Burn for You (Flirting with Forever Book 3)

by Amanda Bailey

  “There’s no trying. Just do it or don’t.”

  Who does he think he is? It’s almost like he just channeled Yoda, but the wording was a little off. I groan as I pick up a baby carrot. Shoving it into my mouth, I’m quiet for several seconds while I chew, and my parents discuss again between them how it would affect them if I fail to get the position.

  “Look, guys, I’ve got to go. Lunch is almost over and I haven’t finished eating.”

  “Okay. Piper? You know we just want the best for you, right?”

  I prop my elbow on the desk and rest my chin on my knuckles as I look down at the phone, blinking away the haze of tears that has started to fill my eyes. “Yeah, Mom. I know.”

  We say goodbye and as soon as I hit the end button on my phone, I hear someone behind me. My shoulders hunch up, and I try to calm myself, to hide this weak side of me.

  I inhale carefully, afraid my fragile emotional state will be on display to whomever has come in and likely heard the latter half of that call. It’s not Sawyer or Hadleigh or any of the teachers in the other department who couldn’t care less about who gets the chair position for the English department. That would be too simple. It would be no huge deal if it were Kent or even Jake, who’d met my parents at a fundraiser and would probably feel sorry for me, knowing how hard they push. Not that I want Jake to choose me out of pity. I’ll get the position based on my own merit or not at all.

  There’s only one person who would take what he’d just heard and throw it right into my face, so of course, that’s exactly who it is. I know it before I even look.

  I’m sure my makeup is smudged and my face puffy, so I blink a few times and discreetly wipe under my eyes with my fingers before spinning my chair around.

  Damon stands there, legs spread in a wide, manly stance, arms crossed over his broad chest, eyeing me as if he just heard every bit of what my parents said to me.

  Great. Just great. That’s just what I need, for Damon to know that I have my family pressuring me to perform well—that they seem to care more about appearances or status or gossip than about their own daughter. I know they hadn’t realized anyone else could hear them—hell, neither had I—but, in my mind, that makes it worse. If they’d known, they never would have said any of that because they’d have thought it’d make them look bad and would reflect poorly on our picture-perfect family.

  I blindly reach back to grab another carrot off the desk and stick it in my mouth, chewing carefully as we continue the stare down.

  He nods toward my food. “You know, you should really be getting some lean protein with your lunch. Something that will fuel you for the day instead of leaving you feeling empty like your veggie lunch will.” He grunts a little, jutting his chin toward the little mini fridge we keep in the corner. “I have some chicken. Want some?”

  Why is he—ever so calmly—talking to me about adding motherfreaking chicken to my lunch? I want to scream. And why are his dark eyes looking at me with something that feels a whole lot like concern? I’d have thought the whole conversation would have delighted him—especially the part when I’d mentioned there was another qualified candidate for the position.

  “Mind your own business, Madero.”

  He shrugs and expels a quick breath. “Suit yourself.” He sits down in his chair right next to mine. He’s still watching me. I can see him out of the corner of my eye, studying me, debating with himself whether he should say anything else. If he’s not careful, the gears turning in his head are going to overheat.

  I pick up another baby carrot and chomp down on it.

  My lunch suddenly seems very unappetizing, not to mention, it’s a pretty fair assessment. I’m going to be even more hungry later. Jerk. I wish he’d kept his chicken thoughts to himself.

  I wish … Squeezing my eyes tightly, I concentrate solely on the air entering and exiting my body, as if that’s going to calm me down.

  I wish he hadn’t heard my parents. My emotional state right now is unstable at best. My lip wobbles. With a sideways glance at him, I snatch up my phone and mumble, “I need to visit the ladies’ room before class.”

  I hurry off like a shot down the hallway to the bathroom and lock myself in a stall.

  I do my business, and then just sit there quietly where no one can watch the humiliation sweeping through me, on display all over my face. With a glance at my phone, I see I have five minutes before the bell is going to ring, and I’ll be damned if I’m leaving this stall. I put the humiliation of Damon witnessing my phone call in a tiny box and tuck it ever so carefully into the back of my mind where I don’t have to think about it for the moment. I can’t help but think I’m royally screwing everything up.

