See Me After Class(46)

The teachers file out, and I start packing up as well, ignoring Arlo’s blatant stare down. Once packed up, I shoot him a quick smile and say, “Successful meeting. Well, I’ll be on my way—”

“Greer,” Arlo says, his voice full of malice.

I wince and turn toward him, plastering on a large smile. “Yes?”

His nostrils flare and I brace myself for the tongue-lashing that I know is coming. I overstepped. I pushed him past his comfort zone and created an English teacher mutiny, all in a matter of minutes. I’m sure he’s not happy about it, if his face is any indication.

“Do you have plans for dinner?”

Ehh . . . what?

Did I just hear him correctly? He said plans for dinner, right?

Is this some sort of trickery?

Like he gets me to say no, and then he throws down an insult, like . . . uh . . . well, you can, uh . . . eat my dick for dinner.

Hmm . . . Arlo doesn’t seem like a “eat my dick” kind of guy.

But he also doesn’t look like he wants to share dinner plans with anyone, not with the way he’s steaming with anger, so I tread carefully.

“Well, I was probably going to stop and pick something up on the way home. Not much of a cook when I’m tired.” I shrug.

“Where do you live? Close?”

“Just off Johnson Boulevard. Why?” I tilt my head to the side. “Are you planning to murder me with a hoagie?” I chuckle.

“That would be far too easy.” He grabs his bag and says, “Let’s go.”

“Uh, go where?”

“Your apartment. We have things to discuss and I’m hungry.”

“But . . . I didn’t invite you over.”

“Yes, and I didn’t invite you to run my faculty meeting either, but I guess that didn’t stop you.” He reaches the doorway and nods at me. “Move it, Gibson. I’ve been known to get hangry.”

Well, at least he’s honest.





Chapter Ten





ARLO





On the way to our cars, we decided on Thai food. I placed an order to be delivered, Greer gave me her address, and we left. She hopped into her black Honda Civic and I got into my Tesla—which she commented on jealously.

When we pulled up to her apartment building, I was surprised.

Good area, but I know from Coraline looking over apartments that these are all studios.

Our teaching staff isn’t paid what they deserve, but they’re also not salaries that would require you to rent a studio apartment.

“You know, I still think this is weird,” Greer says, getting out of her car. “Why couldn’t we have just had dinner at a restaurant?”

Because I want nothing more than to spank you after that meeting.

Because I feel like yelling and screaming my frustration.

Because I’m desperate to have you alone.

“You really want to fight in public?” I ask.

She pauses, halfway up the stairs to her apartment complex. “We’re going to fight?”

“What do you think?”

“That we could have a civil conversation.”

“When has that ever happened?” I counter.

“There’s no time like the present to change.” She gives me a giant smile, and fuck, I want to kiss it right off her face.

Given my stance on keeping my distance where this girl is concerned, I’m going into this dinner with plans of keeping my hands to myself, eating, talking to her about insubordinate behavior, and then moving on with my night.

That’s it.

She leads us to her apartment and just as I suspected, when she opens the door, I’m welcomed into a cozy studio apartment with a lake view. Kitchenette to the left with a two-person table pressed against the wall. An unmade bed that lines up with the large floor-to-ceiling window. No curtains, no privacy, just the hope that no one is able to look into her apartment. Across from the bed is a dresser with a small TV on top, and then to the right is a closet and what I assume is the door to the bathroom.

The space is small, colorful . . . and messy.

Clothes are draped over every surface, including . . . small string thongs.

Hell.

She tosses her purse to the side and says, “Wasn’t expecting company. Want me to straighten up for you?”

“Might be nice to sit somewhere.”

“It’s not that bad, and they’re all clean clothes. I like to save money on drying.” She picks up a laundry basket and starts tossing her clothes inside. Picking up a neon-yellow thong, she swivels it on her finger and says, “This one is my favorite.”

“Don’t need the commentary on your underwear. Thank you.”

“But it’s more fun that way.” She picks up a black lace bra and says, “This barely contains my tits. I only wear it on dates.”

My jaw clenches. “Does that mean you’ve been on a date recently?”

“Only with myself.” She winks, and I swear, she’s fucking with me right now.

Just then, there’s a knock on the door, and I stand to get it, but she waves at me. “I got it.” Bra in hand, she goes to the door and opens it. “Yum. Thank you. Smells amazing.”

“Sure,” a male voice says. “Uh, do you need anything else?”