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In his khakis and sensible shoes, he’s hardly the man I remember riding around Manhattan dressed in leather. He looks up from the paperwork on his desk, and I can see his Adam’s apple bob when he swallows the hard lump that’s formed in his throat. “Ms. Fulton. I didn’t think you were in any of my classes this year.”
With his burly chest and the dangerous vibe he gives off, I know that I’ve made the right choice. I’ve spent four years saving myself for Holy Pelham; it’s time all that waiting paid off. “I’m not. I’m actually here to speak to you about your open TA position. My last couple of periods are empty, and since I’m considering teaching after college, I thought I’d learn the ropes from someone who’s been around for a while.”
He’s significantly older than me, the kind of older that would have gotten him thrown in prison if I had approached him a year ago. I waited. I bided my time until I came of age. Now that I’m eighteen, nothing can stop me.
“I didn’t realize I had a TA position available.” Beneath his lips, I watch as he runs his tongue over his teeth. Holy is careful; I love that about him.
I take a few more steps into the classroom. His room overlooks the campus courtyard, and more of the greenery comes into view as I get closer to the windows. “My guidance counselor, Mrs. Vickers, said I could pick between you and the calc teacher.”
Mr. Pelham clears his throat and steps behind his desk, putting a few more inches of distance between us. “You don’t want to work with Mrs. Whiteside? She’s a phenomenal calc teacher. She teaches me something new all the time.”
I avoid going toward his desk completely. Instead, I approach the window and press my hand against the black metal sill. “I don’t want to learn calculus, Mr. Pelham; I want to learn how to be a good teacher. Everybody loves you.”
His eyebrows raise in surprise. “Really?”
I see a couple of teachers gathering around the water fountain in the center of the courtyard. I can’t tell who they are, but I see their fingers brush against one another. It’s touching. “Everyone says you make math fun, which I have to say, is hard to do.” I turn my head slowly and make eye contact, my body still facing the glass. “I want to have fun, Mr. Pelham. It’s my senior year. I want to have the time of my life.”
He balls his hands into fists and then crushes them against the hardwood desk. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, Ms. Fulton.”
“Dani,” I smile. “Everyone calls me Dani.”
His chest rises and stretches the fabric of the polo. I pretend not to notice when his eyes drift from my face to my thighs. The hem of my dress meets the school dress code of fingertip length, but Holy’s eyes are certainly trying to go higher. His thick, pink tongue sweeps across his lips as he turns away from me. “It’s a lot of work being a teacher’s assistant, Dani. A lot of students don’t have what it takes. It requires helping students with subject matter that might be beyond their comprehension. It means grading papers, including your peers. I need to know that I can trust you not to go easier on your friends or boyfriend.”
I twist my body to face forward, sitting on the edge of the windowsill. “I don’t have a boyfriend, Mr. Pelham.”
He clears his throat. “Still,” he insists, “it’s a tough job, and not everyone can handle it. You’re a popular girl, and you have a lot of friends. Perhaps this isn’t—”
“I can do the job. Iwantto do the job.”
Holy lingers in silence for a few seconds before agreeing. “Fine,” he grumbles, “but if you start slacking, I’ll be speaking to Mrs. Vickers about a replacement.”
I push off the windowsill with a triumphant smile. “Trust me, Mr. Pelham; you won’t regret this.” Especially when he finds out the perks of being my new boss.
“I hope I don’t,” he mumbles as I leave the classroom.
I’m treading dangerous waters. I know that one wrong move could wind up with me in the Principal’s office and Holy Pelham leaving Manhattan High School. But I’ve seen the way Mr. Pelham looks at me. I know that my crush started years ago, but he onlysawme for the first time at the end of the last school year. I could tell that he looked at me the way I spent years looking at him: with lust and a hint of rebellion.
I have to show Holy that there’s nothing to worry about. Being with me isn’t going to ruin his career or stain his reputation. I’m not his student. I’m not a minor. I am just a woman in love for the very first time.
3
HOLY
Danielle Fulton is a walking felony. Or she was… forty-two days ago. Now she’s my personal tormentor.
I should have told her no. I put in a request for a teacher’s aide three months ago when school ended, thinking it’d help to have someone around to grade papers and free up some of my evening time. I didn’t know Danielle would walk through the door in a dress that clung to her curves and offer herself to me like a prized cow at the county fair.
I’ve found students attractive before, but never like this. I’ve always kept it in my pants and kept my thoughts pure, but Danielle Fulton is no ordinary student.
I have to suffer through four hours of kids coming through my door and introducing themselves. I won’t remember any of their names when the first day of school comes around next week, but I feign interest. Some come with their parents, and I am regaled with stories from their summer break. I know so many of these people; I went to school with them years ago. I don’t envy the ones more well-off than me or better dressed; I envy the ones that come through with their partner. They look happy and in love, which makes me feel like shit because I’m alone.
But when all the students are gone, and I can finally lock my doors and go home, I nearly sprint to the parking lot.
It’s a tough ten-minute drive home. My dick has a limited amount of space and makes an impressive outline in the khakis I wore today. I swear I see someone staring at me at a stoplight, and I look between my legs draped over the sides of my motorcycle and try to judge if they notice I’m semi-hard. The woman in the car wrinkles her nose in disgust, but her eyes are focused on my arms. She doesn’t like my tattoos; she doesn’t even notice my dick popping up between my thighs. Thank God.
It’s only a couple of blocks later that I remember to be offended by her stare. She might not have been upset by the tent formed in my pants, but she was disgusted by my tattoos. Too bad she’s already turned off into the Casement neighborhood, or I’d give her a piece of my mind.
It takes me another couple of minutes to make it to my place in the Valleywood neighborhood near the lake. I slow down as I pull into the three-street cul-de-sac that makes up our small community. There are a lot of children, and I don’t want to be responsible for hitting one with my motorcycle.
