Page 8 of The Teacher of Nothing
His rumbling, authoritative tone. The expensive, manly scent of his cologne that fills my nostrils each time I enter this classroom. A comforting presence, warming me to my core.
When I glance up, a flash of heat rushes through me. He’s no longer wearing his suit jacket and stands with his back to us, writing out a few terms we’ll need to know. The writing on the smartboard is the same neat scrawl that he’d written “Nice work” on my test.
As much as I want to stare at his ass that seems to be the real object of study right now, I buckle down and focus on his notes instead. My life might be a mess, but above all, I’m a good student. Especially for him.
I’d give just about anything for another wink.
Anything for more of his praise.
Callum
Rage bubbles up inside me. It’s taking everything in me not to lose my shit on the entire class. I need to focus on my lecture, but I’m physically vibrating with fury. My voice is tight and clipped as I recite my notes. I wish I’d had a pop quiz prepared that I could give them so I could cool off a bit.
As much as I want that innocent, sweet thing on her knees with my aching cock in her pretty mouth, it’s not the reason she’s passing my class with nearly a perfect grade. She earned it. Studied while all the other idiots in here were goofing off.
Times like these, I’m reminded why it probably wasn’t a good idea for me to become a teacher. Where most people go into education because of honorable intentions, I’d done it to piss off my father.
We’re Parks.
That means we make money, not shape the futures of others.
But, since he knocked up my goddamn girlfriend my senior year of high school, I made it my sole mission to do the opposite of his wishes.
Rather than become an attorney like Hugo or a finance mogul like Jude, I decided to teach. It pleases me to no end that I’m an embarrassment to my father.
The feeling is mutual.
Riotous laughter explodes from behind me, chasing off thoughts of my father and bringing me to the present. I swivelaround to face the class. It takes considerable effort not to look at Willa, but I somehow manage. Barely. Instead, I focus on the source of the disruption.
Levi.
He’s not-so-discreetly showing his phone to one of his friends. While he’s distracted, I storm over to him. A shocked grunt escapes him when I snap his phone out of his hands.
“Dude, hey, give it back,” he grinds out. “Seriously.”
“I’m curious, Mr. Paulson, what could be so important on this phone.” I look down at the screen and frown. “What is this?”
Levi shrugs. “Nothing.”
Nothing?
There’s a picture of a woman sleeping face down on a bed, her white shirt riding up to reveal a pair of pink panties.
“Porn?” I demand.
“She wishes,” Levi mutters.
Something in his tone unnerves me. “She?”
“I said it was nothing,” Levi grunts. “I’ll put my phone away. Scout’s honor.”
Ignoring him, I swipe to the left. A different picture, but the same person based on the fact the bedding is the same. This picture is of a naked breast, a man’s hand in the picture as he lifts a black shirt to reveal it. I swipe again and my blood runs cold.
Pretty pink lips parted in oblivious slumber.
My brain can’t compute what I’m seeing. It’s her. It’s Willa fucking Reyes. Why in the hell does Levi have these pictures of her?
I’m going to kill this kid.
