The Teacher and the Virgin (The Virgin Pact Book 1)

by Jessa James

  That was fine for me to lust after, but not anyone else. Especially not the assholes on the lacrosse team who'd made it their mission to see who'd fuck her first. They'd wanted that scholarship cherry and put bets on it.

  I'd shut that shit down fast. My fists landed me with a three-day suspension, but I would have done it again in a heartbeat. No one was going to touch Crystal. No one…but me. She was mine. I knew it the first fucking time I saw her.

  My parents had given me hell for getting into the fight. Hell for the suspension. Hell for the hours I spent playing guitar and writing music. I guess I dished it right back. For not being the prodigal son, the future CEO of Bullshit Buchanan Manufacturing, for not being a typical Buchanan. Hell, I'd been born with a silver spoon, but I'd spit it out and grabbed hold of a guitar instead. I'd been the fucking black sheep of the family. Still was. And living in that house after my two older brothers graduated from Whitfield and went on to Ivy League schools, the pressure had been on to measure up.

  Whatever. I'd given up the chances for that when I was ten and wanted to take guitar lessons instead of playing Beethoven on the piano. I knew I'd never measure up. It hadn't been worth the effort.

  As for Crystal, she'd wanted to succeed at Whitfield. Hell, it had been her chance, her opportunity to get out of the shit hole household she had. With a mother who was a doormat to a father who drank too much and held too few jobs, she'd known it was her escape. And she fucking took it. Got A's in all her classes, was valedictorian. She managed to do all this even with me following her around like a lovesick fool. But I loved her, protected her. She was my life and I was so much more than just her boyfriend. I was her best friend. She’d told me everything. Given me everything.

  Yeah, she'd taken one look at me and melted. Somehow, by some fucking miracle, she’d fallen in love with my rough edges, the fact that I didn't fit in, didn't give a fuck. She knew I was her protector, that I'd do anything for her. We might've been each other's firsts, but I hadn't taken that scholarship cherry. No. She'd given it to me one night in the back of my pickup. We'd been in love. Even said the words. I’d spilled my guts as she sank down on my lap, naked and wet and too much for my seventeen-year-old body to resist. Crystal and Kit. We were inseparable. I knew I didn’t deserve her. I was a spoiled silver spoon. I had never worked as hard as she had to. She'd been smart, so fucking smart, and I did what I could to keep her safe from the jealous bitches, and away from the jocks that noticed the same things I did. She wasn’t just smart, she’s was gorgeous, all curves and a killer smile.

  I was the worst of them all. One quick smile, one hot kiss, and I would do anything she said, including study. And so perhaps she'd fucked me into graduating. Got my grades up so I could get my diploma, and listen to her sweet valedictorian speech. She’d dragged me along in her wake until we were both on our life paths, until she met me one Friday night with the news she'd gotten the scholarship to Stanford, that she was going to give it up for me.

  It was then, I knew. I was no good for her. I was a dead end. I wasn't going to college. Hell, my parents had been threatening to cut me off if I went ahead with my plan to make a career in music. And I didn't mean the fucking symphony.

  No, Crystal was going places. But not with me. So, I'd cut her loose the only way I knew how. I made sure news spread that I'd fucked Lindsay Mack, that while I took Crystal's virginity, I hadn't given her my heart.

  I didn’t touch Lindsay. But Crystal didn’t know that.

  My cell rang, bringing me back from the past. I pulled it from my pocket as I weaved around a woman pushing a stroller.

  “What?” I barked into the phone.

  “The sound check's set for four.” Tia Monroe was a good band manager, but she could be a pain in the ass.

  “Fine. I'll be there. Might be a few minutes late.” I had no idea how long I would need if I was going to see Crystal again.

  “Late? Why?”

  “I have something to do.” Someone to see.

  I heard Tia say something else, but I tuned her out. Ended the call. Thought of Crystal. Tia and the band could wait. I'd devoted the past ten years of my life to tour buses and recording studios, they could wait thirty fucking minutes so I could get a glimpse of Crystal again. Knowing we were in the same town brought it all back.

  Shit, after ten years it gutted me to remember the look on her face when I'd said what I'd done. What I'd supposedly done. Lindsay Mack had slept her way through our entire class and didn't care if I spread lies. Hell, she'd hated Crystal and was more than happy to strike her down the only way she could.

