by Erin Noelle
But instead, I’d gotten embarrassed, feeling like a pathetic groupie, and fled the scene. I’d passed by Everett’s sister as I hurried up from the back parking lot, double-checking that all of my clothes were on properly and finger-combing my tousled hair, and she’d snickered knowingly, shaking her head. Luckily, Lindsey and Michael were ready to go home as soon as the midnight toast was complete, so I was able to keep myself out of sight until I could escape completely.
Only then, I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him. Curious if he would’ve asked for my number. Skeptical that he’d felt the same overpowering force of attraction that I had. Wondering if he’d thought about me at all in the past two days. Pondering how icy my nipples would’ve been if it had been this cold.
Lost in my heady daydream, when the main door of the school flung open, I jumped back awkwardly on the three-inch heels of my boots to keep from getting slammed in the face and somehow rolled my ankle in the process.
“Son of a…” I yelped, bending down to clutch where the sharp pain sliced through my lower leg.
“Oh, my God, I’m so sorry! Are you hurt?” a man with a thick British accent exclaimed as he rushed over, grasping my elbow to help steady me. “I didn’t mean for it to fly open like that. The wind must’ve taken hold of it.”
Standing up straight, I grimaced and shook my head. “It’s okay, no big deal,” I gritted out, trying my best to ignore the throbbing. “I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.” So much for being a badass.
“Well, either way, I’m still very sorry. My mum taught me to hold doors for young lasses like yourself, not knock them down with one.” He smiled apologetically then tipped his chin toward the building. “Here, let me help you inside, out of this bitter cold so we can mind your foot.”
Still shaken up from the incident, I allowed him to lead me hobbling through the door that had just nearly taken me down for the count and into the welcoming warmth. Immediately, that distinct smell of “school” hit me and my stomach flipped nervously.
Ready or not, I was about to be a figure of authority to a bunch of teenagers, most of who were physically bigger than me. Though teaching high school wasn’t my dream job, it was still a good place to start and offered a decent paycheck for a single gal who was student loan and debt free. And with the exceptionally reasonable cost-of-living in Houston, it appeared I’d be able to get a pretty nice apartment.
“Are you sure you’re okay? Can you put weight on it?” he asked, drawing my attention to him.
“Thank you. I’m fine, promise. No worries at all. See?” I lied, taking a couple of steps back once I realized he was still holding on to my elbow.
A younger guy, around thirty or so I guessed, the friendly British stranger was attractive, if you were into that professor-hipster look. Average height and weight, he sported one of those dirty blond man-buns that I was still on the fence about, had thick, black-rimmed glasses that framed striking blue eyes, and wore trendy jeans paired with a paisley button-down shirt and a brown wool coat, and wait for it… penny loafers. Yes, the kind with a real copper penny inside. I wasn’t aware that stores still sold those. Maybe it’s a Euro thing?
“Are you a new student here?” He blatantly looked up and down the length of my body, taking in the black pencil skirt and matching knee-high dress boots I’d opted for that morning. Both clearly a gross error in judgment with the arrival of the cold front overnight and my inability to walk in heels like a grownup. “The front office is right around that corner, if so.”
Snickering, I hoisted my messenger bag back up on my shoulder from where it had slid from and shook my head. “No, I’m actually a new teacher. I’m taking over Ms. Wallace’s Art History classes for the remainder of the year.”
His head snapped back as his eyes widened in surprise. “Oh, wow,” he murmured, then quickly recovered by introducing himself. “I’m Liam Carroll, English Lit and Poetry. I apologize for the assumption. I meant no disrespect. You just look so…”
“Small? Young? Tiny?” I finished for him, trying not to sound annoyed.
It wasn’t like I didn’t get this type of reaction on a regular basis when people found out my age, but it wasn’t exactly the first thing I wanted to hear the moment I arrived at the job. However, I also didn’t want to come off as rude to one of my new coworkers. Little did I realize when I’d accepted the position how massive Houston Independent School District was, so I’d anticipated that Michael would know people I would be working with. But with forty public high schools alone, which was thirty-nine more than the small town I hailed from, he had no ties to the campus I was at, which meant I didn’t either. Making as many allies and as few enemies as possible was imperative in my first few days to ensure a smooth start.
