the truck’s repairs if you’ll give me a month of your time, pretending to be my girlfriend.”
“Your girlfriend? Why?” The level of incredulity in her response is a real kick to the ego, that’s for sure. I do some quick thinking, an excuse tumbling out before the idea’s completely formed.
“If you’re dating me, the rest of the faculty will have to wonder what you see in me. They’ll realize I’m not a snobby loner who thinks he’s better than they are.”
Do I really care what my colleagues think of me? No. But it’s a reason she can understand. One that doesn’t pressure her to return my feelings. Buys me time to win her over.
The longer I think about the hasty plan, the more I like it. I definitely like the way my explanation has her eyes softening andwarm concern pooling in the shiny brown depths of them. Yeah, this was a good idea. Maybe, my best one ever.
Chapter Three
Hazel
Hurried footsteps across the gravel walkway between the sports fields and the teacher’s lot herald Principal Britt’s arrival on the scene. They also narrow my options. Door number one is near certain job loss and humiliation. Door two is a month on the arm of a man who thinks he can buy out of his reputation for being a stuck-up jerk.
Rock, hard place, me.
“Fake dating?” I clarify.
“Uh, yeah. Keep it simple.” He doesn’t add the last word of the saying, but I hear him loud and clear.Keep it simple, stupid. Because in Jeremiah Graley’s head, we’re all stupid.
“Fine. Okay. You pay the repairs, and I’ll get everyone to think we’re madly in love and you’re the nicest teacher on campus. Because that’s believable. Okay. Yes. I can do this.” I’m rambling, but nerves and anxiety are staging a pirates-versus-ninjas battle in my guts right now.
