Page 36 of Before He Was Her Headmaster

More than she’ll ever know.

She takes a deep breath. “I think Mr. Craig might leave the school soon.”

My feet fall off the chair and thunk against the floor. “What?”

“I overheard him in the office.” Her pink cheeks turn red. “He’s asked the board of governors to appoint Mrs. Taylor the interim headmaster. And I’m thinking of….” She drops her voice and glances around the empty hall. “Offering myself to him.”

This time my“What?”is more of a screech. I can keep secrets, but I cannot keep chill.

She shifts nervously in her chair. “You can’t tell anyone.”

I’m telling Sebastian as soon as I can find him. “Yeah, of course.” No, maybe I won’t tell him. It depends on what she says next. He’s an exception to my normal vault-like persona.

But also, people trusting me? That’s a new and novel concept. I should be a good friend and keep her secret, right? Except… That’s my boyfriend. Hands-fucking-off.

I press my lips together and try to just listen to her wild plan.

“He doesn’t date. Ever. My sister came here before I did, and she said he maybe had a girlfriend when he first became headmaster, and they broke up? Ever since, he’s been all about the school. So if he’s leaving, it might be because he’s lonely, and honestly, he’s the most fuckable man in the universe, so—”

“I didn’t know you knew the word fuckable,” I mutter.

She smiles shyly. “I keep it under wraps.”

Yeah, me too. “Has he ever…” I swallow around the lump in my throat. “Shown that kind of interest in you?”

She makes a face. “No. But sex-starved men don’t say no to eighteen-year-old virgins, right?”

She’s not wrong. Bile rises in my throat. “And you like Mr. Craig enough to give him your virginity?”

“Hell yes. Have you seen his hands? I bet they would be so—”

I cut her off. I know all about his hands. “What if he turns you down? Won’t that be awkward?”

“I’ll do it right when he’s leaving.” She shifts in her seat, clearly pressing her thighs together. Oh, God. No.

He better turn her down.

He will.

The doubt makes my stomach tremble with a wave of gross, low-grade nausea.

“How about you?” she asks, her curiosity sharp like a knife.

“What about me?”

She gives me a knowing look. “You’d totally sleep with him, too, right? I can tell. You stare at him sometimes.”

That’s it, I’m skipping the next three weeks of class. Fuck. Fucking hell. Fuckstick. “Uh…”

“Is that too personal?” She shrugs. “Sorry.”

But somehow, I’m the one who feels full of guilt and regret because it’s probably normal to have a crush on your teacher and tell your friend about it. Less normal for your friend to not take part in that conversation honestly because she’s secretly banging that teacher.

When people pile into the dining hall for dinner, I excuse myself and dash back to my room. I pull on leggings, a couple of layers on top, and head into the forest to squeeze in some exercise before losing the light.

I tell myself that I’m just going for a run. I’m not planning to go to his house, not in the middle of the week. He has evening responsibilities, and I need to respect that. By Christmas, he will be all mine with no limits. I can wait that long.

But then I come across him in a clearing, not near his house at all, and he’s chopping wood.

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