Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 111089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 555(@200wpm)___ 444(@250wpm)___ 370(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 555(@200wpm)___ 444(@250wpm)___ 370(@300wpm)
I was seated on the edge of my desk, cracking another of my little jokes, finally earning a few chuckles from the tough crowd, when the door opened. A late arrival, not unusual on the first day, but then I saw who it was.
Kyle.
I stood up quickly, my instinct being that he’d come with important news, but as I noticed his clothes, no longer cloaked behind the poncho—dark-wash jeans, white crew-neck tee, and a leather jacket matching his black Converse with black laces—I realized I’d been mistaken.
And fuuuck.
His gaze met mine, and that familiar warm smile he’d offered that morning returned. “Sorry I’m late.” He winked as he breezed past me.
Late.
I froze in place, hardly able to process what was happening around me.
A student. Of course he was a fucking student.
How had I misread that so completely? But given his temperament outside and his goodwill, it hadn’t even crossed my mind. And now that he sat down at a desk, I looked around—almost to check my sanity—and among the other kids he did look much older.
I was certain my face was blushing so much, it had to be at least the color of my shirt. Fortunately, he didn’t look at me, just folded his arms.
No book, no folders, the sort of guy I figured could easily be a problem student.
As his eyes met mine once again, I swallowed, feeling much more intimidated than before he’d entered the room.
2
Kyle
I’d been sitting in my car, listening to the rain complementing my playlist as specks of water rattled against my windshield, mentally prepping myself for my final shitty year at Wyachet High. I was supposed to meet Ben to help the journalism teacher move some equipment, but he was running late. Typical Ben.
The pink shirt was impossible to miss as a man passed by my car, heading toward the building from the faculty lot. I’d thought I’d been ridiculous for grabbing Uncle Tex’s big-ass poncho from the closet when I couldn’t find the umbrella. But seeing this guy getting drenched assured me I’d made the right decision.
When I’d seen the stranger take that dive in the lot, I hadn’t wasted a moment. He’d fallen out of view so fast, I was worried he might have been hurt. I was relieved when I’d arrived to discover he was fine, just soaked.
I’d expected him to be appreciative of my help, but it wasn’t until we got into the restroom that I realized…holy shit, this guy thought I was a fucking teach. Could’ve just punched me in the nuts if he’d wanted to piss me off.
I’d assumed he must’ve known some kid in jeans and Converse couldn’t have been a teacher, but then I remembered Tex’s goddamn poncho cloaked all the obvious indicators. And he wouldn’t have been the first to think I was in my twenties.
I should have corrected him. It would have taken a second, but something about the fact that he must’ve already felt like a fool enough as it was, made me think the best thing to do was to get the hell out of there. Odds were I’d only ever see him in passing in the halls. He’d feel a little silly for the error but move on.
But as I found an available seat, third row back, near the window, I kept wishing he would have given me his last name so I would have noticed it on my schedule and been ready for this BS situation.
I wondered if he thought I was trying to dupe him earlier. Surely, he knew that a total asshole wouldn’t have bothered to help him out. But then again, when did anyone in this town ever give me the benefit of the doubt?
“Kyle, right?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“You guys are lucky,” he said, addressing the class. “I had a tumble into a puddle this morning and learned just how see-through this shirt was. Was close to you guys calling me Mr. Nipples throughout the rest of the semester.”
The class laughed, and we caught each other’s gazes.
He wore a friendly smile.
I was shocked.
Any other teacher might have been too proud to mention it, but not James—Mr. Warner, according to the schedule. That he’d acknowledged it made it easy for me to breathe a sigh of relief, even though nothing made me cringe more than being made the center of attention during class.
He delivered a syllabus to me before moving right along with his introduction, surely having won the class over with his Mr. Nipples remark. Although, as he went on, I learned right away that he was all about a cheesy joke as he made comments about plans and projects for the semester. He was doing his best to win us over, and I would have been lying if I’d said it wasn’t working on me just as easily as it had in the restroom, with his adorable dimples and those beautiful brown eyes behind a pair of glasses.