  A check-in with Prof.M. has been my go-to lately for those times when I need to put a smile on my face. Unfortunately, the last time we messaged, I’d lost my damn mind and told him I’d like to suck him off. And it had felt deliciously naughty in the moment, but afterward … I just don’t know. I’d felt nervous and out of sorts. It really hadn’t been very “me” to say something like that. That damn Tryst app makes me way too brave.

  Thank goodness I’m fairly decent at compartmentalizing things and had conveniently forgotten about that little bit of embarrassment until just now. My face turns red just thinking of everything I’d said to him and my hands tremble. What this all amounts to is the fact that I’m one huge mess—I’m just really freaking good at hiding it from everyone.

  What the hell. I may as well check in with him and see just how craptastic my day is about to get. With a deep sigh, I open the Tryst app to find there’s a message from him waiting for me.

  Prof.M. to Sherlock4Love: I think we should meet. Otherwise, how will we ever know we have anything in common beyond Sherlock?

  Wait. He wants to meet me? I ponder this new information for a second before I chuckle at how dumb I am. Of course he wants to meet. Of course. You offered up your mouth to him. I’m so dumb. I can’t believe I did that.

  He must be online right now because that was just sent a minute ago. Another message comes in right behind it.

  Prof.M. to Sherlock4Love: Look, I feel like maybe our last conversation spooked you, and I don’t want you to feel that way.

  Prof.M. to Sherlock4Love: I know I like smart fucking women, and you seem to be one. You can hide what you look like, but you can’t hide your brain. It’s not just about what you look like or how we might interact, though that’s definitely part of it. I want to know everything about you.

  Fingers hovering over my phone’s keyboard, I close my eyes before blowing out a breath through pursed lips. I guess I need to be honest before I get myself in really deep.

  Sherlock4Love to Prof.M.: I don’t know if I’m ready for that.

  Prof.M. to Sherlock4Love: Well, I am. I’m ready whenever you are.

  Prof.M. to Sherlock4Love: I need to know.

  Sherlock4Love to Prof.M.: Need to know what?

  A hard swallow works its way down past the lump in my throat as I wait for his reply.

  Prof.M. to Sherlock4Love: I need to know what this is. We flirt and have fun. But I think we are both looking for something more.

  Prof.M. to Sherlock4Love: Am I wrong?

  I close my eyes. Great. Now I’m feeling pressure from all sides—from myself, my parents, and now even from Prof.M. And the thing is, it’s not that I don’t want the same things. Do I want the department chair position? Of course. Do I want my parents to think well of me? Yep. Do I think I owe it to myself to find out who this guy is? Hell, yes.

  Prof.M. to Sherlock4Love: I’m from a big family. I’m used to fighting for what I want. And I want to know you.

  Sherlock4Love to Prof.M.: Well, I’m an only child, so I pretty much always get my way.

  Prof.M. to Sherlock4Love: But couldn’t what you want and I want be the same thing? Think about it.

  My teeth catch the corner of my lower lip. He could be right. But what if we meet and it’s all wrong?

  Sherlo
ck4Love to Prof.M.: I’ll do that. Give me some time?

  Chapter 6

  Damon

  As I work on creating a handout for a book we’ll be reading in class soon, I wonder where the hell Piper has disappeared to. She’d taken off like a bat out of hell at the end of lunch and then we’d had class, so I haven’t had a chance to check on her.

  I don’t know why I feel the need to see how she’s doing, except—dammit, I didn’t like the way that phone call had affected her. Misery was written all over her face, plain for me to see. And the kicker? I’d felt her pain deep in my gut, like it was my own. I don’t understand why, but it reached in and grabbed hold of me, made me understand her better.

