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“Okay, you have to stop looking at me like that,” I said. It was bizarre having a boss who knew just how kinky you were—or wanted to be.
“Sorry,” he said, blushing. “Have a great time.”
Robin looked like he’d give anything to be in my place as Alastair and I exited the gaming parlor. I was thrilled to finally have something that made Robin jealous.
Alastair had dressed the part of sexy professor, wearing brown corduroy slacks, an off-white button-down and a tweed blazer. When he’d come into the living room I’d just about swallowed my tongue.
I’d put on my sexiest pair of ripped skinny jeans and a snug Twenty-One Pilots T-shirt. Alastair had taken one look at me and grabbed his coat. In the entry hall at Molly’s, I’d switched from my boots to a pair of beat-up Converse sneakers with rainbow laces that I’d had for years and would make me look a lot younger.
“Nice touch,” Alastair had said.
I keyed us in and turned on a lamp.
The smell of furniture polish hit me, and I suddenly knew what Jacob had been grinning about. Had they given the antique desks some extra attention because they knew Alastair and I would be using them?
When we’d been here before, I’d been so caught up in the experience in one corner of the room that I’d barely paid attention to anything else after cataloging it for Alastair.
A stretch of wall contained a small blackboard and two desks. One desk was a student’s, with the chair attached and a sloping top that could open. The wood was marked and beat-up, with initials and other graffiti carved into it.
“Fuck,” I said.
When my impressed gaze locked with Alastair’s, he grinned with mischief. Then he walked over to stand before the blackboard. He picked up a piece of chalk and began to write something in a neat, cursive script.
“Take a seat, Mr. Dunn,” he said, in a stern tone, and it was on.
I swallowed, already feeling like a teenager in detention. “Yes, Mr. Kenney.”
He half turned toward me, and I saw the reflexive smile before he became the stern professor again. He finished what he was writing on the board and spun around.
“Take out a piece of paper and a pencil.”
But I was reading the words on the board and didn’t act quickly enough.
“Mr. Dunn, open the desk and take out paper and a pencil.”
I swallowed, but I did what he’d told me to do.
“I want you to copy the sentence that I’ve written on the blackboard on every line of that paper.”
“Yes, Mr. Kenney.”
I picked up the pencil, staring at it like it was some kind of strange technology I’d never seen before. I legit hadn’t used a pencil since middle school. I didn’t even know if I could write.
I raised my hand. “Mr. Kenney?”
“Yes?”
“Is it okay if I print? My cursive isn’t very good.”
He stared at me like he couldn’t believe I was asking for such a thing.
“If your cursive isn’t very good, that’s all the more reason to practice,” he said, sitting on the corner of the teacher’s desk. “Isn’t it?”
Wow. Okay, then.
“Yes, Sir,” I said, suitably chastened.
He gave me a cool smile, and I bent to my task, wondering how long he’d make me work before we got onto more interesting subjects.
