Page 18 of The Teacher of Nothing
Willa: See you tomorrow. Thanks again.
I toss my phone away from me onto the bed. The last thing I need to do is reply and call her sweetheart or beautiful oranything else to get my ass in trouble. With a grumble of annoyance, I yank off the towel around my waist, grab a bottle of lube, and fuck my fist in an effort to relieve some of this built-up tension.
All it does is make me crave her more.
Fantasize about my dick inside her and her lips on mine.
I’m going to have to figure out something to get this girl out of my head. This is getting out of control.
Willa
Friends.
Such a loaded word, especially for someone who doesn’t ever make friends. Maybe to someone like Mr. Park—er, Callum—it’s a word that’s tossed around easily. But for me, it actually means something.
A friend is someone you can depend on.
Yesterday, not only did he defend me and do his best to protect me from what Levi had done, but he also checked on me later.
I’m sure texting with your student is a big no-no.
I certainly won’t be telling anyone. It can be our secret.
My skin flushes. I’m going to see him soon. With thoughts of Callum next period comes the dread of having to see Levi. I’d managed to escape this morning without a run-in with anyone in my family, including Mom, but I can’t avoid my stepbrother forever.
As the clock ticks by too slowly, I agonize over texting Callum again. Was our conversation last night just a one-time thing? Would he reply if I texted him today? I’m itchy with nerves, once again confused about this thing between us.
“Psst.”
I jerk my head to the left to find Dempsey Park smirking at me. He’s like a younger version of Callum—same floppy dark hair, though minus a few grays at the temples, same icy blueeyes, same intensity that clearly runs through the family blood. But where Callum is all fitted suits and impeccable perfection, Dempsey is the opposite.
He wears a lot of black. Black concert tees. Black, holey jeans. Black boots. Even the leather bracelets he wears around his wrists are black. Every bit the bad boy his reputation warns of.
“What?” I mouth, frowning at being the object of his attention in the middle of class.
“Got a pencil I can borrow?” His eyes flash with mischief. “Pretty please.”
I study him for a moment, wondering if he’s messing with me. Hot guys like him don’t normally talk to me. But, then again, hot teachers don’t talk to me either. Seems like it’s just one of those weeks.
“Uh, sure,” I mutter. “In my, uh, bag.”
For some lame reason, my skin flames red-hot. I lean down and dig in my bag, hunting down a pencil. A cool draft skates across my chest. It’s then I remember the V-neck shirt I wore today in my effort to be “sexy” for Callum.
And I just gave Dempsey an eyeful.
Jerking my head up, I discover him peeking right down my shirt. He bites down on his bottom lip, clearly satisfied at the show. I gasp, pressing my hand to my chest, ending his view. Mortified, I grab a pencil and offer it to him.
“Here.”
He takes the pencil, a grin tugging at his lips. “Red bra. Nice. Who are you trying to impress today, Reyes?”
Oh my God.
I want to crawl into a hole and die. Kill me now.
If I were like his sister, feisty and confident, I might tell him, “Your brother.” But I’m not. Instead, I discretely flip him the bird. He barks out a laugh of surprise, earning him a warning from the teacher.
Thankfully, the bell rings and I’m rescued from this whole stupid incident. It’s a reminder of why I wear baggy clothes a lot of the time. I don’t like bringing attention to my appearance. I like blending in and going unseen.