  With tears streaming down her pale cheeks, she'd turned and run away. Ran right out of my life for good. On to Stanford. Graduate school. And then some. She'd hated me, probably still did, but I could deal. She was too damn good for me, always had been. She could hate me and live her dreams.

  She'd done just what she'd set out to do. Succeed. Hell, she'd done that. That was why I stopped in front of the three-story chain book store on Fifth Avenue. She was here for a book signing. I'd lost track of her when she left for California, but just six months ago, I’d turned on the television to see her sitting next to the most famous late night talk show host in the city. The novel she'd written a couple of years ago, had hit the New York Times list, big time. Her story sold in a multi-million-dollar deal and the hottest asshole in Hollywood was sitting next to her, playing the spy-thriller hero she’d dreamed up in her head. Fucker touched her shoulder, flirted with her. And she smiled back, but it was a smile I knew. Brittle. Stressed. So beautiful my cock rose to attention as I watched her, those blue eyes, those pink lips. She blinked, and laughed, made all the right motions for the audience, but I knew Crystal. My girl didn’t like to be the center of attention.

  And she was still mine. I knew every inch of her body, how she liked to be touched, kissed, fucked. She was famous. Rich. She was no longer from the wrong side of the tracks. Hell, she made her own fucking tracks.

  I was so damn proud of her. What were the chances I'd be in town on tour the same time she was here? When I'd seen her face on a huge-ass billboard, I knew I had to go. I had to see her, to see an expression on her face other than the heartbreak I'd caused her. Those sad eyes, the tears, had haunted me for a decade. I couldn’t let her give up Stanford for me, but that didn’t mean watching her walk away hadn’t ripped my fucking heart out.

  The store was huge. Three floors. It was packed with fans wanting a book signed by Crystal. To hear her give a talk about her characters, how she came up with the incredible plot. These people might have read her work, loved it, but I was her biggest fan. Hers. Not her story. Hell, they hadn't walked away from her to save her.

  The ground floor was too crowded to get anywhere near her. Hell, I barely made it through the revolving door. The line was long and it snaked and curved. Spotting a stairwell that went to the second floor, I aimed for the balcony where I could look down and get a glimpse of her. I knew from the press photos she still wore her glasses. Still had the blond hair, the gorgeous blue eyes. She'd gotten older, grown from a girl to a woman. Wore make up. Heels, fancy clothes. No prep school uniform or cherry lip gloss.

  Settling in, I leaned against the railing to look down. There she was. Fuck, my heart skipped a beat just seeing her again. The first time in ten years. The pictures didn't do her justice. While they showed only the confident woman that wrote that killer book, it hid her personality. The introvert who smiled because she had to. The quiet personality that liked a night in with a movie much better than one surrounded by hundreds of rabid fans.

  I saw the tenseness in her shoulders even as she smiled and chatted with fans, signing her autograph over and over again. The sleek hair, the pretty blue dress, the fancy heels. It was all frosting. God, I wanted to strip her bare, to reveal the real Crystal. To find her again, to make her mine once more.

  And when she turned to talk with a woman who stood behind the table next to her, perky and bubbly with her red hair
and equally red dress, she somehow glanced up. Saw me. As if she knew I was here.

  Her eyes widened. Her smile slipped. The pen slipped from her fingers. Those blue fucking eyes held mine and I knew. Like a fucking sucker punch to the gut, she was going to be mine again. I'd walked away once. Ten years ago, I’d had nothing to offer her. I’d let her go.

  I couldn’t do it again.

  Rock Me by Jessa James

  Now Available!

  Books by Jessa James

  Bad Boy Billionaires Series

  Lip Service

  Rock Me

  Lumber Jacked

  Baby Daddy

  The Virgin Pact Series

  The Teacher and the Virgin

  About The Author

  Jessa James grew up on the East Coast but always suffered a severe case of wanderlust. She’s lived in six states, had a variety of jobs and always comes back to her first true love – writing. Jessa works full time as a writer, eats too much dark chocolate, has an iced-coffee and Cheetos addiction, and can’t get enough of sexy alpha males who know exactly what they want – and aren’t afraid to say it. Dominant, alpha-male insta-luv is her favorite to read (and write).

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