Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 83221 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83221 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
With shaking hands, I shove my test into my backpack and then pull out my computer. It feels like everyone is watching me.
Except for Mr. Park.
It’s almost as though he’s avoiding looking at me. Is he embarrassed too? To be called out for our flirtatious exchange?
Dread coils in the pit of my stomach.
Maybe I should request a schedule change. I’ll have him next semester too. Can I really put up with another several months of feeling like this?
Each of my breaths grows more shallow than the previous ones. I’m lightheaded and dizzy. Panic attacks aren’t unusual for me, but they don’t often happen at school. Home is where these feelings tend to render me immobile.
Breathe, Willa. Breathe.
It’s hard to breathe, though, when you feel your world closing in around you. My vision darkens around the edges and I fear I might pass out. Because that won’t be embarrassing or anything.
Mr. Park’s deep voice draws me out of my inner turmoil. As he begins his lecture, discussing statistical inference and confidence intervals, the tension in my neck and shoulders slowly releases. I fall victim to the hypnotic, calming cadence of his words.
All my worries, for a moment, have ceased to exist.
The only thing remaining is him.
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 swivel around 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.
Murder him with my bare fucking hands.