See Me After Class(37)

“You really think I’d do that?”

“I do.”

Unbelievable.

I don’t have to stand here and listen to these accusations. Pushing past her again, our shoulders bumping, I head for the door, only for her to swoop in and stop me again.

“You’re going to stand there and tell me that while grading her paper, you had no intentions of giving her a bad grade just because she’s my athlete? Because you were mad at me?” She pushes my shoulder, trying to grab my attention, which I don’t want to give her. “Because you thought it was one way to get back at me.”

I take a long, hard look at where she pushed my shoulder and then I look at her.

Eyes furious, raging.

Neck flushed, a vein twitching on the right side.

Chest rising faster than before.

Hands curled into fists at her sides.

The anger washing over her is mirrored in me, and before I know what I’m doing, I press one hand against her hip and back her against the closed door. The other hand lands against the wood next to her head. She gasps from the quick movement but doesn’t falter.

She holds strong.

Stands her ground as I battle with roaring animosity and unbridled arousal.

Fuck.

Even though her beauty strikes me in the pit of my stomach, it doesn’t overshadow the resentment I have for her implications. I would never jeopardize a student’s future by failing them unnecessarily. For eight years, I’ve worked relentlessly to enable my students to perform to the best of their ability, to attain the GPA required to gain entry into their desired university. Blair’s grade was deserved.

In a voice that comes out menacing, I say, “You might want to rethink your accusations, Miss Gibson. If brought to Principal Dewitt, there could be major implications.”

“Maybe they should be brought to her.”

My thumb drags along her hipbone, she sucks in a sharp breath, and her tongue wets her lips.

“I wasn’t speaking of implications for me . . . I was talking about you.”

“Wh-what do you mean?” she asks, her voice wavering as my thumb slips under her shirt. Just the pad of my thumb presses against her bare skin.

“Principal Dewitt takes complaints seriously. If you told her I was punishing your athlete, my student, because I was mad at you for pranking me, not only would she investigate the pranking and the harm you could have imposed on a faculty member, but she’d also have the paper sent to a review board where they’d run it through a plagiarism program first and then grade it from there. Not only would you possibly lose your job over mindless pranks that disturbed the environment of the school, but your athlete could also be punished for possible plagiarism, resulting in suspension. How do you think UCLA would like that?”

“You . . . asshole.”

She raises her hand. I grip it, pushing it against the door, above her head. She’s pinned in place.

I lower my mouth to her ear once again. Speaking softly but firmly, I ask, “Is that a risk you’re willing to take?” My thumb slides a little farther under her shirt, and she lets out a harsh breath, her torso twisting as her lungs seek more air.

“You . . . don’t know she plagiarized,” she says as my nose grazes the side of her cheek.

Fuck, she smells so good. Her skin’s so soft. Her fiery disposition’s turning me on more than I care to admit.

This isn’t how I handle conversations or disagreements. But this girl is making me lose my mind. Being around her causes me to forget how to hold a civil conversation. Instead, I have this urgent need to be next to her, touching her, so close to her that my lips can practically taste her. And I hate that. I hate that she can overrule my common sense and self-control. Maybe I should hate her.

“There were some unoriginal thoughts in her paper.” My breathing slows down, anticipation building heavy in my chest as I move my head so we’re looking each other directly in the eyes.

And when our pupils connect, the air stills around us. The rest of the guest arrivals fade into the background, and what’s left is this moment, with Greer, temptation knocking me in the dick, pulling me closer and closer until I don’t think I can stop myself . . .

Knock. Knock.

Greer jolts up but I don’t move, keeping her pinned against the door.

“What?” I seethe.

“Uh, should we start eating?” Romeo asks.

“Yes,” I snap.

“Okay, uh, sounds good.”

When he steps away, Greer whispers, “We need to get out there.”

“You were the one who wanted to have this conversation.”

“Well, I can’t have it when . . . when you’re this close to me.”

“And why’s that, Greer?”

“Because . . . you’re . . .” She groans as I lower my mouth to her ear and capture her lobe while my hand slides up her stomach a little higher. “Fuck, Arlo,” she gasps, and it’s like an aphrodisiac, hearing her say my name with capitulation.

And when I think she’s going to push me away, her hands slide up my chest to my shoulders.

“Admit it,” I say while her hands drag up my neck to my face, where she maneuvers my forehead to press against hers. Our noses touching, our breaths mixing. “Admit that I’m right.”

“Never,” she says so softly that I almost don’t hear her over the pounding of my heart. Her hand slides up to the side of my face, cupping it. “You’re an arrogant prick who believes the world revolves around his agenda.” Her thumb passes over the scruff on my jaw, the movement igniting the flames in my stomach to a roaring inferno. She turns my head, brings her mouth to my ear and whispers, “Well, it doesn’t.” And then she drags her mouth along my cheek until she reaches the corner of my mouth, where she stops.