Page 4

Whoever the fuck that was, he was a dead man.

Chapter 2

LUCY

Dark hair.

Eyes the color of amber.

Dimples.

Tall.

Tanned, toned arms.

Mr. Drake.

I rubbed my thighs together as I tested his name out in my head. If I were alone, I would have melted to the floor in a pile of girlish goo.

I almost did a comical double-take when I first walked into his class. I would have if I hadn't been so anxious and nervous about my first day in a new school.

When his beautiful tawny eyes met mine, I swore my panties soaked straight through. I thought I was in the wrong class. Or that the hot specimen of a teacher was a sub.

There was no way I could survive his class - no way I could concentrate - with him standing before me. Day in. Day out. Watching his thick, long fingers write on the board. His broad shoulders shifting beneath his shirt as he moved his arm to make a point. Listening to his deep, hypnotizing voice discuss chemical compounds and electron configurations. Luckily, chemistry was a subject I thrived in, so I could easily balance absorbing information alongside fantasizing about licking the strong column of his throat.

Maybe it was because I hadn't had any hot teachers before. Teacher fantasies were a common occurrence. Students got crushes on their teachers all the time.

Except this didn't feel like a crush. Every time I looked at Mr. Drake, it felt like a thousand lifetimes flashing through my eyes. And in every one of them, he was there -loving me.

It didn't help that I met his equally soul-searching stare every time I glanced at him. Surely it wasn't my imagination that he was seeking me out?

Was he annoyed that he had an extra, new student to teach? Did he see me as one of the many faceless students roaming the halls? Or did he see me as I saw him? Desirable? Sexy?

I shook my head in exasperation. I was being silly. I was imagining something that wasn't there. It was a pipe dream that someone as hot and intelligent as Mr. Drake could be into an eighteen-year-old student.

God, I'm so stupid.

"Lucy."

My Dad's voice interrupted my musings. We were eating dinner at our dining room table among the piles of boxes gathered around. We moved in two days ago and only managed to unpack a fraction of what we brought. The dining table and kitchenware were one of the only items we had unpacked so far.

"Sorry, Dad. What did you say?"

My Dad smiled at me as he cut into his steak. "I asked how your day was. You were awfully quiet on the ride home."

Because I was fantasizing about getting railed by one of your colleagues.

"Hmm," I picked at my salad and searched for an answer. The whole day went by in a blur after Mr. Drake's class.

"I'm sorry we had to move, honey." My Dad observed me sadly, figuring that my non-answer meant that I was brooding.

I quickly reached out to touch his arm. "No, Dad, it's not your fault," I assured him. "I understand why we had to leave; it's okay."

We'd moved here from a tiny town called Koby Plains, a few hours away. We had one school that serviced all grades since only a good few kids lived there. Unfortunately, funding had dried up, and they decided to close the school. It was a manageable inconvenience since our neighboring towns had schools with plenty of room. Unfortunately for my Dad, an English teacher, none of the surrounding schools had positions open. We had no choice but to move where jobs were available. That meant the Big Smoke.

My Dad gave me a relieved smile. "Thanks for being so good about this, Sweetheart."

I waved him off before taking a big gulp of my water. Trying to sound as casual as possible, I asked, "So what about you? Made friends with any of the teachers?" I busied myself by shoving a big forkful of greens into my mouth.