by Marie James
Twenty minutes later I’m pulling into the parking area at the private school. I check my ears in the rearview mirror. Much to my surprise, I don’t have blood flowing from them. I was certain after listening to a kid bop station on the radio during the drive in would have done some damage.
I instruct the girls that they will lose every toy they ever wanted if they do not file out of the truck on the same side and hold each other’s hands as they walk across the narrow driveway into the school. They may be complete heathens, but I’ll be damned if they get hurt on my watch. Surprisingly, they comply.
I file threats of toy loss into my mind to use again at a later date.
Lennox holds my hand, and Anastyn holds her other one as we walk in a line to the front of the school. The bright purple bags on my arms make me feel like a complete douche, but it is what it is, right?
I ignore, mostly, the looks from all the soccer moms as I clear the front door of the school. You’d think rich women would have enough couth to not openly gawk at me while standing in little clusters giggling like damn teenagers, especially with the huge rocks of their wedding rings shining in the damn morning sunlight.
I may have enough notches in my bed post that I’m surprised it’s still standing and hasn’t been relegated to sawdust, but married women are something I don’t even touch. Ever.
“This way,” Lennox says tugging my hand down a wide hallway.
I increase my speed. The sooner I get out of here, the sooner I can get rid of the girly ass bags dangling from my arm. I’m not anti-female anything. I love all kinds of women, especially very feminine women, but carrying these bags makes me want to do pull-ups or crush a beer can on my head.
The girls are excited and acting like they’re hyped up on loads of sugar and caffeine as we make our way down the hall. They bounce, skip, and giggle all the way to the classroom. It won’t be long before Kadin and London get the call from this school informing them that the girls are going to have to go somewhere else for their educations. I can’t even imagine the disruptions they cause in the classroom.
Anastyn pulls open the door for their classroom, holding it open for her younger sister to bounce through. I grip the top of the door as she steps in herself.
“Girls,” A woman says. “Take your assigned seats.”
The girls calm immediately. What kind of witchcraft voodoo is this shit?
“Yes, ma’am,” they both say in angelic voices.
I watch in awe as the two little spawns of Satan turn into completely different children.
I cut my eyes toward the sorceress, prepared to ask for her spell book and stop in my tracks. Piercing green eyes, surrounded by more dark hair than you’d see in an expensive shampoo commercial, look over at me as the door slams closed. I’m so enchanted by her attention toward me that I released my hold on the door. The sound rings through the quiet classroom and echoes off the walls, breaking the trance she’s holding me under. I blink several times, unsure if I lost seconds or entire days.
She’s nothing like I normally go for. Her thin, almost lanky frame, and from what I can tell, tiny breasts, are nothing similar to the thick thighs and double Ds of the headmistress I was hoping would be down for some fun this evening.
She gives me another quick smile and looks down. I’m certain my cheeks flush when I realize my dick must be straining against my jeans.
Chapter 2
Lexi
The first week of school is always complete chaos, even more so when you’re teaching kindergarten. Granted, this is only my second first week of school, but if I recall, last year was pretty rough as well. I may have almost given myself alcohol poisoning with my wine consumption that first weekend.
No matter how much planning you do, you can never really prepare yourself for the ruckus that comes with fifteen tiny kids in their initial week of a structured educational environment. If they’re not crying because they don’t want to be separated from their parents, they’re out of control and have absolutely no manners.
You’d think things would be different with the children of some of the richest parents in Washington; it’s not. Tiny humans don’t really understand money, responsibility, and image at such a young age. Lucky for me, I’ve always managed quite easily with children.
My secret? I don’t really have one. What I have found that works best is to make sure they know how much fun they can have, and then whisper. That’s right, whisper. Yelling over them doesn’t work. It will become a competition. Forcing them to get quiet or miss out on the fun is accomplished by lowering my voice. I read it in a book once, and I thought it would never work, but to my surprise, it works like a charm. You have to get your bluff in early of course.
What frazzles me most is being late, which of course on the third day of school, is the situation I find myself in this morning. The house next door to mine is in the process of being torn down, and every morning this week I have found bits and pieces of that destruction in my own damn yard. After the storm that blew in last night, the debris in my yard was more than normal. Hence, the reason I’m running late. My grandmother took great pride in her yard and would roll over in her grave if she knew I just walked away and left it a mess.
I tuck my head to my chest and do my best to slide past the front office unnoticed. The clearing of a throat tells me I’ve failed. I stop in my tracks, knowing if I just keep going there will be more hell to pay than just standing there and taking whatever chastisement Headmistress Amelia DuPont deems fair for a four-minute tardy.
“Should I expect behavior like this to continue throughout the entire school year, Ms. Carter?” Her voice is like a highbrow Minnie Mouse and grates on my nerves more than someone tapping the end of a pen in an otherwise silent room.
I roll my lips between my teeth and take a deep breath, reminding myself that I need this job, and I serve a purpose in the lives of the children entrusted to my daily care.
“Should I?” she prompts again.
“No ma’am,” I respond.
