Chapter 5 #3
That Jaeger bracelet—three thin brown leather straps securing an emblem of a snake wrapped around an hourglass, matching the tattoo on the front of his shoulder—is tied around his wrist, drawing attention to his forearms and beautiful fingers.
His chest is broader, his stomach just as tight, and he looks better not dressed in jeans. I like this view.
I’m sure he likes the teenage girls here and their crushes, too.
Leaning against the doorframe, I slide my hands into my pockets. “How old are your students this year?” I ask.
He twists his head to me, and I feel my stomach drop a little just like it did when I was seventeen.
Sophia keeps working, unfazed.
Dallas places another desk in a group. “Rising seniors.”
I almost smile. How poetic.
“I remember my summer at that age.” I look toward him with a hooded gaze. “Do you?”
He glances at me as he works, amusement playing on his face. “Yeah.”
If I’d cared about having the whole world know my business, I could’ve ended anything good in his life right then and there, but I don’t want to see him in jail. I want him to beg me to stop.
I draw in a deep breath. “I wanted to fuck all the time,” I muse in a low voice, “and I couldn’t come enough.”
I’d never felt so good.
“The last place I wanted to be that summer was in a classroom,” I go on. “But still, I learned things.”
“I don’t think you learned anything,” he replies.
I cock my eyebrow. Really? And what the fuck does he know about me?
He sets down another desk, looks up, and approaches me. “I think you’re all talk,” he whispers, closing in, “and just as boring as you ever were.”
He rests his hand on the frame over my head and leans in, and I fight not to back up as the hair on the back of my neck rises.
“And I wish,” he tells me, “this would be the last time I’d ever have to suffer your fucking face looking at me.”
I press my teeth together so hard my jaw aches, and I don’t realize my fingers are curled into fists until my nails dig into my palms.
Motherfucker.
Dallas holds my eyes, his gleaming with satisfaction that I don’t have a response. “What are you going to do?” His deep voice reaches down into my chest and squeezes. “Cancel my class? Fire me? Tell everyone what we did that summer? God, do it,” he tells me. “Please.”
He inches his face in, begging me to try. To hit him. To shove him away.
“But you won’t.” He backs up, grinning. “It would get me out of your life, and you don’t want that.”
My pulse races, the scent of his soap making something stir low in my stomach. In a split second, it’s five years ago, and I’m waking up to a freshly showered body climbing back into bed with me, wanting round two.
He used to smoke sometimes, but he probably doesn’t want to smell like that here.
He returns to his work. “But I’ll always remember my first student.”
Yeah, you will. You have no idea what’s about to happen.
“Sophia,” I bark. “It’s time to go.”
She leans into her picture more. “I have my bike,” she says sweetly.
“It’s raining.”
But she doesn’t seem to hear me. Instead, she beams at me over her shoulder. “Callum, come see.”
“Sophia!” I growl.
But she immediately bows her head and whimpers, placing her hands over her ears. Her spine rises and falls as she takes deep breaths, and I blink long and hard. Fuck me.
Goddammit! I’m not going to get her out of here without a full-blown meltdown.
I flit my scowl to Dallas, straightening my spine as his grin is now gone and his cold gaze bores into me.
“Son of a bitch,” I bite out under my breath.
Crossing the room, I slowly reach up both of my hands, taking one of hers in my gentle grasp.
Little groans leave her in a steady pattern, and I hold her hand, looking up at all of her colors. Why the fuck can’t she be some other teacher’s helper? I don’t even think she’s allowed to paint the windows. There’s gotta be some safety regulation they’re violating.
After a few seconds, she calms and follows my gaze. “What’s your favorite part?” she asks.
I try to focus on the transparent colors, the rain and clouds looking pretty through this lens of purple and red, but all I feel is him somewhere behind me and how this is none of his business.
“Let’s go,” I tell her.
But she still looks up at me expectantly.
I soften my eyes, noting the streaks of paint on her shirt. “Anna-Katherine,” I whisper, calling her the name she prefers.
Please, let’s go, I beg with my eyes.
She gives me a small smile and caps her paints, sticking her brush in a cup of water. Hopping down from the windowsill, she walks to a desk and grabs her backpack.
I turn to Dallas. “She’s mine.”
“She’s so lucky,” he mocks.
Then he fixes his attention on her. “See you later, AK-47.”
She giggles and spins around, playing with the strap of her bag, which she now wears on her shoulders.
It doesn’t take me long to figure out what the name means. AK for Anna-Katherine.
Taking her hand, I walk us out. “You have a good night,” I tell him as we go. “I think the party will be in St. Carmen this time.”
I catch the falter in his brow as confusion sets in over my meaning, but he’ll find out tonight.