A Million Kisses in Your Lifetime (Lancaster Prep )(109)

I blink at him, startled by his declaration. The tiniest bit thrilled by it too. “Crew…”

“Don’t argue with me, Birdy. You’re mine.” He kisses me fiercely. “You don’t belong to him anymore.”

The him he’s referring to is my father.

Crew slips his fingers beneath my chin, his thumb rubbing. “You belong to me,” he whispers.





After we kiss for far too long in the darkened classroom, we slip back into the hall, me leaving the room first and Crew waiting a few minutes before he followed after me. I’m already in English by the time he appears, his smile smug as he struts in and slips into the desk directly behind mine.

Fig is nowhere to be found, which is extremely unusual.

Maybe he finally got in trouble and that’s why he isn’t here.

I turn in my seat to talk to Crew. “Did you turn in your paper by midnight?”

It was due online by the end of the day yesterday.

“Yep.” He nods. “I even wrote it last night.”

“Crew!” I can’t help but chastise him for waiting so long.

He shrugs. “At least it’s done.”

“Are you ready for the final?” His casual attitude about grades and assignments is mind-blowing to me, especially because of how well he does.

“Do you think we’re actually going to have one?” He nods his head toward Fig’s empty desk.

“I don’t know. Even if he’s not here, I’d think they would still give us the final.”

“Maybe.” He shrugs again, like it’s no big deal.

I want to ask him about the possible arrest. What his suspicions might be on where Fig is. But I don’t want to say anything he told me in private that someone else might hear, so I keep my mouth shut.

It’s easier that way.

Mr. Figueroa finally shows up right as the final bell rings, seemingly frazzled. He drops his book bag on top of his desk, scanning the room, his gaze settling on me for a beat too long.

Then I realize he’s actually looking at Crew sitting directly behind me.

Fig clears his throat. “Sorry I’m late. Give me a few and then we’ll start the final.”

The class erupts in whispered conversation, and I can feel a prickle between my shoulder blades. Crew is watching me.

I slowly turn toward him, once again, the weight of someone else’s stare heavy upon me. I barely flicker my gaze in his direction, correct in my assumption.

Fig is watching us, his lip curled into a faint sneer. He glances down at his desk when I catch him, but it’s too late. I saw the disgust on his face. He really can’t stand the idea of me with Crew.

“He doesn’t like seeing me talk to you,” I whisper.

“Well, that’s too fucking bad.” Crew puts a possessive hand on my arm, claiming me in front of Fig.

“Crew…”

“No, don’t tell me to stop. And don’t make excuses for him either.” Crew lowers his voice, his intense gaze meeting mine. “If we’re lucky, his ass is about to get arrested. Maybe even today. I thought they were going to do it over the weekend. He needs to know he can’t come around you anymore. He even looks in your direction and I don’t like it? I’m kicking his ass.”

I’m gaping at him, shocked by the words he’s saying. “Are you serious?”

“I protect what’s mine,” he says through gritted teeth, his eyes blazing with anger.

Everything inside me melts at the way he said that. The look on his face, how he’s touching me. The fact that he’s wearing my ring around his neck. His behavior is so archaic and sexist, yet a part of me loves it.

That he believes I belong to him.

There’s a rapid-fire knock on the closed classroom door, and just as Figueroa stands to answer it, Headmaster Matthews strides inside, his gaze frantic when he scans the classroom before he says, “We need you in the office, Mr. Figueroa. Right away.”

Fig stands, swallowing visibly. I pull away from Crew’s grip, facing the front of the classroom, my gaze going to the empty seat beside me.

Maggie isn’t in class. That’s probably a good thing.

Two men and a woman suddenly enter the classroom, all of them wearing dark suits. They give off that cop vibe, and when the female pulls out a pair of handcuffs, I realize my instincts are correct.

“David Figueroa, you’re under arrest,” the woman says as the two males flank either side of Fig and grab his arms before he can get away.

Not like he was trying. Defeat is written all over him.

“Hands behind your back,” she says as the other detectives turn Fig, so his back is to her. The woman lists the charges. Contributing to the sexual delinquency of a minor. Inappropriate sexual behavior with a minor. Sexual misconduct. The list goes on for a while.

Our teacher is in massive trouble. I don’t see him ever recovering from this.

And them arresting him in front of us is sending a message to the entire school. He’s been caught.

Finally.

They haul him out, Fig’s head hanging down the entire time, all of us in the classroom deathly quiet. We’re all in shock. I know I am, and I even had a heads-up.

Matthews stops in the open doorway, contemplating all of us. “Don’t worry about the final. You all got an A on it,” he says.