Hissy Fit (The Southern Gentleman #1)(6)

The other kid, a boy that’d been standing there talking to Johnson when I’d walked in, gave me a tight smile and headed in the direction I’d indicated.

Once they were all seated, I pointed at the first desk farthest away from Johnson and said, “Introduce yourself.”

They did so, one by one, until there was only one.

“I know you, but go ahead so they don’t think I’m playing favorites this early in the semester,” I ordered Johnson.

Johnson smiled, looking so much like Ezra that it made my heart hurt.

“Johnson McDuff Berey. I’m the star of the Devil Dogs, and I play first base. I have a hot a—”

“Johnson, you finish that sentence, and I’ll take your ass to the field house,” a dark, deep, menacing voice said from directly behind me.

I squeaked and jumped, whirling around as I did, putting as much space in between Ezra and I that I could with the distance that the desk behind me afforded.

He looked at me like I’d hurt his feelings.

I kind of felt bad, but I couldn’t help my reactions.

They were what they were, and there wasn’t a damn thing that I could do about it. I would know—I’d tried.

“You scared the dickens out of me,” I whispered.

He studied me like I was a bug.

I knew he was trying to place how he knew me.

Luckily, I’d done a damn fine job at covering my nearly blackened eyes.

It’d been two whole weeks that they’d had to heal, and goddamn if they were taking their sweet ass time.

It was pretty darn sad that his nephew knew me, but he didn’t.

I mean, the man had practically seen me do the splits in front of him. Then he’d dropped a box of condoms on me making me bleed…how could you forget that?

Then again, I’d taught Johnson just last year.

I knew that Ezra still couldn’t place me, and I had a feeling it was likely due to my school attire, and the fact that my hair was down concealing my face.

Then again, it could be that he didn’t recognize me without all the blood…

“I brought you my notes,” he said. “Ms. Crusie, yes?”

I nodded, taking the notes he handed me with shaking fingers.

When he didn’t immediately let them go when I tried to take them, I dropped my hand.

He frowned.

What, was he expecting me to play tug o’ war with it?

He shook the papers impatiently this time, and I resisted the urge to take them on general principle at this point. “You can set them down on the desk.”

He narrowed his eyes.

I skirted around the desk and walked to the door, waiting there patiently for him to leave.

Once he was gone, I’d lock the door—just like school policy dictated.

Until then, I waited while he stared me down like I was in trouble.

“Is there anything I can help with?”

I shook my head. “No.”

He blew out a breath. “In that case, I’m going to go.”

Good for you.

Instead of saying my inner thoughts aloud, I only smiled serenely.

Or tried to.

I think it came out more as a grimace.

When he hesitated next to me in the doorway, I had to fight the urge to squirm.

He was giving me his coach stare, the one I’d seen him pull out for wayward students that miss-stepped in his presence.

I licked my suddenly dry lips and looked at him.

I saw the moment that recognition lit his eyes, but then a woman called his name.

The slut bag, Coach Casper.

“Hey, McDuff. You ready?” Coach Casper called out, sashaying down the hallway. “I got you a coffee and a cookie from the coffee shop in town. Your favorite! Black with one sugar, and an oatmeal raisin cookie.”

Ezra hesitated, his eyes still locked on mine, but then the bell rang.

“Coach McDuff?”

He made the decision then and stepped out of the doorway.

I took the opportunity for what it was and went to lock the door with my ring of keys, only I dropped them. When I bent down to pick them up, I slapped my forehead onto the door handle.

Ezra stopped, turning back around, but I hastily picked the keys up, closed the door, and then locked it before he could make it back to me.

I looked at him through the small window pane of glass and saw that he was worried and amused.

I looked away and found the class staring at me.

“Your head’s gonna have another bruise tomorrow,” Johnson pointed out.

I shrugged it off. “If all I get is a bruise on my forehead today, I’ll count myself lucky.”

Normally it was worse.

The class laughed.

Then they continued to laugh as I bumbled my way through the first lesson.

Apparently, I wasn’t doing them any good—which they shared with me.

All of them knew everything that I’d taught them.

Shit.

It was sad when sixteen and seventeen-year-olds were more experienced than their sex-ed teacher.





Chapter 4


Guess what? Chicken butt.

-Text from Raleigh to Camryn

Raleigh

I smiled at the parent, waiting patiently with my hand on the door as the little boy—Alfred—muddled his way to the front seat coming up from the very back. Then, just when he’d gotten to me and I reached out to lift him from his mother’s van, he turned around and said, “My backpack!”