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Or the last chick who actually knew it.

Or that I wanted to know it.

You know.

Besides now.

I definitely want the full lipped female at the front of the room to say it.

Scream it.

Never forget it.

Shit.

I think I really am becoming a bit obsessed.

Thought I had it under control post my woke and stroke, but fuuuuckkkk, was I wrong.

Very.

Wrong.

“Class dismissed,” Emaline cheerfully exclaims to our small group, setting the twelve of us free.

Per usual, the others take off, clearly with somewhere else to be.

My guess is kids and jobs.

And that shit’s fine.

They can bail.

Leave the room.

Us alone.

Admittedly the last place I should probably be with a woman like her.

It’s damn sure the last place she should be with a man like me.

We – in a capacity of the word – are a bad idea.

Dumb.

But that’s pretty much my bio.

Getting out of my corner seat is done slowly.

Deliberately.

I’m not a threat.

I don’t wanna be read like one.

Especially by the woman whose chunky, pink knitted sweater thing I hope to see on the floor.

Or the back of her chair.