“The fact that Wren isn’t interested in you—that she’s interested in me. We’ve already had this conversation, Fig. And I told you what was going to happen. You don’t have a chance in hell getting in her panties.” I smile, enjoying the anger I see flashing in his eyes.
“How would Miss Beaumont feel, knowing you talk about her in such a manner?”
Doesn’t he sound like a stuffy old teacher who respects his female students? What a crock of shit.
“First, you’ll never say anything to her, because you know she’d be more offended by the fact that you brought up her panties to her in the first place. And second, I’ve been in those panties, so she couldn’t deny it even if you mention it to her.” Oh, I’m feeling really smug now, mentioning the ‘in her panties’ bit, and I fucking love it.
“I don’t believe you,” Figueroa says through clenched teeth.
“Go ahead. Ask her.” I flick my head toward the closed classroom door. “Call her out here.”
“I am not about to get involved in my students’—sexual activities,” he says.
I laugh. “That’s rich, coming from you. Are we done with this conversation?”
“Watch your tone. And don’t be late. I’ll write you up next time. Wren too.” His words are clipped.
Oh, she won’t like that. A write-up might send her spiraling.
Standing up straighter, I salute him like the asshole I am. “Yes, sir.”
He sneers at me but otherwise doesn’t say a word, both of us walking into class at the same time, Wren’s curious gaze on me the entire time. She even turns in her desk, lowering her voice to whisper, “What was that about?”
“I’ll tell you later.” I glance up to find Fig’s gaze on us, and I smirk at him as I reach out and tuck a stray tendril behind her ear. “Don’t worry about it.”