“I feel as though this first impression couldn’t have gone any worse.” Crinkling his forehead, he frowned and shoved his hands in his pockets. “And I’m sure Principal Gentile won’t be pleased to learn I’ve nearly slammed our new faculty member in the face with the door, almost caused you to break your ankle, and offended you by calling you a child all within the first five minutes of you arriving. It’s not our standard greeting, I must say.”
Not wanting him to feel bad, I smiled brightly and stuck my arm out in his direction. “No worries, let’s just chalk it up to a Monday morning, and Principal Gentile will never have to know. I’m Arabelle Sloan, or Belle as most people call me. I’m the new Art History teacher.”
The worry washed from his face as he took my hand in his and shook it firmly. “A pleasure, Ms. Sloan,” he replied in his charming foreign accent. “Welcome to the HSPVA family. If you need anything at all, I’m in room four-oh-seven upstairs, right down the hall from where your classroom is. Don’t hesitate to ask for help. These kids can be a bit overwhelming even on the best of days.”
I’m not sure why, but British people always sounded rich and smart to me, like every one of them was born to nobility and an Oxford graduate. When I had studied for a summer in Paris while working on my post-grad thesis, I’d studied with half a dozen people who called England home, London primarily, and could sit for hours just listening to them talk, especially if it was about art or music.
“Thank you, I’ll definitely remember that,” I glanced over my shoulder to where he’d mentioned the office was then down at my watch, “though I better get moving if I want to make my appointment on time. I don’t want to be late, Mr. Carroll. You know how important first impressions can be,” I playfully jabbed.
“Yes, indeed. Please don’t be late on my account. I think I’ve done enough damage this morning,” he chuckled, his smile reaching from ear to ear. “I look forward to seeing you around, Ms. Sloan.”
“Me too. Thanks again.”
Then, with a slight limp, I rushed off in the direction of the office, hoping the start to my morning wasn’t any indication of how the rest of the day would fair.
“SO TELL ME all about it. How did it go?” Lindsey urged eagerly, as she emerged from the kitchen, two glasses of wine in hand. “I’ve been thinking about you all day, praying everything went well.”
Making room for her next to me on the oversized love seat, I accepted the glass with an appreciative smile. We’d both just arrived home about a half hour before, changed into comfy yoga pants and T-shirts, and then reconvened in the living room for a pre-dinner drink and for me to fill her in about my first day.
“Well, it started out like I was starring in Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day, but once I got settled in my classroom and had a chance to go over the lesson plans Ms. Wallace had left for me, it improved tremendously. Although tomorrow, when the kids come back, will be the true test.” Pausing to take a drink of the chilled Pinot Grigio, I relaxed back into the plush cushions and hiked my swollen purple ankle up onto the coffee table.
“Oh, my God!” she exclaimed, her eyes bulging wide at the sight of my hurt foot. “What in the world happened to you?”
&n
bsp; “Oh, just being my usual graceful self,” I snickered, then went on to tell her the details about the door debacle and meeting the British literature teacher.
She waggled her eyebrows playfully as she sipped from her own glass. “Ooh, tell me more about the foreign professor,” she purred suggestively. “Do we have suitor number three lined up, vying for the attention of Lady Arabelle of Fairhope?”
Exploding in laughter, I all but spit out the wine in my mouth as I shook my head no. “Suitor number three?” I repeated her words once the giggles subsided. “What in the world are you talking about?”
“Well, there’s Adrian, the sporty, athletic one who, even though you virtually ignored him on Friday, has already texted Michael about going out on a double date sometime soon.” She held one finger up in the air and gave me a sly smile before lifting the second. “Then, there’s Everett, the sexy, mysterious musician who you disappeared with for a while that same night, only to return later with disheveled hair, a puffy bright pink mouth, and frazzled, glassed-over eyes. I know you purposely avoided answering my questions this weekend about what happened, and I respect that, but don’t think I didn’t take notice that you looked like you’d been caught making out in the backseat of a car when you came scurrying back up to the party.”
