Page 8 of Not My Type (Not My Type #1)

Zara

Where is the time going? No seriously. It’s already been a week since I’ve been teaching at St. Jago High School and it has been the best week I’ve had in a while.

Mrs. Adams is such an amazing soul and an impeccable teacher.

I’ve adapted her teaching style, and with her presence around me, I get the right push and motivation I need.

I glance at my watch—it’s now their lunch time and they’re all quiet. Wow. Usually, students remind teachers that it’s lunch time or they get restless. The bell rings on cue and I flash them a smile.

“Okay students, tomorrow we’ll pick up on the next page. Say your Grace.”

As soon as they do, I give them the directive to leave. They stand and amble out. I watch them—amazed. Are they always this obedient? Damn. Mi like this! Mrs. Adams approaches me with a warm smile painting her scarlet lips.

“That was good, and they like you,” she compliments as soon as the last student leaves the room.

“Thank you,” I smile, placing the markers in the case. She nods.

“I’m gonna head to my office. I have some report cards to prepare, you should come with me,” she smiles.

“Okay,” I nod and pick up my handbag, then I step out behind her.

We saunter along the hallway. We pass a few students–mostly

boys, that look so mature they could be mistaken for teachers.

“Ms. Williams,” one whispers hauntingly.

I don’t even look. We make it down the short flight of stairs.

I sigh to myself and spot a movement in the side of my eyes.

It’s Jordane and his friends, staring at us as we walk.

I look away from him and focus on Mrs. Adams leading us to her office.

She pushes the door open and I step inside behind her.

She quickly puts her stuff on her desk, pulls out her register and hands it to me.

“The grades are in this book. Just record them in the school system,” she instructs, after she’d entered her computer password.

“Okay, will do,” I promise.

“I’m going to the principal’s office, I’ll be back,” is the last thing she says before she walks out. When she comes back, we work on the reports and she prints them. The majority of the grades are in the 80’s and only a few had an average below 60. I check the time. 2 PM.

“When is your next class?” I ask Mrs. Adams. She looks away from the stacks of reports that she’s organizing.

“Oh, there will be a concert now, so I won’t have any more classes today,” she tells me and I mentally scream. How mi love dis so?

“You can leave if you wish,” she adds. Instantly the girl in my head starts doing cartwheels. I gather my things.

“Alright, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yes love,” she smiles and continue what she’s doing. I throw my bag over my shoulder, pick up my phone and make my way towards the door.

“Tomorrow again, Ms. Williams.” I hear her say from behind me and I flash her a smile. I decided to stop at Hilo and get some groceries for the house.

The cashier smiles at me. “$13,500,” I gasp. Fi wah? Dem likkle bit a sup’m yah!? I only have $5000 cash. Cya bother enuh, Jamaica a fi rich ppl... we poor people affi guh migrate. I pull the zipper and dig through my bag for my card and spot a hand stretching a card to the cashier.

“How much it come to?” A familiar voice asks and I look up surprised. Him again! I don’t even know what to say. The cashier’s cheek crimson. Why she a irritate me?

“U-um... $13,500,” she bats her lashes and I look at my fingers embarrassed. Why is he doing this? I can pay my own bill.

“I was... ” I start.

“Ah, tek it off a that,” he tells the cashier, ignoring me. I sigh, looking away. You a save $13,500 cheer up! My subconscious starts. I hate that I keep seeing him.

“Y-your pin?” she says to him and I finally look back at them.

He takes the machine. My stare dips to the Rolex on his wrist and I can’t stop myself from wondering.

What exactly does this man do? He randomly pays people’s grocery bills and he walks around with a 1.

7 million dollar watch! It may be even more expensive!

Is he crazy though? If his Rolex caught the wrong eyes, they would kill him for it. Or maybe... he’s the wrong eyes.

“Okay, thank you,” she tells him. It’s like she forgot that I am the one who bought the groceries. I mean—picked up the groceries. He takes the bags and walks away. Wah the—

“A yuh ooman?” The cashier asks. The thought alone makes me cringe.

He nods. “Yah.” Him delusional eeeeeeh?

And a weh him a guh with me bags?

“Hey thanks for paying for it but I could too. I have my card I was just reaching for it.” I follow behind him.

He ignores me.

His height distracts me for a moment. He’s so tall, with a walk that commands every and anything around him.

A bit cocky too. He know he’s fine. He approaches a car that I assume is his, and a familiar stout man with long hair comes out, beard elongates his face.

He takes the bags from him. I stare fixedly.

Nuh him same one took me out of Mr. Perry’s car? Wah really a gwaan? Wah dem wah wid me? Him not even would a answer me. The strange man puts the bags in the trunk of the car. My brain crashes to stop as I realize that it’s the same Mercedes c63 AMG that Jordane got into–

I freeze in my tracks and swallow. He’s the ‘Don’ Gary raved about. The one who kept staring...

“Get in the car,” he breaks my thoughts. I don’t move. He stares. Icy. A million questions swirl in my mind, but the look he’s giving me, traps them in my throat.