  Her eyes had been glassy, like she’d been fighting tears as she listened to them. Her lower lip had quivered ever so slightly when our gazes connected. I hate that they have the ability to affect her like that. And then, there’d been some things left unsaid when she’d taken off for the bathroom. She’d tried to act like nothing was wrong, but I know better.

  Do I like to poke at her and tease her? Try to ruffle her feathers? One hundred percent.

  Had I liked what I’d overheard from her parents in that phone call, though? No. Do I like how they’d made her feel? Fuck, no. As if I’m not already aware of her intensity, of the way she pushes herself—to find out that her parents do it, too, and not in a subtle way? It’d made me angry on her behalf. I’d had the urge to pull her into my arms and tell her everything would be okay, to calm the trembling I’d seen rolling through her body in swift waves.

  Yet, how could I possibly do that, be the one to offer her comfort, when I’m the one who is threatening to screw everything up for her? I don’t see a solution because as much as I know she wants the job, I want it, too. My family needs me to get it. They’re depending on me to come through.

  I set my pen down and scrub both hands through my short hair, growling to myself. Life isn’t always fair, and one of the two of us is going to learn that in a big way in the next few weeks.

  A small noise next to me has me jerking to the left to see Piper has come in, quiet like a kitten, though I don’t know how she’s managed it in those heels of hers. I take a few seconds to assess her state of mind, but she seems to be composed again, as if she’s pulled a mask on, hiding the emotions I’d seen swimming in her eyes.

  Frowning, I glance at her out of the corner of my eye. She looks really pretty today. I hadn’t noticed earlier with so much going on, but she’s wearing simple black pants and a red sweater that brings out the pink in her cheeks. Her long hair is down as usual, but it’s swept over one shoulder at the moment. I’ll be damned, but the allure of her neck is still a very heady reality, just like it was when I’d noticed it at the gym. A jolt of something I can only assume is desire moves through me, making my heart pump hard and my dick harden in my pants.

  “What are you doing, Damon?”

  Um. Is she a mind reader or something? How the hell does she know what I’m thinking about? I’m pretty sure I’m not that obvious. I angle my body toward her and eye her carefully. “I’m sorry, what?”

  She points at the notes I’m making and the stacks of books at the side of my work area. “What are you doing with all that?”

  I don’t say anything for a few seconds as it registers that she does not know I was thinking about tasting the skin of her neck where her pulse thrums.

  Am I totally straying from the book list for my eleventh-grade English classes? I sure as fuck am. We blew through the required reading so we’d have time for stuff the kids are actually interested in. That’s what I’d discussed with Jake about the curriculum—ways to include current literature in our classes. He’d given me the go-ahead, and Piper is probably going to be pissed when she finds out what my idea was and that Jake has already agreed and is onboard with testing things out.

  “This?” I wink at her. “Just giving the kids what they want.”

  She sputters, “But—” She shakes her head determinedly. “You can’t do that. You’ve veered right off the required reading list.”

  “The hell I can’t. The curriculum tells us what we have to cover, not that we have to spend eons upon eons discussing The Crucible or Animal Farm. My classes have already covered everything on the required reading list. I’m satisfied that they’ve learned what they needed to from it.”

  Damn, woman. One minute I’m feeling badly for her, and now she’s going to go and ruin all those tender feelings I’d been having and poke the bear. The bear being me. I don’t care what she says. I’ll do what I want, especially since I already have approval. Does she think I’d just willy-nilly do whatever I choose on my own? I’m not that crazy. Probably not a good idea to go completely rogue with the chair position on the line. I chuckle to myself. And that’s exactly why I’d gone directly to Jake with it in the first place.

  “But you can’t possibly have covered it the way you need to.”

  “I beg your pardon? My students know what they need to know. Besides, some of the older stuff is stodgy and boring. I know there are important lessons and topics there, though, which is why I didn’t skip over any of it. We just didn’t spend inordinate amounts of time on any one book or theme.”

  “I’m sorry, did you say old and boring? The classics have their place in our curriculum.” She throws her hands up. “This is what you were discussing with Jake, isn’t it?”