My entire body tensed at her mention of Everett. I’d managed to make it through most of the day, sans the fleeting thought early in the morning, without thinking about him and the inexplicable way he affected me. But as soon as she remarked about the way I looked after I’d been with him, heat blossomed in my chest, then rapidly crept up my neck, my throat, and settled in my cheeks. I swallowed hard. I wouldn’t correct her and tell her it was the bed of a truck.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Lindsey smirked, then lifted another finger, wiggling all three in front of my face. “And now we have Liam the London Lit teacher who wants to pretend you’re one of his students while he bends you over his desk and paddles your ass with a ruler, making you recite Shakespeare or some kinky shit like that.”
“He does not want to bend me over his desk. He was just being nice,” I contended, as I downed the last of my drink. “And I’m not interested in Adrian, so no double dates. He was super nice and really cute, but he just didn’t do it for me. No sparks, no nothing.”
Standing up, she held her hand out to take my empty glass. “I’m going to get refills, but don’t even think this conversation is over yet, missy. I need to know if you’ve got plans to see the brooding rockstar again, and if so, I’m gonna demand details next time.”
She sauntered off to get more wine, and while she was gone, I kicked myself for the thousandth time for rushing away from him so fast. Sure, a conclusion to what we’d started would’ve been ideal, as I’d gone multiple rounds with my vibrator over the weekend, chasing a release that refused to be caught, but what really made me crazy was wondering if he would’ve wanted to see me again. Or if I was just another night among many where he hooked up with a random chick.
As Lindsey returned with the filled glasses, I peered up at her, an idea forming in my head, and asked, “If I promise you down-and-dirty details, will you go back up to Empty’s with me this weekend to see if I can find him?”
The corners of her mouth curled into a mischievous grin. “You bet your juices I will.”
FIVE MORE MONTHS. That’s all I had left of my senior year. One more semester. Then I’d be living on a tour bus, playing in front of packed stadiums night in and night out, doing what I loved.
“I can do this. I’m just gonna ignore the drama bullshit and enjoy it for what it is. High school,” I pepped myself up, as I sat inside the otherwise empty cab of my truck, stalling to go in the school.
It was the first day back after winter break, and I was suffering from a severe case of what my mom called “senioritis.” I had no desire to go to school. None. Zero. Zilcho. Nada. Even though my school — the High School for Performing and Visual Arts or HSPVA — was a magnet school, specifically for kids who were extremely talented in some form of the arts, the classes were tedious and boring, and other than what I learned in music theory, chances were I wouldn’t use any of that shit they were teaching us in real life. Ever.
My friends were… well, they were my friends, but I only allowed a couple close enough to know the real me. The rest were all acquaintances I kept at an arm’s length, leery of their motives and goals. Growing up with a famous parent, it didn’t take me long to figure out that people — adults and kids alike — would use me to get near my dad. It sucked the first few times it happened, but I caught on quickly and, as a result, closed myself off to a lot of people. I was still a chill, sociable guy, but I held myself in check, only sharing a small portion of who I really was.
And the mystifying encounter I’d had with the little pixie Belle from Friday night had left me not only jacking off repeatedly since then to the sexy-as-fuck image of her sucking my cock while the sound of her filthy words played as the soundtrack in my head, but it also made me realize how different a real woman was from the high school girls I was used to.
Bold, brash, and beautiful beyond belief, Belle was definitely all woman, and never before had anyone screwed with my head the way she had. A stranger, minimal words exchanged, I didn’t know a thing about her except her first name and the way she turned me inside out when I looked at her. Made me want to do things I’d never done. Without a second thought.
I was still pissed I didn’t get her number before she disappeared into thin air.
A silver Mercedes S-class coupe caught my eye as it zoomed into the parking lot and pulled into the spot diagonal from me. The striking brunette hopped out of the driver’s side, dressed head-to-toe in full designer clothing, and was immediately surrounded by other students, all trying for a chance to be close to her. Her bright smile radiated through the throng of people, and it killed me to know how much she thrived on that attention. Unfortunately, my sister refused to learn her lesson about people, no matter how many times I tried to tell her. Ashlynn was stubborn and prideful, and I realized it would take her getting burned in a serious way for her to finally understand.
