Page 9

EIGHT

DRAKE

I watch her leave and exhale sharply on the click of the door. Fuck, that was more difficult than I thought it would be.

I run my fingers through my hair and note how hard my heart is beating right now. Fuck!

I’m used to keeping my cool, but for some reason being around Imogen changes that. When she bit down on her lip and stared at me through those baby blues, I nearly lost my mind. I can’t believe I’m attracted to her. It’s wrong on every level.

This is a disaster. I’m her fucking teacher, or so I’m meant to be. Not some wide-eyed kid who is fixating on a girl who is so out of my league, it’s laughable.

From the moment we collided on the first day, she has lived rent free in my mind.

When I saw her out jogging, I shamelessly followed her and it was no chance encounter I was there to help her when she tripped.

I’m such a fucking loser. It’s pathetic and now the principal has gifted me the opportunity to spend more time with her. Necessary time for this to work.

My next class is due and I wish I’d never set foot in Rockwell Academy. This is a fucking joke—I’m a fucking joke and who the hell thought this would be a good idea?

The class descends on me like a swarm of locusts, reminding me what I’m here to do and with a sigh, I turn my mind to the civil war and once again bemoan the fact I was the only fucking option for this job.

Thank fuck for television because I use it to my advantage and get it to do the work for me. I’m out of my depth and the way I’m feeling now, I’m liable to throw in the towel.

I take lunch in the staff cafeteria and, as I claim my seat by the window, I gaze out on the students below.

Chatting, sitting in groups and just hanging out, with no worries except for how they will make it through the day until they can party.

I remember my own college days and wonder if I knew back then what my future would be if I would have changed direction.

I almost wish I had because being here right now is the worst form of torture as I spy the woman in question, slightly limping as she makes her way to the cafeteria with Jesse Anderson.

A low growl rumbles through me when I note his arm around her shoulder as he whispers shit in her ear, causing her to giggle.

My fist tightens as I observe the scene and as he drops a light kiss on her cheek, I hate how she giggles up at him.

“Mr. Bellingham.”

The use of my name distracts me from my anger and my attention returns to the room as Principal Constable drops into the seat in front of me.

“Ma’am.” I offer politely and she rolls her eyes.

“Angela, please. There is no need for respect in the teacher’s area.” She grins, and I don’t miss her fluttering lashes as she attempts to flirt with me.

I note the way she has unbuttoned her blouse just low enough to offer a glimpse of a satin bra. The way she is licking her lips and staring at me with hunger rather than the food makes my heart sink. Fuck, this is all I need. She’s an attractive woman, but way too old for me.

Because you prefer girls who are one step away from childhood, you creep.

My inner voice reprimands me as it reminds me I’m balancing on a very dangerous wire right now.

“Angela.” I smile, the effects of which cause her to blush and she leans closer and whispers seductively, “You are fitting in well at Rockwell, Drake.” She says my name with a curl of pleasure in her smile, and I stuff my burrito into my mouth in place of an answer.

This is all I fucking need.

“So, the prom.”

I nod as I chew, hoping like hell the bell goes soon.

“I have put you on patrol along with myself, Miss Richardson, Mr. Ives and Mrs. Jameson.”

“Ok.” I nod as I take another bite and she licks her lower lip and whispers, “We should team up. We will work well together.”

“Sure.” I reach for my soda and lean back in my chair, regarding her through a hooded gaze that appears to only increase the desire in her eyes.

“Perhaps we should discuss our plans over dinner tonight, um, Drake.”

Fuck and double fuck. This cannot be happening.

Must I really screw this woman to throw her off the scent?

It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve used such tactics, but fuck me—no.

Not the principal and definitely not when all I can think about is screwing my freaking student who is so off limits, its hilarious.

I chug down my soda and decide avoidance is my best course of action, and I frown.

“Sounds good, um, Angela, but I can’t make it this evening. I have a prior engagement.”

“You do?” Disappointment flares in her eyes. “May I ask what?”

Resisting the urge to tell her she fucking can’t, I shake my head. “I’m meeting with a friend who lives nearby.”

“A friend?”

Her eyes narrow and I say hastily, “Yeah, Chuck and I go way back and he doesn’t live far, so we’re catching a few beers.”

She visibly relaxes. “I see. Well, maybe tomorrow night.”

I nod and am thankfully saved by the bell as I jerk my head toward the door.

“Duty calls. Catch you later, prin–, I mean, Angela.”

I must take the record for exiting a room as I dump my tray and head out of the door, wondering how the fuck I got into this mess. If Principal Constable clocks me with Imogen later, I have a feeling the shit will really hit the fan.