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How the hell am I going to face him at school tomorrow and act professional when he’s seen me with my hair piled up in a messy bun and sleep creases on my face?
Great, my peaceful haven by the ocean has been invaded by this sexy, annoying man, and it looks like I’m stuck with him not only at work but at home as well.
Chapter 6
Tate
My encounter with Principal Vega has left me irritated and my dick as hard as steel. God damn, she looked amazing standing on my doorstep in her cute little sleep outfit. Her voluptuous breasts topped with hard, perky nipples made my mouth water. Am I a jerk for thinking she looked even hotter because she was so pissed at me?
Anyway, I can’t get distracted by the hot, sassy principal downstairs. Now that I've moved the furniture so I can look at the amazing view of the ocean, I need to get to work. I’ve got a lot of prep to do so I can hit the ground running when I get into the school tomorrow. After making myself a protein shake, I settle at my new workstation, which I have to admit is a hell of a lot nicer than my dank basement, and get to work. As usual, I totally lose myself in what I’m doing, my ‘80s rock playlist repeats three times before I unplug and stand up, stretching my aching muscles. Once I rehydrate and eat some lunch, I check my cell and see a message from Tanner with more delivery dates. I make a swipe, planning to respond, but freeze as I see that there’s also a message notification from Curve Connection. A small tingle of anticipation races up my spine as I open the app and see a message from TeacherGal, and a wide smile stretches across my face:
TeacherGal: Hi NerdGuy, it’s nice to hear from you. To be honest I’m just relieved to have a message that isn’t a booty call or an unsolicited dick pic. I felt compelled to return your message because your words about your time at the Grand Canyon really resonated with me. I too had an epiphany of sorts while standing there, so in answer to your question -- yes, I’d like to take a chance with you. If you’re still interested I’ll look forward to getting to know you.
I read the message a few more times, moving out onto the balcony that overlooks the deck below, feeling that same sense of melancholy in her tone that I saw in the picture. This intriguing woman obviously has a story and despite my usual resistance to getting deeply involved, I want to know her.
Movement catches my eye as I look at her message again, and I notice Principal Vega down on her deck, stretching out on a yoga mat. Her strong, thick thighs hold her body in warrior pose, her long tanned arms stretch high over her head pushing her bountiful tits up. My gaze eats up her luscious body as she flows from one pose to another, her face serene with calm concentration. Before I know what’s happening, I’m leaning against the railing of the balcony, mesmerized by her, my dick twitching with interest in my sweatpants.
How can a woman make me so infuriated but so horny at the same time? She’s completely different from TeacherGal, who had such a gentle tone. It bothers me that I’m attracted to two women who are polar opposites. What the fuck is up with that?
“Can I help you with something, Mr. Harrison?”
Principal Vega’s annoyed voice jolts me from my contemplation and when I look down I see her standing on her deck, her yoga mat rolled up under her arm, her other fist balled on her hip and her brows drawn together.
I smirk and stand up straight, thankful the railing is concealing my hard dick from her angry glare. “Just enjoying the view.”
My reply makes her growl something in Spanish under her breath, shoot me one more look that shrivels my balls and then she stomps back into her apartment. Chuckling, I return to my own apartment and consider how I’m going to reply to TeacherGal.
∞∞∞
The next morning actually feels like the first day of school, nerves and all. Per Tanner’s explicit instructions, I wear one of the new custom HTC polo shirts he bought so we look professional on the job. I run my hands through my short hair and consider having a quick shave, but dismiss the idea. I always feel like I look much younger without the scruff on my face, so I leave it, grab my traveling cup of coffee, laptop and backpack and head over to the school. As I suspected, Principal Vega’s car is already gone and I’m glad I had the foresight to move my large SUV out of the way so she wasn’t blocked in. I figured she’d leave before me and the last thing I needed was her hammering angrily on my door at the butt crack of dawn to move my car.
Plus I don’t want anything to ruin my good mood this morning. As I sat and enjoyed a beer and the sunset on my balcony last night, I decided to message TeacherGal back and we ended up having a really good conversation. It was casual and light, nothing heavy and not too many personal details. I did find out that she’s from L.A. and has been a teacher since she graduated from college. She loves hot sauce on everything but hates ice cream, and has always wanted a dog but her ex-husband was allergic.
It was one of those easy conversations you can have online when you have time to order your thoughts so you don’t sound like a jackass. Unfortunately that’s always been a little bit of a problem for me; I often open my mouth without engaging my brain and wind up pissing people off; case in point, Principal Vega. If only I could communicate with her solely by text, I might not annoy her so much.
By the time TeacherGal and I signed off, it was well after midnight, and I felt buoyant and a little high from our conversation, eager for our next interaction.
But now I have to deal with a woman who is far less interested in interacting with me. When I arrive at the school, I park up and head to the school office where the ancient admin lady takes me to the Principal’s office. Why do schools all have that same smell; like paint, cafeteria food and sweaty gym socks? It’s comforting in a nostalgic way, but also a bit gross, and I’m happy when we enter the office which smells like freshly brewed coffee.
“Principal Vega is expecting you,” Mrs.Cook says, directing me towards the closed office door. “Go on in.”
“Thank you,” I reply politely, rubbing my palm down the front of my pants leg, realizing it’s suddenly sweaty as fuck. Even though I’ve been given the green light to enter, I still knock, then open the door when instructed to.
Principal Vega is sitting behind her desk, her long dark hair in a thick plait that hangs over her shoulder, glasses perched on her head as she peers at a computer that looks like it’s from the last century. She’s jabbing furiously at the keyboard, her brows bunching together in a way that I’m starting to find addictive.
“Good morning,” I say as cheerfully as I can. “Anything I can help you with?”
She looks up and the crease in her brow deepens, but I also notice a look of relief in her eyes.
“Good morning, Mr. Harrison,” she sighs. “This computer is older than I am and it seems to be trying to do an update and everything has frozen. I’ve tried Control, Alt, Delete, which is the extent of my computer fixing knowledge.”
I chuckle warmly. “May I?” I point to her computer and she nods, standing up to allow me to take her seat. As we pass each other in the tight space behind her desk, my nose is filled with her flowery scent and as her breasts graze my chest, my dick thickens behind my zipper. God damn it, why does she affect me so much? I quickly sit in her office chair to hide the growing bulge in my pants and inspect the desktop computer. Jesus, how does this place function using such outdated equipment? I can see that someone has tried to load up-to-date software on a processor that doesn’t have nearly enough RAM to deal with it.
“Looks like I arrived just in time,” I say, flicking off the monitor. “This computer is too old to process anything, I’m afraid. It’s scrap metal and plastic at best.”
The look of panic that crosses her face makes my heart lurch. “Seriously? I need access to a computer. Can’t you do some hacker thingy and make it work again?” Her voice has lost its usual calm, lyrical quality.
“It’s fine, Principal Vega—” I begin, but she holds her hand up.
