I slide my phone onto the bedside table with herculean effort, punch the pillow again, and shut off the light.
I wake the next day with a raging hard-on that even a shower and banging one off doesn’t help.
School. Classes. Teaching. I shake my head. It’s got to be what gets me through.
I can fucking do this.
The phone rings, as if the devil himself’s keeping tabs on me. Piero.
“Morning, Professor Caprio,” he says with a chuckle. Oh, he thinks he’s clever.
“Morning, boss.” I stifle a sigh.
“How’s that daughter of mine doing?”
“She’s good. All set to start class today.”
“Very good. Thank you, Enzo. I owe you a debt of gratitude. I wouldn’t be able to sleep knowing my daughter was that far away from my protection.”
He trusts me way fucking more than he should.
“Understood, sir. I’m keeping very close tabs on her.”
“Does she know who you are yet?”
I swallow. “She might have a vague idea.”
He chuckles. He never hid his need to protect her. “Sweet little bella. She’ll make her mama and me proud.”
“Yes, boss.” I roll my eyes. I don’t want to listen to him go on about her perfections again. I’m damn well aware of the fact that he adores her. “Time for me to go to class.”
“Best of luck, son. I trust you. Thank you. And listen, Enzo.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Take good care of her this semester, and I might be convinced to bring you home early.”
God, yes. I can do this. I will do this.
“Yes, sir. You have my word, sir.”
We disconnect the call. I pinch the bridge of my nose and curse under my breath. Thank Christ my own apartment’s private. If Piero had any idea…
My buzzer rings, and I slam the button to listen in. “Yes?”
“Let’s go, douchebag. Came to walk you to class, professor.” Emilio.
I grab a travel cup of espresso, my briefcase, and meet Emilio on the front step.
“You look like shit,” he says affectionately, handing me a white paper bag.
“Thanks. What’s that?”
“Finest pastry in the North End to start your day off.”
“I’m good, thanks. I don’t eat breakfast.”
“That’s right, you chew coffee beans and bullets with your protein drink,” he mutters with a shrug. “Eh, more for me.” He grabs a cinnamon twisty thing drenched in thick white icing from the bag and takes a huge bite, crumbs spraying everywhere. He groans.
“Christ, man, this is fucking heaven,” he says around a mouthful. “You sure?”
I smack him upside the head. “Didn’t your mama teach you not to talk with your mouth full?”
He just takes another greedy bite and chuckles, then waves goodbye as I head to my first class. Criminology 101. I enter the room, brightly lit and squeaky clean, and for the first time, I look forward to it. I know the criminal justice system as well as any of the other teachers here, though my knowledge came from first-hand experience, not books. Hell, maybe that gives me an advantage.
Students start to trickle in. Unlike Mia, they look like children to me. One girls with glasses and freckles, her hair still tied in braids. She gives me a sheepish smile, blushes furiously, and takes a seat in the very back. A guy comes in wearing shorts and a faded tee, a baseball cap shading his eyes. He jerks his chin at me in greeting.
“Morning, professor.”
“And you are…?”
“Jay Clance.”
“Morning, Mr. Clance. Hat off inside the building, please.” I’m determined to maintain my cover as a stern, law-abiding citizen.
He takes his hat off and slinks to a seat. One by one, they enter the room. I’ve got eighteen students in the first class, and so far seventeen have entered the room.
I glance at the clock. Two minutes. I take my syllabi out and tap them on the desk. Silence in the room while we wait for the last student to come in. I won’t tolerate tardiness.
As the clock strikes eight, a blonde runs in the room, her hair trailing behind her, and slides into a front-row seat. I push myself off the desk and go to shut the door, but I hear a set of clickety-clack heels running down the hall. I stick my head outside and look.
No fucking way. She isn’t coming into my classroom. I know her schedule and mine, and she isn’t on this roster. Did she change classes? But no, when Mia sees me standing outside the door to the classroom, she looks as startled as I am.
I shut the door behind me, and block her from entering.
“Where the hell are you going?” I hiss.
Her eyes flash at me a split second before she swallows hard and squares her shoulders. She waves her schedule at me. “Criminology 101,” she says. “Tell me the teacher isn’t you.”Mia
Holy fucking shit. It’s him. Belt guy.
I thought I might be able to go one day without seeing him again. This takes the humiliation I experienced yesterday to a whole new level.