Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 36551 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 183(@200wpm)___ 146(@250wpm)___ 122(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 36551 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 183(@200wpm)___ 146(@250wpm)___ 122(@300wpm)
Ugh.
Shame washes over me for even thinking his smile was cute. If I didn’t know the truth about what happened with Mr. Thompson, I’d think I have issues with crushing on teachers. But, since Mr. Thompson was fabricated by Lucy, this is technically the first time I thought a teacher was attractive.
Oh, so Mr. Langford’s attractive now?
I’m able to put it out of my mind while I grab my iced coffee at my favorite place and find a good parking spot up front at the school. As I shut off the car, I can’t help but think about Mr. Langford’s concerned expression when he saw me sitting in my car yesterday afternoon.
I sigh heavily as I grab my stuff and climb out of the car. Yesterday was just stressful. I’m sure today, I’ll look at him and realize he’s just another teacher. Not cute at all.
A guy in a pickup truck nearby rudely eyefucks me as I walk toward the school. Suddenly I’m self-conscious of what I’m wearing. It’s weird not wearing a uniform each day. Absently, with my free hand, I tug at my probably too-short shorts’ hem. These are my favorite pair because they make my golden-tanned legs seem longer and really accentuate how cute my butt is. My T-shirt is black and cropped just enough you can see my stomach if I lift my arms. It used to be one of Cason’s rock band shirts, but I stole it, cut it, and made it mine. Looks better on me anyway.
Feeling a little more confident, I lift my chin and make my way inside the stinky school building. Coach Long, like yesterday, stands sentry at his door, glowering at all who pass. I offer him a friendly smile to which he ignores.
Someone mutters the word, “Slut,” when I pass. Before I can even flinch, Coach Long overhears and saves the day.
“Detention, Carter. Today.”
I glance over at Coach Long and give him a grateful smile. He nods slightly but doesn’t smile back. When I reach the classroom, the door is locked and it’s dark inside.
The greenhouse.
I’m looking forward to playing in dirt again today. Yesterday, it was a cool break from reality. At my private school, they were heavily focused on white collar career education, so we had plenty of finance, law, and even medical electives. No shop classes or home economics or agricultural education.
When I step inside the greenhouse, the space is only a quarter full of students. Mr. Langford has his back to the class as he shuffles through supplies in one corner. As I take my seat at the picnic table, I can’t help but sneak a peek at him. I’m a people watcher and there’s something about him I’m curious of.
Where Coach Long wears athletic pants and T-shirts, Mr. Langford is in crisply starched gray slacks, black loafers, and a white long-sleeved dress shirt that he’s rolled the sleeves up on. His chocolate-brown hair is cut neat on the sides and a little longer up top. I note that he’s not as broad as Coach Long, but you can tell his back is muscular based on how his shirt stretches across his form.
A flash of heat dances over my skin.
Stop looking at him and noticing every little detail. These kids around you already have enough to talk about. Don’t give them more ammo.
As I wait for the rest of the class to arrive, I ignore my buzzing phone and let my mind wander to that embarrassing day in the dean’s office. The entire situation was awkward for everyone involved. I couldn’t even look at Mr. Thompson knowing he’d seen me without my shirt and most of my breasts showing. Even if it was against his will, he still saw me half naked. When our eyes met for a brief moment, his face turned redder than a tomato and he made a sour expression as if I disgusted him.
“Good morning, Addison.”
I snap my head up to meet the warm, inviting green eyes of Mr. Langford. The memory of my humiliation quickly fades as I admire his smile. He really does have a cute smile.
“Hi.” I bite on my bottom lip, so I don’t start yammering to him. Anxiety makes me yap sometimes.
His eyes narrow and his features tighten as he zeroes in on my mouth. I release my lip from my nervous grip and taste the metallic flavor of blood. He steps away to grab a tissue and returns to hand it to me.
“Everything okay?” he asks, voice low enough for only me to hear.
I take the tissue and accidentally touch his smooth fingers. It sends a shiver down my spine despite the warmth of the sun shining in through the windows. Quickly, I dabble at the small cut I inflicted on myself.
“It will be,” I say honestly, releasing a resigned sigh. “I’m trying.”