Page 13 of Wicked Scandal

“Damn, Sam,” I grumble. “I really wasn’t expecting this. And I’m sorry, but…”

Her hand drops, disappointment painting her features. “I get it. No need to apologize.” I watch as she walks away with her chin held high and a smile on her face that says she isn’t fazed. I hope she truly feels that way inside. The last thing I want to do is hurt her, or any girl for that matter.

I must say, I have a lot of respect for Sam for even asking me. She’s the only girl who has. I’m not sure why, but for some reason the girls at Willow Creek High have always looked at Rome and I like we’re unattainable. It’s comical how they behave as if being chosen by one of us is the equivalent of winning a gold medal that makes them special.

I don’t get it. I’m just me. It's no secret I don’t date. Like ever. I’ve never had an official girlfriend. I hang out with girls just because they are in our group or I think of them as a friend. I may have fucked a few, but I’ve never expressed interest in anything more than a one-night and I made sure the girls were okay with that before doing anything.

High school girls lack depth and substance most of the time. Half of them flaunt themselves with their insecurities on full display, while others are dramatic and come off as easy and immature. I don’t dig that and I have no interest in playing their games.

I want someone mature. Someone who challenges me to be the best version of myself. I want a girl that forces me to prove I’m worthy of her time and attention.

I sweep the restaurant, noticing everyone at my table has their heads turned, waiting to hear the gossip. What did Sam ask him? Why is he still standing there? Did he reject her?

I look away, my eyes landing on Mrs. Jenkins, who’s now sitting alone. Her head is still down and it doesn’t look like she’s eaten a single bite of her salad. Both arms are now wrapped tightly around her waist. Shit. I hope she’s okay.

Suddenly, she lifts her head, turning it slightly to meet my gaze. Her eyes glisten in the corners as if she's on the verge of tears and I’m not sure why, but my instincts tell me to go check on her.

Moving around the tables, I keep my eyes on her. She straightens her back, her shoulders tensing. “Hey, Mrs. Jenkins,” I say with a subtle wave. “Everything okay?”

Her thumb sweeps under her eye and she smiles back at me, but I can tell it’s fake. Something is definitely wrong.

Averting her gaze, she picks up her fork and continues to poke her salad. “Hi, Wilder. Everything is great. How are you?”

“Doing well. Just having a bite to eat before I go home and try to work on this article.”

“About that,” she begins, setting her fork down again. Why the hell won’t she eat? It’s so odd. “I’m sorry, again, Wilder. I really wish I could help you.”

“We can talk about that later,” I tell her with a tip of my head toward her food. “Is everything okay with your salad? I’m friends with the waitress, I can ask her to get you another.”

There’s that fake smile again. “No, no. The salad is great.”

“You sure? Because it doesn’t look like you’ve taken a single bite.”

She crinkles her nose as she rubs her stomach. “I’m not feeling great today. Probably a bug of sort. Germs spread quickly in schools.”

“Right,” I drag the word, not buying her excuse. Ever since that day her husband burst into her classroom acting like an animal, I’ve had my suspicions that her life isn’t as pleasant as she wants everyone to believe it is.

Now that I think about it, I’ve never even seen Mrs. Jenkins engage with other teachers. I haven’t seen her out with friends. She’s only ever with her husband. Of all her years in Willow Creek, you’d think she’d socialize more, especially given her husband’s pull in this town. “Look,” I continue, “I know I’m just your student, but if you ever need someone to talk to I’m available. I’m actually a pretty good listener.”

She smiles. “That’s really sweet, Wilder. Thank you.”

The sound of a gruff throat clearing comes from behind me just before I see Mayor Jenkins round my left side. “Can we help you, young man?” he asks as he eyes his wife with a seriousness that’s unsettling.

But I watch her, too. I watch her eyes downcast again, her posture slumping as if she’s about to be scolded.

She speaks but doesn’t lift her head. “Wilder was just asking about the assignment I gave out in class.”

She’s lying. Why the hell is she lying about something so miniscule to her own husband? She could have just told him I came over to make sure she was okay, or to say hi.

“Did you get what you needed?” Mayor Jenkins asks, tone forthright.

“I did,” I tell him before turning my attention back to her. “Thank you, again, Mrs. Jenkins. I’ll be sure to get the assignment done tonight.”

She forces another damn smile and says, “See you in class tomorrow, Wilder.”

I walk away, glancing frequently over my shoulder when I see her husband lean down and whisper something in her ear. She nods repeatedly, timidly even.

I don’t trust that guy, and I don’t like him either.

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