  I shrug, irritated that she keeps sticking her nose in my business. And Lord help me, it sounds like she and Sherlock4Love would get along just fine with their love of the damn classics. Remind me to never introduce the two of them.

  She huffs, crossing her arms in front of her. “Where’d you get the funding to do this? How do you have all of these books?” She nods her head at all the copies of Caraval and Divergent piled neatly next to me.

  I smirk. She doesn’t need to know.

  “Did Jake approve that?”

  “He didn’t have to approve it because I didn’t go through the school to purchase them.” Sort of true. He did approve that I was doing it. He didn’t help me purchase. I’d raised funds for that all on my own.

  She sniffs, and pouts a little for good measure before she finally relents. “I’ve read them. They’re good books. Might be some things to discuss there.”

  “Uh-huh.” Now she’s wishing she’d done it too. Instead, she’s stuck going on and on about Fahrenheit 451 in her classes. Don’t get me wrong. We studied everything we were supposed to … we’d just done it at a faster pace than her classes, which has given us time to incorporate a few other books into the plans. We did all of her “classics.” Now we get to have fun.

  “You’re infuriating, Damon. You know that, right?”

  I can’t help but chuckle. “What was it you said to me earlier? Oh, yeah. Mind your own business, Mathison.”

  She squints her eyes at me. “Fine.”

  Breathing hard, I push back and stand quickly. Unfortunately, she does the same thing at the same time, leaving us less than a foot apart. Our chests rise and fall rapidly as we standoff opposite each other, and I’m about half a second from hauling her to me and burying my lips against her neck when Jake and Brian Schmidt, the history department chair, walk in.

  With a final huff, Piper whirls around and leaves the workroom.

  Chapter 7

  Piper

  I’m late. I’ve never been late to school in my entire teaching career. So, when do I choose to do it? Right. Just a few weeks before the selection of the new department chair. I’m so mortified by how unprofessional it felt to have to call and tell them I needed someone to cover my first period class until I could make it in.

  Damn cramps. I’d woken up in plenty of time to get to school, but my uterus apparently had other plans. It felt like it was in a vise, my back hurt, and I was even slightly nauseated. I can’t remember the last time it was this bad, but I guess I was due. I’d curled myself up into a little ball and hit snooze, unable to crawl out of bed
and hoping it would subside if I gave myself a few extra minutes.

  Only I didn’t hit snooze. I must have turned the alarm off completely. By the time I stumbled to the bathroom to look for some painkillers, it was 7:45 a.m. and I was due at school in fifteen minutes—which would have been totally doable, if not for the fact that I really thought I might keel over and die right there in the bathroom.

  As I finally enter the school, I’m surrounded by hearts, flowers, chocolates, and people in love. To top off my great mood—yep, it’s Valentine’s Day. It’s hard for me to admit this, but as much as I grumble, I wish I were partaking in the festivities, no matter how manufactured and commercial the holiday is. To have that special someone would be amazing.

  Instead, all weekend long, I’d vacillated between frustration at Damon and his crazy ideas, and worry about whether or not I should continue talking to Prof.M. My more immediate concern is here in the real world, I guess. Tryst is just an app. Prof.M. only becomes a part of my reality if I actually meet him—if I let him in. That’s definitely got to be put on hold. It needs to be. I just can’t handle it right now.

  Hell, I can’t even handle getting myself to school on time and still don’t know how I’m going to make it through the day because the ibuprofen I’d taken earlier is not helping.

  Cringing, I push the button to the main office and the secretary, Beverly, buzzes me in. She takes one look at my pale face and the set of my jaw and immediately sympathizes. “Oh, honey,” she bites her lip and lowers her voice to a whisper, “are you sick?”

  I shake my head, gritting my teeth and fighting the urge to bend in half, arms crossed over my lower abdomen.

  “Cramps?”

  Ugh. Let’s all talk about my uterus right here in the office, why don’t we? I give her a brief nod, my eyes flickering to hers and then away. “I’m so sorry to be late. It wasn’t intentional at all.”