I could tell her about my morning. Most people would understand. Honestly, most people wouldn’t bat an eyelash at a four-minute tardy. I only had one last year because I witnessed an accident on the way to work and pulled over to render aid. Ms. DuPont, however, doesn’t care.
She doesn’t take into consideration that four minutes late is still twenty minutes before the children start to arrive. She’s hated me since day one, this being my second year and her third. Granted, I’m the youngest teacher here, and the one closest to her in age, but she’s had it out for me since the beginning. Luckily, I toe the line and never give her any reason to admonish me.
“The formal reprimand will be ready in the office this afternoon,” she says with more joy in her voice than necessary at a time like this. “I’ll expect you to come by before leaving for the day to sign it.”
My right eye twitches uncontrollably. I take a calming breath and blow it out slowly; it’s the only thing keeping me from scratching her eyes out. I’m not a violent person, but she brings out the worst in me. I nod and walk away.
Crazy thing about that little interaction? She held me in the hallway, asserting her power, longer than the four minutes I was initially late. Ironic, isn’t it?
Deep breaths in and slow breaths out. That’s my focus as I walk to my classroom. I refuse to let my bad start this morning reflect in my day. The kids in my classroom don’t deserve any animosity that the headmistress forced into my soul.
Amelia DuPont is a prime example of how a rich daddy’s money can buy you a position of power. I’m not even certain the woman has the educational background to run Edgewood Academy, yet here she is the tyrannical leader of the entire school. I’m not the only teacher who seems to have trouble with her. She tends to let her claws out with several of the teachers; female teachers, of course, never the males.
My pulse is almost back to normal as I use my teacher ID badge to unlock my door and step inside. I only have a few minutes to m
yself before my tiny wards start making their way into the classroom. I greet each child and parent by name.
Some parents still look apprehensive about dropping their pride and joy off at school, whereas others can’t get out of the classroom fast enough. Those kids I keep a closer eye on. Those children are the ones who concrete my decision to become a teacher; the ones who even with the money their parents have are sometimes left without the comfort and love every child deserves.
“Thank you,” I tell one parent as they hand over yet another huge bag of classroom supplies.
As they kiss their child goodbye for the day, I work to make room for the new bag amongst the overabundance of supplies other parents have left. Too much is always a good thing when it comes to supplies for the classroom, but parents at this school aren’t supposed to bring supplies. Their pricey tuition is to pay for all things needed in the classroom.
The school’s supply closet, however, has seen better days. That’s a stretch of the truth. The closet is all but empty, and on only the fourth day of school, it’s concerning. I’m not complaining about the supplies being brought by parents because Lord knows we need them, but finding a place for it all is posing a problem.
The classrooms are designed for minimal distractions. Even the kindergarten classes have very little storage space and shelving. I’ve piled everything as neatly as I can in a corner of the room, but I’m going to have to get creative to get it under control.
I would love to say most people are bringing the supplies out of the goodness of their hearts, but unfortunately, that’s not the case. Some parents do, don’t get me wrong, but many of the others see one parent bring supplies, and they have to compete with them by bringing even more than the first did.
I smile when I turn back around and see two of my favorite students walk through the door. Anastyn and Lennox Cole are the sunshine in my day. I know teachers aren’t supposed to have favorites, but hey, I’m only human.
“Girls, take your assigned seats,” I tell them.
They each chime back with a very respectful, “Yes, ma’am,” and do as they’re instructed.
My attention is then turned to the incredibly handsome man who escorted them in, definitely not their father, who is also extremely handsome in his own right.
He seems entranced when he looks at me, and I know my cheeks pink from the piercing blue gaze he’s burning me with.
I smile and look down at his hands which are holding several bags of supplies.
“That for me?” I ask. My voice is huskier than it normally is. I clear my throat hoping he didn’t notice
“What! No!” he says quickly taking a step back. I watch slightly confused as he shifts the purple bags in front of his body.
I cock my head to the side indicating my confusion. “The bags of Kleenex and Ziploc bags aren’t for the classroom?”
He looks down at his hands as if he’s forgotten he was even holding the bags. Odd duck this one. “Oh! Yeah, sorry,” he says holding the bags out to me.
I take the bags from his hands and can’t hide the gasp that escapes my lips when my hand touches his.
Cliché right?
Should I be thinking this man is my long lost soul mate? Fat chance. One, because I don’t believe in that mess. Two, this man has a glint in his eye that informs me he’s nothing but a playboy. Three, any sort of relationship with family members of the children, no matter how much I’d entertain the idea of a fling with this man, is absolutely against the rules.
I smile politely as his eyes wander from my sandaled feet to the pulse point in my neck that is working overtime just at his proximity.
“How do you do it?” he asks with a voice deeper than I would’ve imagined.
“I’m sorry. What?” I ask forcing my eyes away from his beard and perfectly pouty lips.
“How do you get them to behave?” He tilts his head and indicates Anastyn and Lennox.
I smile when I look over at the girls. “Those two angels?”
