Page 15 of Sugar (Gilded #1)

Hot for Teacher

MADDIE

“ T his is why we don’t do laundry on Saturday.”

I looked from the packed room to Greer. “I said you could’ve done it without me last night.”

“No. You offered to give me your dirty laundry so I could wash it for you.”

“Which is basically the same thing.” I scanned the machines, but all of them were taken. “Why don’t we come back down tonight? It’ll be dead by then.”

“We’re already here,” Wren said as she lifted onto her toes. “Oh, there’s one.” She hurried forward, ducking and dodging like she was competing in an obstacle course and there was a prize at the end.

I gave Greer a questioning look, but she shrugged, just as lost as I was.

With no other choice, we followed after our friend. Once we reached her, she was about to dump her laundry in the machine when a cute guy jumped forward.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he said.

“If someone is saving it, they’re outta luck.” She met his gaze with a stubborn set of her pretty face, challenging him to argue.

He smiled at her like he wanted to do something far different than argue. “Nah, it’s not that. The last two people who’ve used that machine have had their clothes torn.” He gave a pointed glance toward the lace at the top of her basket. “And that would definitely be a shame.”

“Oh. Thanks for the warning.”

“My load—” His face reddened. “My laundry should be done any minute. You can take my machine.” He pointed at the chair he’d been sitting in. “And my seat.”

“I’m fine to stand.” Her dark eyes dropped to her watch. “But I will take the machine when it’s done.”

Greer leaned closer. “Apparently, we’re chopped liver.”

A guy flirting with Wren wasn’t surprising. She had that effect on men. What was surprising was that she seemed oblivious to his attention.

And distracted.

I turned my back on them, letting the guy shoot his shot without the added audience since it seemed like it was going to be an air ball. Lowering my voice to a whisper, I asked Greer, “What’s going on with her?”

“We hung for a bit last night, and she was on her phone. A lot . She even smudged a few nails because she took her hand out from the light to snatch up her phone before they were dry.”

My brows shot up. Of the three of us, Wren was the least online. She definitely wouldn’t sacrifice her favorite—and kind of expensive—cat’s eye polish just to text. Not unless there was someone important on the receiving end.

“Hmm,” I murmured. “Seems someone is keeping secrets.”

“Says the person who’s being all tight-lipped about where you were last night. What was that pin drop about? What happened with your interview? Did it go weird? You shouldn’t be meeting people alone.”

“But that’s my only shot at getting my own Dateline special. I want the whole hour, not a five-minute featurette.” At her exasperated sigh—and the fact there were only so many secrets a girl was capable of holding in—I told her, “The interview was for an alumni highlight on Easton Wells.”

“My dad’s lawyer?”

“Yes, that Easton Wells. But also, no because he didn’t end up taking your dad as a client.”

She shrugged. “He never tells me anything.”

That always surprised me. My dad roped my mom and me into helping, and I knew for a fact I was more of a hindrance than anything else. Meanwhile, Greer had a love of all things business and order, yet Doug always brushed off her offers to help.

I assumed it was to keep the peace, but it still seemed like a waste. Her control freak habits were a small price to pay when she could do so much good. I knew that from experience.

I wouldn’t have graduated high school on time had it not been for the type-A study schedule she’d made me.

“How’d you end up with him?” she asked.

I ended up with him in a kink club, and I can’t stop thinking about either one.

I forced those thoughts away. “Long story.”

“What’s a long story?” Wren turned away from the guy and missed his crestfallen reaction.

“Mads interviewed the hot lawyer last night,” Greer filled in.

A naughty smirk curved Wren’s lips, and the guy went from half in love to full-on. “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

“For the paper. Just as I said.”

Before they could harass me any further, a buzzer cut in. The guy loaded his clothes into a basket before smiling at Wren. “So?—”

“It was great meeting you. I’m sure I’ll see you around,” she said.

The dejected expression was back, but he didn’t lash out or try to force more conversation. “Right. See you around.”

Gotta appreciate a guy who can handle rejection like a man and not a whiny, little bitch boy.

And isn’t that sad?

Wren hurried to get her clothes going just as two machines at opposite ends of the room freed up.

Once we gathered back together, Wren eyed the time on her phone. Then the washer. Then her phone again.

I skewered her with a look. “What’s the rush, Wrench? Got a hot…”

Oh.

Duh.

“You have a hot date,” I surmised.

“I have a date, yes. It remains to be seen whether it’s hot or not.”

Greer’s eyes narrowed. “Why all the secrecy? Is it someone we know?”

“No.”

Her guarded answer made us both go on alert.

She must’ve known we weren’t going to drop it because she sighed before tugging us closer. Her voice was barely above a whisper. “I met him while student teaching.”

“And I’m guessing he’s not another college student. Parent?”

“Teacher. I’m assigned to his class.” At our expressions, she rushed to tack on, “Don’t worry, he’s only five years older than me.”

That wasn’t my concern. I had no room to judge since I’d spent the night—and a full battery charge on my vibrator—fantasizing about a man fifteen years older than me.

My worry was that it could mess up her degree if something went south. I weighed my words, trying to decide whether to say something before deciding against it.

Unlike me and my string of failed relationships, Wren was lucky in love. She didn’t get bored. She didn’t attract jerks. She didn’t move on quickly because nothing ever felt right . All of her relationships ended amicably.

Greer must’ve also decided that she wasn’t in a position to say anything considering she had a not-boyfriend who she still spoke to nearly daily. “What time is he picking you up?”

“Six,” Wren said, barely holding back a giddy smile.

“Tell us everything,” I ordered.

