See Me After Class(64)

Far-fetched, I know, but still, it was the first thing that popped into my head.

“Did you get called in too?”

That voice.

Oh God.

I look to the right, where Arlo is sitting in one of the chairs just outside of Principal Dewitt’s office. I haven’t seen him in two days, and I started to worry that maybe he was regretting what happened Friday night or technically Saturday morning, but before I can second-guess that assumption, he smirks at me, easing my mind.

“I did.” I press my hand over my stomach, watching how inconspicuously Arlo takes in my dress, his eyes eating me up like a rabid beast. “Do you know what this is about?”

He stands and says, “Probably about what happened between us this weekend.”

“What?” I shout-whisper. “But how? I didn’t say anything. Did you?”

He chuckles, the sound so alluring and comforting that I want to snuggle into his side and ask him if I can stay there while Principal Dewitt speaks to us.

The door opens to the principal’s office and Nyema Dewitt steps out. “Arlo, Greer, thank you for stopping by during lunch. Come, have a seat.” She directs us to the chairs in front of her desk. Arlo and I both take a seat, but while he leans back and crosses one leg over his knee, I fidget in place and try not to throw up.

“I don’t want to keep you from your lunch break, but I wanted to get this settled so I can move on to other things.”

Settled?

Oh God.

Does this have to do with the dress-up day?

Arlo did say he’d report me to Nyema if he needed to. Did he report me, then go and butter me up over the weekend so I wouldn’t hate him for getting me fired?

I think he’s conniving enough to do something like that.

“I do have a salad waiting for me in the fridge,” Arlo says with charm.

Charm.

The man has charm that doesn’t entail ripping your panties off to appease his demands. Who knew?

“Steak with gorgonzola?” Nyema asks.

“Always.” He winks, and I nearly throw up right there on the spot.

Suck ass much, Arlo?

Good God, man.

“Well, I won’t keep your salad waiting. I wanted to talk to you about the homecoming dance.”

Homecoming?

“We’re short two chaperones, and I was hoping you could fill in.”

From the corner of my eye, I see Arlo grip the armrest tightly, but that’s the only evidence of his displeasure. “Of course, I can be there.”

“Wonderful.” Nyema turns to me and says, “Newbie is always the first to be thrown to the wolves. Are you available, Greer?”

“Of course. Haven’t really established a life outside of school just yet, so I’m your girl. Plus, I’m super great at making sure students stay in line while also having fun. Because you know, high school has to be full of fun. So much fun . . . and rules. There must be rules, too.” God, stop rambling, Gibson. “But, yes, no social life, so I’m here for anything you need.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Arlo says, picking a piece of lint off his pants, a diabolical pull to his lips. “My sister was telling me all about your Ladies in Heat Book Club.”

Oh.

My.

God.

My face burns with embarrassment as Nyema raises her brow in my direction.

Uhh . . . things I don’t want my boss knowing about me—not when I’m trying to impress her, solidify a job here.

Awkwardly chuckling, I say, “Um, yeah . . .” I swallow. “I do have that.”

“Ladies in Heat?”

I thumb toward Arlo. “His sister’s idea.”

“Ahh, but you voted on it. Keiko Seymour offered the Austen Empowerment Collaborative, which I thought was more fitting. More respectful.”

What the hell is he doing?

Asking to be murdered?

Because that’s exactly what’s going to happen when we leave this office. I don’t care if he made me come harder than any other man.

Murder . . . total murder.

“Well”—Nyema uncomfortably shuffles some papers on her desk—“seems like a fascinating club.”

I lean forward and place my hand on Nyema’s desk. “I feel like I need to clarify that we’re not really in heat.”

“Could have fooled me,” Arlo says on a chuckle. “With all that talk about arousal and the reptile brain.”

“Would you look at that,” I say, standing from the chair. “Time to go eat that salad of yours.” I grab Arlo by the arm and try to lift him out of his chair, but he doesn’t budge. “Arlo . . . salad.”

“Don’t be rude. We haven’t been dismissed yet.”

I narrow my eyes at him just as Nyema says, “You are excused.” She waves a pen between us. “I see why the English department is raving about the new addition to the faculty. You two sure have a spark.”

I quickly turn to Nyema, horrified. “No, we don’t. There’s no spark.”

Arlo stands. “Wouldn’t want her to think that we get along, now would you?” He adjusts the sleeves on his forest-green cardigan.

“We don’t . . . I mean, we do. I just mean, there’s nothing going on. No spark.”