See Me After Class(31)

Trying not to wilt under his stare, I stand from my desk, round it, and sit on the corner. His eyes travel my body, not hiding the blatant once-over. And even though I wish I could say the way his eyes travel up my body—greedy, hungry, angry—doesn’t affect me . . . it does.

It causes my chest to quake, my throat to tighten up, and my palms to break out in a sweat.

Under his stare, I flatten my hands down the front of my dress, wishing I could read his mind. Wishing I knew how to change this hate-hate relationship to something that isn’t so volatile.

But from the determination in his eyes to speak with me, I’m going to guess we’re continuing down the hate-hate path.

He closes the distance between us, and the intoxicating smell of his leather and spice scent pushes into my breathing space, taking up unwanted room. His deep, intimidating voice seethes through the dense quiet of my classroom when he says, “I know it was you.”

Oh crap.

Did the boys give in? Throw me under the bus?

Damn it, I wish I could check my phone for any warnings from them.

Then again, maybe he’s testing me. Maybe he’s bluffing. Maybe he doesn’t know anything and is just taking a guess. In that case, go with the evasive technique.

“Know what was me?” I ask, gripping the edge of the desk while I lean against it, trying to look as casual as possible, even though my heart is thumping rapidly in my chest and I can feel sweat start to accumulate on the back of my neck.

“Don’t fuck with me, Greer,” he says, his voice so menacing that I feel like all the air around us is being used to fuel his anger.

“I’m not fucking with you,” I say, my voice wavering.

And of course, he catches it as he takes another step forward, his intimidation tactic seriously outdated, but God is it wreaking havoc on my nerves.

Looking down at me, his chin still held high, he says, “Do you think it’s a good idea to poke the bear, Greer?”

“I mean, if this has to do with my teaching techniques—”

“You know damn well this has nothing to do with your teaching,” he says, pushing forward so his hands land on either side of the desk and I have to lean back so our faces don’t touch. My teeth roll over the bottom of my lip, keeping it from quivering while I hold my breath, attempting to show how unaffected I am by his closeness but failing miserably.

He’s insufferable.

He’s rude.

He’s brash and holier than thou.

But God, is he handsome.

Chiseled jaw, just enough five o’clock shadow on his face to leave a mark, but nothing that’s going to be bothersome. His eyes are downright devastating, especially when angry, and his body . . . even under a cardigan, I can tell just how carved he is.

With every second that goes by when I’m close to this man, I can feel my defenses lower, my intrigue spike, and my desire to drive forward causing me to forget all the reasons why he’s the most unbearable man I’ve ever met.

“The pranks stop now,” he says. “Do you understand me? They stop. Now.”

“I, uh, I don’t know what you’re referring to,” I say, avoiding all eye contact with him.

“What did I say about fucking with me, Greer?”

“Do it?” I ask, adding a cheeky smile.

He doesn’t flinch.

Doesn’t even consider laughing.

But instead, his jaw clenches tighter as he lowers his mouth to my ear, the scrape of his scruff barely grazing over my cheek as his lips hover right by my ear. My entire body breaks out into a wave of goosebumps as he speaks.

“This is your one and only warning. Fuck with me again and you won’t like what happens.”

My breath catches in my throat and I wait for him to lift up, to turn away and join his sister for lunch, but he doesn’t move. Instead, I feel our breaths sync, an unusual desire I wasn’t expecting swirling between us.

I pull back just enough to catch his eyes. They study me. Intense. Deep, with a hint of vulnerability. The type of vulnerability that isn’t offered over a cup of coffee, but the kind that’s spoken about once trust has been established.

There is no trust between us.

But inexplicably, a small piece of me wants to establish that layer of trust so I can dive deep into the vulnerability that lies just beneath his tough exterior.

“Are you planning retaliation?” I ask.

His eyes drop to my lips before focusing back on my eyes. “Retaliation? No.” He licks his lips. “Punishment . . . always.”

Oh.

My.

God.

I suck in a sharp breath as he pushes off the desk and stares down at me. Unmoving, put in my place, I’m unsure if I want to slap the man for invading my space, give him a piece of my mind and tell him exactly where he can put his punishment, or tear at his cardigan and shirt and dig my fingernails deep into his toned muscles.

Either way, I don’t have time to decide because he turns away and heads out of my classroom, leaving me breathless, annoyed, and unfortunately . . . horny. What the fuck was that?

When the door closes behind him, I scramble to my phone, pick it up, and read the text messages from Gunner and Romeo.

Gunner: Alert. Alert. Romeo cracked. Arlo is coming your way.

Great. I press my hand to my forehead. And here I thought I could trust these two.