“Oh, no, no, no…” I chanted breathlessly.
I heard a guttural growl. “Next time you bend over like this, Ms. G, make sure I’m not behind you, or it’ll end up on National Geographic: When Predators Strike.”
I slowly straightened, pushing my reading glasses up the bridge of my nose and scowling at Jaime Followhill as I took him in.
Jaime looked like the lovechild of Ryan Gosling and Channing Tatum, and I was not making this shit up. (Side note: This would be a great idea for a M/M romance novel. I’d totally read it, anyway.) Sandy-blond hair tied into a low, messy bun, indigo eyes, and the body of a male stripper. Seriously, the kid was so ripped, his guns were the size of fucking bowling balls. He was a walking, talking cliché of the prom king in a 90s movie. A baller who had every girl’s attention at All Saints High…
And his eyes were now on me as he strode closer to his very smashed ride.
He wore a tight gray Henley shirt that made his biceps and pecs stand out, slim dark denim, and high-top shoes that looked so expensive and tasteless you just knew P Diddy had to be behind that design. He had a few bruises on his arms and a fading black eye. I knew where he’d gotten them. Rumor was he and his stupid friends beat the shit out of each other on the weekends in a fight-club game they called Defy.
Guess Pretty Boy wasn’t too rich to be pushed around. I wondered if his mother knew about Defy.
Wait, did he ask me a question about my hamster? Or was it my hamstrings?
“Well, fuck me to the moon and back.” He stopped a few inches from our cars, releasing a wicked grin. It looked like the two cars had melded together. Like his SUV was giving birth to my ugly car through its rear end, and now the SUV’s significant other (Principal Followhill’s Lexus) was demanding a paternity test.
I taught Jaime, and he was one of the few kids that I could count on not to yell/scream/throw crap at people in English Lit. He wasn’t a good student by any stretch of the imagination, but he was too busy with his cell phone to make trouble in my class.
“Sorry.” I released a pained breath, my shoulders sagging in defeat.
He lifted the hem of his shirt and rubbed his perfect six-pack, stretching lazily and yawning at the same time. “Seems to me like I fucked your car up, Ms. Greene.”
Wait…what?
“You…” I cleared my throat, looking around to make sure it wasn’t a prank. “You fuck—I mean, you damaged my car?”
“Yeah. Bumped right into your ass. Pun intended, obvs.” He kneeled down, frowning at the spot where our two vehicles met. He brushed his tan palm over the shiny paint of his SUV.
Jaime made it sound like he was the one who’d crashed his car into mine. I had no idea why. He wasn’t even in his car. He’d just walked up. Maybe he wanted to blackmail me?
I considered myself a respectable teacher with a moral compass. But I also considered myself someone who would prefer not to bathe in the ocean and sleep in her car. That was exactly what I would need to do to survive the financial blow if I admitted to being at blame for hitting his expensive car.
“James…” I sighed, clutching onto the gold anchor necklace hanging around my neck.
He shook his head and raised his hand in the air. “So I screwed up your ride. Shit happens. Let me make it up to you.”
What. The. Heck?
I didn’t know what game he was playing. I just knew that he was probably better at it than I was. So, in true Melody Greene fashion, I turned around and walked straight back to my car, essentially running away from the situation like the little p*ssy that I was.
“Whoa, not so fast.” He chuckled as he grabbed me by the elbow and spun me around.
My eyes darted to his palm on my flesh. He lowered his hand, but it was too late. Butterflies somersaulted in my stomach, and my skin prickled with need. I was hot and bothered by one of my pupils.
Only Jaime Followhill wasn’t just any pupil. He was also a sex god.
There was gossip in the hallways of All Saints High to prove it, enough stories to compete with the length of the fucking Complete Works of Shakespeare. And that wasn’t the only things that were long and impressive about the guy if the rumors were true.
Followhill made me almost as uncomfortable as his mother did. Only difference was his mom inspired fear in me, while he poked at my most sensitive spot. He made me feel embarrassed.
That could be because my eyes always drifted his way while I taught his Lit class. Like a moth to a flame, I always noticed him, even when I didn’t want to. I was worried he knew that too. That I was looking at him in a way I shouldn’t be when he was dicking around, messing with his phone.
Not like a teacher.
But like a woman.
“I said I dented your car.” His blue eyes shimmered with intensity.
Why was he doing this? And why the fuck did I care? This kid received more pocket money than I had in all my savings combined. If he wanted to shoulder this, I should just accept.
Was it a better grade he was after? Doubted it. Jaime was a senior on his way out the door. I’d heard his rich ass had landed a spot at an excellent Texas university (see: Mommy Dearest), where he’d play football and probably fuck his way into some kind of a man-whore Guinness World Record.
“You did,” I said, swallowing. “And right now, I’m running late. Please step out of my way.”
We mentally shook hands on that lie, our eyes hard on one another. I had a feeling I was digging a hole. A hole in which I was about to dump a ton of dark shit that’d land me in hot trouble. I was striking a deal with the devil’s spawn. Even though I had a good eight years on him, I knew who he was.
One of the Four HotHoles.
A self-centered, privileged princeling who ruled this town.
Jaime took another step my way, his body flush with mine. His breath skated over my face. Mint gum, aftershave, and musky male sweat that made me oddly heady. I was so unprepared for this that my face twitched.
I took a step back.
He took a step forward.
Bending his head down, he moved his lips close to mine. To my horror, my knees buckled, and I knew exactly why.
“I owe you,” he murmured darkly. “And I’ll make sure you get to cash in on that debt. Soon. Very soon.”
“I don’t need your money,” I sputtered, my womb tingling with fuzzy warmth.
His mesmerizing eyes widened, and he flashed me a dimpled smirk. “It’s not money I’m going to give you.”
How could someone so young be so arrogant and self-assured? I felt his thumb stroking my stomach, barely touching, teasing, making me quiver through the thin fabric of my dress. It was like he’d shoved his whole fist into me and attacked my mouth with his.
I licked my lips and blinked, astonished.
Holy shit.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
Jaime Followhill was hitting on me. Blatantly. In the parking lot. In plain sight.