Greer held up a hand to stop her as she looked back and forth between us. She paused on me first. “I still want to hear about the interview.” She looked at Wren. “But this sounds juicier, so spill.”

She has no idea how wrong she is.

Like the gossip gods were smiling upon us, another small group left and freed up some of the plastic chairs.

We snagged three before Wren launched in.

“He’s sweet, funny, and amazing with the kids.

Less important, but he’s also really hot.

Like, he could easily be a model or actor.

” She flicked her wrist dismissively. “I know, I know. That’s most of LA.

But I mean that literally. His dad is some studio bigwig, but Chris is happy being a teacher. ”

We peppered her with more questions, and Greer did the proper best friend thing by looking him up on every form of social media.

To our delight—and shock—there were zero red flags. No dodgy pages or porn bots that he followed. No reposts of podcast bros who thought they were high-value men. He had pictures and interactions with friends, not a page of drunken pics and insta-baddies.

“See?” Wren sat back with a sigh. “He’s really great.”

“Is this your first date?” I asked.

“Yes. We’ve been texting. And flirting. And trying not to do either because… you know. But last night he said—” Her words cut off abruptly as her cheeks flushed.

“I don’t think we need the specifics,” Greer said.

“Good because you’re not getting them. All that matters is we decided to carefully go for it. Hence the need for my favorite dress.”

We spoke for a few minutes more before Wren got up to switch her laundry into the dryer.

Greer shook her phone. “I’m glad he checked out.”

“And I’m glad her urgency to do laundry was because of a date. I thought I was going to be stuck with two of you neat freaks.”

“Haha. Very funny.”

“I thought so.”

And I did, right up until Wren sat down and Greer turned the conversation to me. “Now tell us about the interview.”

“It was a normal interview,” I lied.

Kind of.

The interview itself had been normal. My thoughts and feelings hadn’t been. Nor was the fact my follow-up communication had come in the form of stalking.

“That’s boring,” Wren said.

“It wasn’t an investigative thing. I just needed to get enough to make him and Coastal look good. I got it. The end.”

Even if I really, really wish it wasn’t.

“And the pin drop?” Greer pushed. “You said it was a bar.”

I thought about lying and saying it sucked since I doubted I would ever be able to go to Golden without trying to sneak into Gilded. I kept it simple instead. “I popped into a nearby bar. It was nice.”

When they both looked suspicious, I gave them the only interesting tidbit I could share. “The bench in the library is in his honor for his donations.”

“The one students make their own donations on?” Wren asked with an eyebrow wiggle.

“Ew,” Greer cried as I mimicked barfing.

For as sweet as Wren was—and as angelic as she looked—she had the dirtiest sense of humor.

She proved both with a melodic giggle.

“But, yes,” I said. “ That bench.”

“Did you tell him what happens on it?”

“Not as eloquently as you phrased it.”

“I know, I have a real way with words.”

“I bet he was pissed,” Greer said.

Thinking about the way he’d looked, I couldn’t hold back a smile. “Opposite. I think he would’ve been more pissed if it was just gathering dust.”

“Instead, it’s gathering—” Wren began, but I covered my ears and jumped up before she could finish her gross thought.

My words came out loud and dramatic. “I need to transfer my load.”

She waited until I uncovered my ears to say, “That’s what they say on the bench.”

I shook my head and walked across the room because it hadn’t just been an excuse. I started to transfer my clothes into the dryer but paused when my phone vibrated in my back pocket.

Easton .

I rolled my eyes at myself and pulled it free to see that, unsurprisingly, it wasn’t a text from him. Or from anyone.

It was an email.

I nearly pocketed it since ninety-nine percent of the ten thousand-plus unread emails in my inbox were junk. The remaining one percent were school emails that I wasn’t concerned with on a Saturday afternoon. For whatever reason, though, something in my head said I should look.

From: Cohen Novak

What the hell?

A million possibilities flew through my head.

It could be informing me of a lifetime ban for sneaking in.

Or a bill because there was definitely a fee to be a member there.

Emily at the little podium had said not to worry about that form, but maybe she’d misspoken.

It could be nothing more than an automatic email that went out to every guest with a greeting. Or a survey.

There was only one way to find out.

My heart hammered like it was doing its best to do a drumroll on my rib cage as I tapped the screen with a trembling finger.

Maddie,

It was great meeting you yesterday. You seemed interested in this. Hope to see you there.

-C

I clicked to open the attachment and nearly dropped my phone in the machine.

It was a form for the auction. To participate in said auction.

To be an object that was auctioned off.

Vulnerable and owned and at the whim of someone else.

I scanned the questionnaire then scrolled up and scanned it again. My mouth grew dry.

Other areas farther south had the opposite reaction.

In my head—and my fantasies the night before—it was Easton there. Easton who bid on me. Easton who wanted me.

But that was all it was. A fantasy courtesy of my overactive imagination.

He had barely even looked at me the night before.

He certainly hadn’t given any indication the attraction was reciprocal.

Or that he wanted to be my Gilded tour guide.

We’d left as soon as his meeting was done, and I was fairly certain the only reason he’d allowed me to stay was so he could ensure I actually left that time.

Because we both knew I didn’t belong there and that I was completely out of my depth.

With a sigh, I clicked the delete button on the email and finished with the dryer before returning to Wren and Greer.

It was the latter who said, “Guess where he’s taking Wren tonight?”

“Hold on,” I said, hurriedly yanking my cell out. I navigated into my email’s trash folder and clicked to restore the email from Cohen.

Just to read through later.

It’s my curiosity.

My nosiness.

That’s all.

At seeing the email safely in my inbox, the surge of panic receded, and I gave my friends my attention. “Where?”