Page 33 of Lesson Learned

PAISLEY

The mall food court is filling up, but I snag one of the last empty tables and spread my shit out, so no one is tempted to join me. I’ve got three papers due to students by the end of the weekend and so far, I haven’t even begun.

No matter how hard I’ve tried in the past week, I can barely concentrate. My own work is languishing even farther behind than my paid schoolwork, taking lowest priority when it should be at the top.

English is a disaster. For the past week, it’s been my best class and my worst class. Dickens would be proud.

My eyes constantly search for a sign from Mr Bradley. A smile to show we still have a connection, the softening eyes as we briefly share a memory.

But I can barely see him around Marnie’s self-appointed position as my guardian and protector. She might have agreed to follow my wishes regarding reporting what happened to the head teacher, but five days later she’s still making sure I know she objects.

I wish I could explain the situation better to her. Words, both written and oratory, have always been my highest skill. From the time I was a little girl, I’ve wanted to travel the world, writing stories about each new country and the people I meet, weaving tales and selling them to fuel further travels.

But when I try to say that far from being the predatory creep Marnie thinks he is, Mr Bradley is my favourite memory ever, the words falter and die, unsaid. To admit those deepest feelings to her is impossible when I can barely admit them to myself.

I stuff a cooling French fry into my gob and stare glumly at my English folder. There’re a few starting lines written for Harrison’s essay—thanks to being Brooke’s boyfriend, he takes position ahead of my other clients—but nothing more. Even those lines are just a rehash of the central question. An introduction to something I haven’t thought enough about yet.

“Paisley?”

The voice comes straight from my wettest dream, and I jump, blushing furiously as it stirs a hundred competing desires, most of them involving straddling laps and giving my stamina a good test drive.

When I turn, I think I must be hallucinating because why would a teacher be at the mall on a Friday night?

No, scrap that. It doesn’t sound farfetched at all.

What I meant was, what would someone who looks as visually satisfying as the man staring down at me be doing here? This is a place for girls who can’t stand the thought of sitting through another meal with James inviting himself to her table.

And all this takes so long to think that I become aware I’m staring, open-mouthed, not saying a thing, let alone something witty and wonderful anddeserving.

“Hey.”

Splendid effort. Anyone could tell from that I’m a debating star.

He slides into the seat opposite me, the movements smooth and liquid. I’ve never seen someone take a seat like it’s a dance step.

He leans over and steals a chip.

I wrinkle my nose at him. “Isn’t fraternising with students against school policy?”

“I’m stealing your food. That hardly counts.”

When he leans back in his chair, I almost fall off my seat. The fabric of his shirt pulls across his taut muscles and my mouth salivates far more than it had at my food, even back when it was hot.

I turn my eyes back to my work, far less temptation, but he snags the corner of my refill pad, tilting it up to read the few faltering paragraphs. “Harrison Powell. Are you using an alias again?”

My face blanches with shock and I grab it back, tucking it inside the folder and slamming it shut. Still not great protection considering the plastic folder is mostly see-through.

Not that his eyes are looking in that direction. No, they’re fixed on my face.

“It’s just… I was helping… Harrison’s handwriting is atrocious. I was just writing it out for him, so it’s legible.”

His lips curve into a gentle smile that reaches all the way to his eyes. His hypnotic eyes. The ones that seem like they’re staring straight through to my soul. “That’s a friendly gesture. Especially since the essay will be typed and uploaded through the student portal.”

I tear my gaze away and redirect it at my hand, currently stabbing the pen into the plastic folder like it’s my worst enemy’s blackened heart.

“Don’t worry,” he adds, shifting slightly in his seat so my eyes are forced to redirect to his hips. The way his shirt clings, I can see the tempting outline of his Adonis belt and my stomach turns over, then does it again. The damn thing’s doing somersaults and cartwheels inside me. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

“I don’t have any secrets.”

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