Chapter 9
EMILIA
Fuck you, Brent.
What kind of asshole sends his ex a text at two thirty in the afternoon after a month of radio silence and writes: I miss you.
Seriously.
What am I supposed to do with that?
I’ll tell you what I’m gonna do with that.
I’m going to finish this leftover sugarless, gluten-free cake from Poppy’s birthday party before Ryder’s dad shows up.
I was already a mess because I kept tossing and turning all night. And I’ve been pounding coffee all day. I need to be on my A-game for Mr. Vega. I don’t know why he rubs me the wrong way, but he does. I need to show him who’s boss in this classroom.
I need to show Brent who’s boss in my brain.
Okay, I need to show myself who’s boss in my brain.
And I need a glass of milk to go with this cake.
Shit!
And my water bottle’s empty. I’m going to have to drink the tap water from the classroom sink because I don’t have time to go to the teachers’ lounge.
Ryder should be back with his dad any minute.
I swallow the last bite of cake while filling up my water bottle and then knock back a big gulp of it…
and start choking. And spewing water all over my blouse.
My white blouse.
All over my general boob area.
So that’s fantastic.
The one day I don’t wear a cardigan to school.
Now I have to dry off my general boob area before…
“Miss Stiles?”
That fucking sexy voice that I couldn’t get out of my head last night.
I stop swearing and dabbing at my boob with the paper towel before slowly turning around to find a tall, handsome man with dark wavy hair, honey-colored skin, beautiful brown eyes, and a full mouth that I want to kiss for days.
Alefuckingjandro.
What is my sexy stranger doing in my classroom?
Am I hallucinating from too much caffeine?
Why does that smirk make me want to slap him?
Why is he looking at me like he wants to spank me and then kiss me?
Why do I want him to?
“Alejandro?” I can barely speak above a whisper.
Does he even recognize me?
My hair is up in a tight bun, and I’m wearing different glasses, dressed a lot more conservatively than I was that night at the club.
I watch his expression change as he realizes who I am.
Even when he’s confused, he has a smoldering look on his gorgeous face.
“Emmy?”
We stand still, staring at each other for what feels like a smoking hot eternity.
And then he continues walking toward me.
I can’t move. I lean back against the counter, gripping the edge of it for support.
He’s not smirking anymore. He looks so serious.
His gaze sweeps all the way down the length of me and then back up, from my flat shoes, along my bare legs and fitted black skirt, hovering around the wet, vaguely see-through boob area of my blouse, and then farther up to my mouth.
His eyes stay locked on my mouth as he closes the distance between us.
He stands a foot away from me, hands on his hips, staring down at my lips.
I can hardly breathe.
I barely remember where I am.
It’s just him and me.
I swear I can hear that song that was playing when we were kissing on the dance floor.
He slowly raises his hand up. His fingertips gently curling under my jaw as his thumb brushes the side of my mouth.
He pulls his thumb away and holds it up in front of my face.
I stare at the pink frosting on the pad of his thumb and, without thinking, lower my mouth to it and suck the frosting off.
The sweetened strawberry flavor tastes so much better mixed with the slight saltiness of his skin.
I swallow and lick my lips.
“Jesus,” he whispers. He looks bewildered, and he’s leaning in.
To kiss me.
“Shit.” I slide out of the way, fast as I can, knocking over the paint brushes and paint trays that are drying by the sink.
“Shit!” I crouch down to pick them up—because that’s the most important thing to do right now—well, the second most important thing after not making out with a guy in my classroom.
He immediately crouches down to help me pick things up.
With those sexy hands.
I’ve spent so many hours thinking about all the things I wanted those sexy hands to do to me.
They look even sexier with those leather bracelets on his wrists.
I don’t remember him having such a beautiful jawline.
I want to run my tongue all along that jawline, up to his earlobe.
I want to suck on that earlobe.
I have never been so attracted to an earlobe.
I have to clear my throat before finally asking him, “What are you doing here?”
“Ryder’s in the bathroom. I didn’t want to keep you waiting.”
I drop the paint trays and paint brushes as I stand up and step away from him.
I step away from Ryder’s dad.
From Mr. Vega.
From Alex Vega.
Alejandro the sexy stranger is Ryder’s dad.
“I didn’t…” I don’t even know how to finish that sentence.
“IIIIII’M HEEEEERE! Let’s talk about me!” The door opens, and Ryder comes bounding into the room.
My classroom.
That’s where I am.
Because I’m here to have a meeting with Ryder and Ryder’s dad.
The guy who rubs me the wrong way.
The guy I might have let rub me in all the right ways if he hadn’t bolted that night.
Fuck you, fate.