Page 50 of Shattered

Our eyes lock, smoldering and heavy. A thousand words pass between us, unspoken yet screaming louder than anything else in this room.

Those fucking eyes.

“Stop watching me like that while I’m trying to teach, Brayden,” I hiss, infusing my voice with a hint of danger. He leans down, ostensibly studying a paper on my desk, but those intoxicating eyes remain locked on mine, a smug smirk playing on his lips.

Close enough that I can feel the puffs of air that leave his mouth, he murmurs, “Stop acting as if you don’t like it, sir.” The fucker winks and turns his back to me, striding back to his desk. My eyes follow him and unfortunately drop to watch his ass in the slightly fitted sweatpants he wears.

My dick pulses with those leaving words. Because he is right as much as I voice, he needs to stop, my body and mind crave his eyes on me.

Chapter twenty-seven

Brayden

This week has been harder than expected. I’ve barely been able to see Mr. Stiles. I could only do the two extra classes this week because I had extra training for the game today and in those classes, Mr. Stiles was annoyingly professional. I get it. He wants to help me, but it was painfully distracting when he was talking and his words blurred into nothing. Because all I wanted to do was leap on to him and crash my lips to his.

Lines blurred.

He was just any teacher.

Who I then found hot.

Who I then got feelings for.

I never truly understood what feelings felt like until I tasted Mr. Stiles.

It has to be feelings; I’ve never felt anything like this before. The butterflies that won’t die the fuck down. They’re constant from the minute I wake up to the minute I go to bed. And why is that? Because from the minute I wake up to the minute I go tobed, all I do is think of Mr. Stiles. His face, his lips, his body. It’s a never-ending cycle of images in my mind.

But also, it hasn’t escaped me, and everyone else around me, that for once I’m happy.

Cope keeps telling Kal and Tray that I’m whistling every morning and even hear me singing in the shower. Kal and Tray nearly dropped their drinks when they heard that. I eye rolled them and told them they were being dramatic. But they’re not. When have I ever whistled or sung in the shower? Never.

Kal has been eyeing me suspiciously lately, and it’s killing me not telling Kal and Tray about Mr. Stiles. It doesn’t sit right with me. I never hide things from them, but I can’t tell them this. They won’t understand.

No one will. Tray is convinced it’s because of Lan. Kal, being the weird detective he is, is adamant it’s not Lan, and it’s someone else, but he can’t work out who.

I’ve told them I’m just happy that things are looking up with Bex, which I am.

Singing in the shower happily is a tad farfetched though.

“I need you to make me proud today, boys. You have worked your fucking ass for this week. Now get out there and show these Chicago Cheetahs what the Devil Hawks are about!”

I go to put my headphones in, but the coach interrupts me. “Anders, get your ass over here.” Here we go.

“Sure thing, Coach,” I reply, trudging toward him, already laced up in my skates, eager to hit the ice.

“Your brother isn’t here today, is he?” His gaze bores into mine.

“No, Coach.” I chuckle.

“Good. I want nothing fucking today up, Anders. Fuck them up in play, shatter them with your mind, but no blood.” He pauses. “On purpose.”

“Nothing will go wrong today, Coach. We got this.” I wink at him and turn around, going back to the locker to grab my phone.

“Shatter them, Quake,” Coach mutters behind me.

“Always,” I toss back, my gaze sweeping the room. Kal’s lost in thought, plotting his next move like a seasoned detective. Tray, on the other hand, flips his lucky coin—a jewel no one dares touch. And then there’s me, lost in a song that resurrects memories of better days.

Slipping on my headphones, I sink into weightlessness. Bexley’s voice fills my mind, and I know those moments will return, the goofy friendship, the shared laughter. A smile tugs at my lips; today feels promising. I’m ready to shatter the cheetahs. If only Mr. Stiles could witness it.

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