Page 35 of Teacher's Pet

If I stayed, he would have proof. Right now, all he has is a dim, maybe-I-saw-him witness.

I heard the sliding door shut. When I peeked over the pool edge, I caught his eyes briefly through the kitchen window, cold and sharp.

I jumped out, freezing instantly. The air bit at my skin. I shoved my phone back into my pocket.

Five missed calls from Landon. Sicko.

I needed to get the hell out. I just wanted to see his wife, maybe peek at his life, not get caught.

I crawled toward the fence, the one I think I came from. Once I’m far enough away, I’ll call Landon to pick me up.

Who cares if Mr. Thorne saw me? Who was he going to tell? The board and risk me blabbing?

Yes. Perfect plan.

“Ryan Larson. Don’t you dare hop that fence.”

His voice cut through the cold like a blade, low, rough.

It zapped a cold thrill through me.

I turned. He stood in a damp white tee and plaid PJ pants, chest rising hard, hair mussed from sleep. Furious.

Nose flared. Eyes black. He shut the side door with a quietclick, each step deliberate as he came closer.

“Come here.”

A shiver ran up my spine, half the night air, half the way his gaze pinned me like prey.

I edged toward the fence.

“Ryan.” His tone softened, but in that way that made it worse. “If you come to me right now, I won’t be mad.”

But his jaw was tight, a muscle ticking. His fist curled like he was holding something back.

“I don’t believe you,” I said, voice thin.

“Ryan.” The softness dropped. His voice was flat, dangerous.

“If you hop that fence, I’m done playing nice. I’ve let the games slide. The looks. The mouth. But if you make me chase you—”

He stepped closer, close enough I could see the water clinging to his shirt, outlining every ridge of muscle.

“Then I’ll deal with you the way your father should have,” he said, low and deliberate, “and you won’t like it.”

My chest tightened. I pushed up onto the fence, heartbeat drumming in my ears.

“Ryan—”

I went over.

Not a road. Forest.

“Fuck,” I breathed. Too late.

A curse ripped out behind me, and then his footsteps, heavier, faster, pounded against the ground.

Branches tore at my coat as I ran, lungs burning. He was close enough I couldfeelhim, the weight of him at my back, the heat of his breath catching the cold air.