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I guess the only way to know if he’ll text in the morning is to wait until morning.
* * *
The morning drones on brutally slow, especially in light of checking my phone first thing and not finding a reply. When I arrive at school, unlock my door, and head down to the teachers’ lounge, I return to find my desk empty. After the last two weeks of daily yummy treats and deliciously frothy caramel coffee, I’m not sure I’ll be able to drink the brown sludge in my cup.
I should start bringing my own coffee.
I head back to the teachers’ lounge for our morning staff meeting like I’m heading to the guillotine. Dead man walking. Or woman, I should say. It’s like my feet are encased in concrete. The room is already filling quickly, but thankfully, Brandy and Natalie have saved me a seat between them in back. Thank God I don’t have to sit by talky Mrs. Porter or stinky Mr. Simpson, or well, any of the chairs in the front row. That’s where the ass-kissers and the hard of hearing convene.
Just as Mr. Stewart enters the room, a flash of gorgeous man wearing a Jupiter Bay Hawks t-shirt (a little too deliciously snug in the arms, if you ask me) and pair of black basketball shorts enters the room. My word, that man is pure sex.
“Agreed,” Natalie mumbles, causing me to glance her way.
“What?”
“You just whispered that the man was pure sex. I’m assuming you’re not talking about Stewart because ewwwww,” Natalie replies.
“Stewart is soooo sexy,” Brandy coos. “He does this thing when he’s reading and looks at me over his glasses. I swear,” she shivers visibly. “He’s completely doable in that nerdy kinda way.”
“Can I have everyone’s attention,” Mr. Stewart bellows from the front of the room. “There are just a few things we need to go over this morning…”
And that’s when I completely lose focus.
Since he was the last one in, he’s left with one of the up-front seats by the door, also right next to stinky Mr. Simpson. It gives me the perfect profile view to do a little stalking. Okay, you’re right. Stalking is such a harsh word. Maybe intently watching is a better fit. All eyes are on the boss in front, therefore my eyes are on him.
He looks…tired. I mean, not that I care. The man did pretty much boot me from his house yesterday afternoon and completely ignore my text. That alone should be enough reason to not care how worn down he is. The only thing I should care about is when I’m getting my panties back from the chandelier.
Those are expensive panties.
But the more I look at him, I can see more than just fatigue. Sure, there are bags under his eyes big enough to carry my shoes, and worry lines around his mouth that aren’t normally there. His hair is a bit askew, which isn’t typical of the beginning of his workday. His shoulders are hunched, almost in a defeated manner. His entire appearance is just…so not like him.
I try to pay attention to what the principal is saying, but it’s hard. My focus just keeps returning to the weekend and the man I spent it with, which pretty much sucks donkey balls in regards to implementing the new programs our administration has been working on for this school year. New programs? What new programs? I just fantasized about the PE teacher screwing me against the banister and have no idea what you just said.
That’ll go over well.
I feel eyes on me. Trying to keep my own eyes trained on Mr. Stewart, the temptation to look is just too great. But when I glance his way, he’s not looking at me at all. It’s actually Bryce Lehman, who’s sitting almost directly in my line of sight of Sawyer. He gives me a warm smile, but it does nothing to my heart or my lady parts.
When the meeting’s finally over and the students are starting to arrive, Principal Stewart dismisses us to prepare for our day of teaching the youth of Jupiter Bay. I stand up, my ass already sore from sitting on the hard metal chair, and turn to my friends.
“Educational, as always,” I mumble, earning nods from both Natalie and Brandy.
“As always,” Natalie agrees.
“Uh oh, ladies. Don’t look now, but randy Randall is looking this way,” Brandy leans in and whispers.
I can’t help it; I turn and glance toward the front of the room. Unfortunately, he’s already heading out the door and doesn’t turn back around to give me another glance. I feel his exit like one of those polar plunges, jumping into freezing water in the middle of winter. It’s heavy, painful, and makes me feel like I can’t breathe.
Happy Monday.