“Mi a bring yuh home, yuh cya walk wid the heavy bags,” he insists. I walk over to the back door. There’s no way I’m sitting in the front with him.

As if he could sense my impending defiance, the stout man opens the door to the passenger side of the car, and diligently holds it open as I gingerly make my way inside. Seemingly satisfied, Bigz— we’ll call him that for now, hops into the Range Rover next to the Benz.

I share my location with Gavin as soon as I’m seated. I’m putting on my seatbelt when he gets into the car with me. He starts the engine, and drives out behind the SUV. I look in the rear view and I spot another. What?

“Why did you pay for my groceries? I-”

“Had my own card,” he mocks me, focusing on the road.

I sigh in defeat.

“Who are you?” I ask. “And wah yuh want from me?” He glances at me and shifts his focus back to the road. It has to be Trevor. It has to be.

“I don’t know Trevor,” I mutter.

“Be quiet.”

I—

He’s so disrespectful.

I cross my arms under my breasts, my brows knit as I glare through the windshield. “You can just drop me off at the bus stop,” I hiss without looking at him. How did he know I was at the supermarket? I look at him again.

“Are you following me?”

“No.”

“So how you know I was there?” I ask pointedly.

“Coincidence.”

I scoff and shake my head incredulously. This has to be some sick joke— or a prank maybe? ‘Cause what the hell? “I don’t know you and I don’t want to know you. Neither do I want to be a part of anything that you’re a part of,” my voice comes out harsh. He turns on Masicka’s I Wish ignoring me.

“You know where I live too?” Is my next question, because he seems to know my every move.

“No, but you a guh tell me,” his voice low. Watch confidence!

I scoff.

“I don’t want you to carry me home,” I argue and my body moves forward as he floors the gas pedal. I snap my head towards him, sinking his teeth in his lip.

“Yuh think dat funny!?”

My annoyance is sexy to him it seems. His legs rocking as he slows down at a traffic light. He pulls off again, a second before the light turns green. “It not even get to green good,” I roll my eyes. A low chuckle fills the car.

“Stop a deh bus stop deh,” I point. Of course he speeds pass it. I glare at him, and eventually stop protesting after realizing how futile my efforts are. He wasn’t going to stop.

“Weh yuh live?”

“Homestead,” I heave a sigh, not looking at him. He’s staring at me more than the road.

“A yuh real hair that?” I don’t answer.

“Hmm?” his voice drops impossibly low.

“How that concern yuh?” I roll my eyes. He’s now at my gate and I didn’t even tell him the exact house.

“How yuh know the house?” I glare at him, he gets on my nerves way too much for just an annoying stranger. His cronies pulled over two houses back.

Mama peeps outside and my face flushes. I can only imagine the questions that are about to be thrown at me.

Cya bother enuh! I try to open the door, but he locks it.

Frustrated, I roll my eyes and look over at him.

His stare is intense— legs still rocking.

I look down, focusing on his fit. White tees, denim jeans and Kappa slides.

He has the latest iPhone on his lap, with a $100 USD note beneath the clear case. It’s next to a blue vape.

Why you eyes deh pan him lap Zara?

I look away immediately.

“You’re welcome,” he smirks when he realizes that I have no intention of thanking him. His dimples make themselves known.

“I didn’t ask for any of this,” I roll my eyes again. At this point, yuh yiy dem soon roll out a yuh head.

“Mi know but a me want do this b,” he retorts. I try opening the door again—it’s still locked. Watch yah?

“Open the door please,” I sigh. He doesn’t budge. I feel naked under his stare. I look down at my phone, feeling painfully shy. I sigh and look at him again.

“My grandma is already curious about the car dropping me off, don’t make her wonder what’s taking me so long to get out too,” I say feeling defeated. You really can’t win when it come to da’ bwoy yah.

“Ah,” he chuckles. He unlocks it, I reach for the door handle and he flicks the lock again. I glare at him. He unlocks it. Finally.

I grip my bag and reach for the door, just in time to see that he locks it again.

I don’t have the time for this. I narrow my eyes at him.

He licks his full lips and unlocks it—he’s enjoying this a little too much.

I’m annoyed. He realizes and picks up a cup from the holder to take a sip—just before putting it back down, his brows, a sharp arch, I envy his full lashes, slightly curled.

He’s a pretty boy... but his dark, low eyes, tired, but alert, they’ve been through the ugliest things.

His gaze undressing me. I gulp and he slowly glides his finger towards the button. I shudder for an unknown reason. I ignore it. Mi just want come out. The door opens and I get out immediately. Once I’m out, I realize that everyone is staring in my direction. Of course they would be staring.

“The bags,” I sigh.

He opens the trunk from inside and I take my bags, sauntering away. He toots the horn at me and I sigh to myself, preparing myself to pull the grill. As usual, it gives me a hard time—even worse now that Mama is giving me that ‘Wi need fi talk look.’

I could already hear her questions.

Ughhh!