Apparently considering that, her smile falters. “Actually, no. Can we rewind a few seconds so I can take that back?”
Now my lips curve up in amusement. “I suppose just this once.”
To get back in my good graces, she smiles more sweetly and says, “Thank you, Sir.”
Chapter Five
Noelle
Ordinarily, weekends never last long enough, but this particular weekend drags like crazy. There’s a call-off at Santa’s workshop on Sunday—Marcie, big surprise—so I pick up an extra shift. A little extra money won’t hurt, and since the workshop is busier on weekends it also makes the time pass.
Every moment that my mind isn’t occupied with studying, homework, or busywork, my mind drifts back to dinner, to Mr. McLaren’s strong grip on my hips, the way his hand felt between my thighs, the way I was so embarrassingly wet for him.
It’s enough to really distract a girl.
When it’s finally time for his class on Monday, I try to get there a little early. My hope is, if I walk fast enough I’ll be the first student to file in. I don’t know if he’ll speak to me or even acknowledge my presence since we’re in school, but I’d at least like to give him a chance. Before our study session he obviously hadn’t been too cautious to call me up and feed me that bullshit about my paper, but after what passed between us over the weekend, he might be a little more careful about following the rules.
It’s reckless, playing with me. He has to know my mom is very involved with the school. One whiff that a teacher is trying to take advantage of me—I don’t see it that way, but I know Mom would—and he’d be out of a job so fast, he wouldn’t have time to grab his briefcase on his way out.
I hope that’s not subconsciously why he likes me. I don’t think it is, but he’s hard to read. I know he’s brilliant or he wouldn’t have a job here in the first place, and if he is—as I suspect—a man who appreciates a challenge… well, I could certainly look like one.
Perhaps even more so after I told him I’m a virgin. My face burns with a mix of embarrassment and excitement remembering the way he held me, the way he told me to keep it that way, as if placing my virginity on hold so he can get around to taking it later.
Surely he wouldn’t take things that far. Surely I wouldn’t, either.
Then again, I don’t seem to have much control around him. I should probably stick to hoping he does.
As soon as I step inside the classroom, I’m met with disappointment. Four other students made it here before me. My heart is still racing with the build-up of anticipation I felt on the way here, but it starts to slow down as my chances of a moment alone with Mr. McLaren completely evaporate. I glance toward the desk where he’s seated, going over papers, but his gaze doesn’t even flicker in my direction.
Another flutter of disappointment brings my heart rate a little lower. I put my books down atop my desk and start to sit, but before my butt hits the seat, he calls out.
“Miss Harper.”
My eyes widen and jump to him.
Holding up a few stapled pages and waving them a little to imply why he wants me, he says, “Come collect your paper before you take your seat.”
A surge of excitement shoots through me. I stand, smoothing my hands down the length of my plaid uniform skirt.
According to the school dress code, skirts are supposed to go past the tips of your fingers if your arms are straight down at your sides, but almost no one listens to that rule. My fingers certainly reach lower to touch the opaque black tights covering my legs, and as I approach his desk, I see Mr. McLaren’s gaze roving lazily over every inch.
I’m on fire when I come to a stop in front of his desk. His cool blue-gray eyes have made their way back to my face, but he doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to hand me any paper.
“How was your weekend?”
My cheeks flush and I fail to entirely bite back a small, secret smile. “It was pretty amazing.”
A rapid flash of pleasure crosses his face when I say that, but he quickly clears it. “That’s nice. Why don’t you write about it?”
My heart skips a beat and my smile slips. “Excuse me?”
“That extra homework I mentioned on Friday. You need to practice writing and hone your skill, so write about your amazing weekend. In detail,” he adds, to clarify what he means.
He can’t mean what I think he means. “You… want me to write about… what happened this weekend. In detail.”
“That is what I just said, Miss Harper.”
Is he crazy? So much for thinking he would be more careful and play by the rules now that he stepped over an uncrossable line.