He huffs rudely. “Angels my ass,” he mutters.
“They’re two of my best students,” I say somewhat offended. “They have better manners than many adults I’ve met.” Present company included.
He shakes his head in disbelief. “They are total monkeys around me.”
“And you are?” I let the question hang.
I could say I’m asking because I want to know all of the parents and guardians who are picking up and dropping off the kids, but honestly, I really want to know his name. He looks quite similar to their father, Kadin Cole, but younger. The family resemblance is remarkable, but this man less refined. He doesn’t have the tired eyes of a father.
It’s uncanny how I’m attracted to this man, yet not his brother. Don’t get me wrong Kadin Cole is extremely handsome, but knowing he’s married, happily if the way he looks at his wife is any indication, puts him on the no-fly list and practically shuts down any attraction I have. It’s the same with all the fathers, even the unmarried ones. These men are off-limits. I just wish my body was listening right now.
“Kegan,” he says offering his hand. “Kegan Cole.”
I take his hand in mine for a quick shake. “I’m their uncle; Kadin’s younger, more handsome brother,” he says bringing my hand to his lips.
I jerk it back before his undoubtedly soft lips can brush against my knuckles.
“Lexi Carter,” I say, the huskiness returning to my voice.
“See you around, Lexi,” he says with a wink and walks out of the classroom.
I blow out a long breath I didn’t even realize I was holding. It isn’t until the door opens again and I’m hoping Kegan Cole is walking back in, that I snap out of my daze.
It’s the beard, I think as I smile at the next group of students who enter the classroom. Minutes later, fifteen children demand all of my attention, and I forget about Kegan Cole.
Chapter 3
Kegan
Green eyes. Dark brown hair.
Two things I couldn’t pull my mind from as I left Lexi Carter’s classroom. Two things I pictured when Amelia stopped me just before I left Edgewood Academy. She was keen for whatever I might have had on my mind as I entered the school.
She made sure her breasts were all but on display when she approached me. Usually, they would’ve distracted me, but for some reason, all I could think as I looked at her was how inappropriate her attire was for school. What kind of woman wears such a low-cut top and stiletto heels to work in a school?
The question in my head was rhetorical because I knew just what kind of woman she was. Difference is, that kind of woman holds no interest for me today, not after leaving the classroom of the most incredible woman I’ve ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on.
I shut Amelia down as politely as possible, regretting ever having touched her in the first place.
Regret. That’s a new emotion for me, not on I’m very familiar with.
Amelia was a tigress in bed. I should’ve realized that her aggression between the sheets couldn’t help but spill over into everyday encounters. Hell, the woman grabbed my cock within the first fifteen minutes of meeting me a few months back. I didn’t mind, and I thought it was awesome that she didn’t seem to mind when I bent her over her desk thirty minutes after that and fucked her stupid.
I know what you’re thinking. I’m disgusting for fucking the headmistress in a school, but it was summertime with not a student in sight. Even I have standards, as low as they may be. You’ll think even less of me when you’re informed that her pussy wasn’t quite tight enough, even for my package, but she had no problem with a little anal action.
That wasn’t the issue, though. Fucking a woman I just met is no big deal. Going back for more, less than a week later was the mistake.
Twice was enough. As exciting as she was at the moment, she wasn’t anything I committed to memory. Hell, when Kadin mentioned her this morning, I couldn’t even remember her face. Her tits and ass? That was a whole other story. S
he has some of the nicest tits I’ve ever seen, the best that money can buy.
I frown as I pull up to the Westover project. This is an older community, but we’ve been hired to demolish an old home and build one of our cabins in its place. Our log cabins are known all over the world. It’s still going to look out of place in this neighborhood, but rich people get what rich people pay for.
The issue really isn’t building in this neighborhood, not for me at least. The problem with these older neighborhoods is dealing with all of the complications that come with it. People don’t seem to mind when a beautiful new house is in their neighborhood, but they don’t like the process that it takes to put it there. Noise complaints and just general bitchiness about the chaos that surrounds building in an established neighborhood is something I have to deal with daily.
I turn my truck off and take a deep breath. My foreman is on his phone and the entire crew is taking a break under a tree. This is the kind of shit that frustrates the hell out of me. It’s way too damn early in the morning for no one to be working.
I walk up to Tony, my foreman on this project and a man I’ve considered a close friend for many years.
I raise my eyebrows to him in a ‘what the fuck’ expression.
“This house should be halfway, if not completely, torn down by now. What gives?” I ask with a frown looking over at the ten guys shooting the shit under a tree to the left of the property. I checked on this place yesterday. It was all but gutted when I stopped by on the way home from the other job site.
Tony shakes his head quickly, and I already know what the fucking problem is.
“Asbestos,” he mutters as my mind says the same thing.
“How did we miss that?” Our inspector comes out to every demo job and is supposed to go through it with a fine-tooth comb so we can plan the best course of action.
“It’s only a little bit, and it was tucked away in that weird room in the attic. I’d say since it’s such a small amount we could just ignore it,” Tony says.