Hissy Fit (The Southern Gentleman #1)(4)

Blood instantly spurted, and the woman rolled to her feet and made a mad dash to the bathroom, trailing blood behind her.

I stood there, stunned for about thirty seconds before all hell broke loose.

“Goddamn that woman,” the employee said as he dragged himself up off the ground. “If there was a way to ban a person, I’d do it with her. I swear, every single time she comes in here, something happens.”

I looked at the kid with a raised eyebrow. “Seems to me that you’re being a little bitch.”

I was a football coach—being nice wasn’t really in my genetic makeup.

The kid sputtered, “Coach! You can’t say that in here! Think of the kids!”

The one and only kid that I could still see, working on his second Little Debbie, had probably heard worse. His mother seemed like the type to let the television babysit him—and not censor what he watched.

I looked back at the employee, shook my head, and then took a step in the direction of where the woman had run, feeling a sense of urgency. I needed to know that she was okay.

I didn’t know why, but I felt it, so I was going with my gut.

I kicked something when I took a step, and saw a phone amongst the blood, knowing instantly that it belonged to the woman.

Bending over, I picked it up and glanced at the lit screen.

Words, likely from an e-book, scrolled across the screen, but I didn’t glance at them until I was leaning against the wall waiting for the woman to come out.

When I did, my heart skipped a beat.

He bent her over, trailing the blunt head of his cock down her spine, painting her back with his pre-cum.

My belly clenched, and I suddenly felt a different urgency take me.

Not willing to actually change the page, I read the screen over and over again, waiting for the woman to come out of the bathroom.

And when she did, I’d practically memorized the words.

Then I felt something tap me in the backside, causing me to turn.

“Excuse me,” a husky, feminine voice said from behind me.

“Are you okay?” I blurted, seeing her blood-filled towel in her hand.

She nodded, but I didn’t hear the words that came out of her mouth when she replied, because I was too focused on her face.

I felt terrible for hurting her, even if it was by accident.

“Ma’am?”

Then her eyes glanced down at the phone in my hand, and her face turned eight shades of red.

I had to fight not to smile.

I let the phone go when she reached for it.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

Then, she turned, skirted around me, and started running for the door.

When the doors didn’t open fast enough for her forward progress, she ran into one of them, and I had to hold in the burst of laughter that threatened to slip free.

That woman was a hot mess.

And I wanted to know more about her. Now.





Chapter 3


I’m a virgin.

(This isn’t an old shirt)

-T-shirt

Raleigh

“What do you mean you want me to teach the sex-ed class this year?” I asked, appalled at the mere thought of having to have that discussion with teenagers when I hadn’t even experienced the act myself.

The horror must’ve been evident on my face because Mrs. Sherpa hurried to explain.

“Normally this is handled by the coaches,” Mrs. Sherpa explained. “But with the football team entering state finals last season, Coach McDuff had to roll straight from football to baseball. He doesn’t have time to teach the health class.” She exhaled. “And, you’re the only one with an opening for the time period that health class would normally take place.”

I didn’t know what to say to that.

I mean, sure, that was the case with ‘Coach McDuff.’ The Gun Barrel Devil Dogs did, in fact, make it to state—and won.

The mere mention of ‘Coach McDuff’—also known as Ezra Doran McDuff, sexy coach in my head—had my heart rate accelerating.

But…sex-ed.

I didn’t do sex.

I didn’t have sex.

I didn’t know about sex.

I didn’t even think about sex—okay, that last one is a lie. I thought about sex…with Ezra. I didn’t think about sex with anyone else, though.

That, and I read about it. But reading about it and doing it were two entirely different things.

“W-what age group are we talking here?” I asked, hoping that it was with a bunch of immature ninth graders.

“Mainly, it’d be the junior and senior level. Grades ten and nine can move down to take health at the junior high, or we can put them off until next year due to availability. But the seniors don’t have the choice to put it off. So, it’ll be one class, with about thirty students in it.”

That made me want to vomit.

I worked with the ninth graders because they were still too young to have attitudes, and they weren’t so big that they could overpower me if they got pissed off. The upperclass boys—let’s just say that if they wanted to, they could take me down in a heartbeat.

Just the idea of all those big football players in a class of mine made me nauseous.

I knew, logically, that they weren’t going to do anything.

But thanks to my first and only foray into senior level classes when I was a student teacher—I’d quickly realized that senior classes weren’t where I wanted to be.