See Me After Class(108)

“Tired.”

“Want to go to sleep?”

“Not quite yet,” I say, even though I yawn. “What do you want for breakfast tomorrow morning?”

“Besides your cock?”

I chuckle. “Besides that.”

“Hmm, someplace that’s going to deliver.”

“Frankie Donuts delivers now.”

“Really?” she asks, her voice rising in interest, but the rest of her body’s relaxed, completely sated.

“Yeah. Maybe we order a breakfast sandwich, split that and get some donuts?”

“Sounds like a plan.” She yawns as well and then turns in my embrace so she’s cuddled into me. “Tonight was perfect, Arlo.”

“Better than the boat?” I tease.

She kisses my chest. “The boat was the foreplay. But this, this was intimate and just what I needed with you. I needed to make sure you were in this—”

“Hey, I told you I was,” I say, lifting her chin and placing a soft kiss on her lips.

“I know, but you were so hot and cold before, so when you changed your mind, it felt like a one-eighty, one that was too good to be true.”

“It’s not. It’s real. I keep checking to make sure it is.”

“Did you ever think we’d get to this place, after our first interaction?”

I sift my fingers through her hair as I talk quietly. “Honestly, no. I was attracted to you right away, but your classroom jam sessions really drove me nuts, especially on the first day, when I establish dominance.”

“Oh my God, listen to yourself. Establish dominance. These are high schoolers.”

“High schoolers that need rules. If not, you lose control of the classroom.”

“I haven’t lost control.” I can feel her tense up, and I don’t want to get into a fight about this.

“How about we leave our teaching techniques out of conversation.”

She presses up on my chest to look me in the eyes. “We can have a mature conversation about teaching, Arlo. We don’t have to shove our differences under a rug.”

“I understand that, but I just had one hell of a night with you. The last thing I want to do is talk teaching techniques, especially since we’re polar opposites in our style.” I rub my thumb over her cheek. “Please, I want to enjoy this quiet time with you.”

She places her hand on mine. “Okay. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” I bring my hand back to her hair when she lies down on my chest. “Now tell me a story about your childhood.”

“What kind of story?”

“Any kind,” I say. “I just want to listen.”

For my heart is finally open to hearing someone else’s voice.





Chapter Twenty-Four





GREER





“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the girl who’s boinking my brother.”

And Arlo said she’d be cool. I shouldn’t have trusted that for a second.

“Cora, please—”

“I’m just messing with you.” She brings me into a big hug. “I could not be more excited for you two.” Taking me by the hand, she pulls me into Arlo’s house and straight to the kitchen, where Arlo is cutting up vegetables. He’s wearing simple jeans and a T-shirt. But instead of his hair being styled, he’s sporting a Bobbies baseball cap and, for some reason, seeing him in a hat, so casual, makes my stomach flutter.

“Your girl is here,” Cora announces.

Arlo’s eyes shoot up and connect with mine. The corner of his lips turn up and he sets the knife down to round the kitchen island. Stepping up to me, he lifts my chin and presses a very soft kiss across my lips.

“Oh God, that’s so sweet and disgusting at the same time.”

“Is anyone else here?” I ask in a panic.

“No, you’re the first,” he says softly, before returning to the vegetables.

“So, what’s the plan?” Cora asks, tossing an orange around. “Are we announcing to everyone? We can throw together a song and dance that introduces you guys. Won’t take us more than five minutes. Might be fun.”

Arlo eyes me as he says, “We won’t be announcing anything.”

“But you just kissed her in front of me.”

“Because you know. That doesn’t mean we’re about to tell everyone else.”

“So, it really is a secret? Well, then.” She rubs her hands together. “I’m ready to hold this in the vault, but I’d like to be compensated at some point for my valiant efforts.”

“I think you staying here is compensation enough.”

“No way.” She stabs the kitchen island with her finger. “I have squatter’s rights because I’m your sister. You can’t use housing as a bartering technique. Try again.”

“She has a point,” I say, earning a brow raise from Arlo.

“Okay, how about all the cookies I’ve bought for you, or the calzones you need to have every Friday night?”

“Squatter’s rights. You have to feed the squatter.”

“I really don’t,” Arlo says, chuckling before he sets down the knife again. “Am I going to have to buy you something sparkly?”