With a loud sigh, I grabbed my backpack and heaved it over my shoulder as I got out of the truck, guessing now was as good a time as any to get this party started. The first day of a new semester was usually pretty easy anyway, with getting a new schedule and new classes. Rarely did we do any work, just going over the syllabus and class introductions and shit, so I’d have plenty of time to work on the lyrics of the song that had popped into my head this weekend.
Typically, as long as I had my notebook with me, I could tune everything else out and work on my music anywhere. It was a gift I had, like built-in noise-cancellation headphones. I thought it was cool as shit — my teachers and parents, not so much.
I made a beeline from the parking lot to the front door, trying to get out of the ball-shriveling cold wind and avoid as many people as possible. Thankfully, homeroom was first today and I got to start my morning out with Mr. Carroll, the coolest cat in our school. Chicks flocked to him — other teachers, students, and even moms — with his pimp-ass British accent and fly-as-shit outfits that only a guy like him could pull off. Most guys in our school could only dream of one day having game like he had.
Good thing I wasn’t most guys.
Tipping my chin and offering cordial smiles to the familiar faces I passed on my way in, I almost made it to the central flight of stairs without getting stopped before I heard Billy Buchanan, one of my two real friends, call out from behind me, “Yo, Everett, dude, wait the fuck up, man! You take up speed-walking over the holidays, or what?”
“Language, Mr. Buchanan,” one of the teachers in the hall warned, as I waited at the bottom of the linoleum steps for him to catch up.
“Finally, bro!” he exclaimed, clapping me across the back. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever. I thought maybe you turned into a bear and went into hibernation for the winter.”
I shrugged a shoulder as we climbed the stairs, doing our best not to get bumped by the horde of other students trying to get to class. “Nah, dude. Just working on new songs for the tour,” I replied. “Performing other peoples’ shit may work at Empty’s or at gigs around here, but out there, I need to show them what Singed Wings’ music is all about, not how well I can do a cover.”
“Funny how Ashlynn still seems to go out regularly,” he chided.
Shooting him a tell-me-something-I-don’t-know look, I sighed. “Yeah, but you know damn well my sister ain’t gonna miss a party for nothing. God forbid she get left out on some juicy piece of gossip.”
“Funny thing is,” he laughed, “she is usually the juicy piece of gossip. You should’ve seen her Saturday night, when Nathan—”
“Don’t even,” I growled loud enough for several students passing in the hall to take notice. But I didn’t give a shit. The last thing I wanted to hear about was my sister’s wild antics, and Billy fucking knew better. Seeing her firsthand when I did go to parties was bad enough.
“Sorry, dude. I didn’t mean to piss ya off,” he mumbled, shaking his straight, sandy-colored head.
Thankfully, I reached my homeroom right then, giving me a reason to end the conversation for good. “Not pissed at you,” I grunted, as I pulled up in front of the door, “just don’t like hearing ‘bout that shit. Part of the reason I don’t usually go. You know that, bro.”
Before he could respond, I was tackle-hugged by one of Ashlynn’s best friends, Jayla Rios, with so much force that it slammed me into the wall, causing me to hold her tightly so we both didn’t go down in a heap.
“Everett, babe, I’ve missed you so much!” she exclaimed, nuzzling her face against my neck as we stood tangled together in the hall.
It was no secret that Jayla was interested in me. She’d made it very clear every time she spent the night with my sister, sneaking into my room late at night, letting me do pretty much anything I wanted with her young, limber, dancer’s body. But no matter how many times I told her and she claimed she understood that whatever happened between us in my bed stayed in my bed, she would still pull stunts like this at school or out in public, making it appear we were together. And although she never verbally pressed me for anything more, never texted or called me or showed up at my house unannounced, she wanted to make damn sure that all the other girls in our school were aware that I was off-limits. I could’ve put a stop to it if I really cared, but she actually helped in keeping the clingers away, and it was a for-sure BJ at least once a week.