Page 15 of Lost Paradise

We all know Astro is responsible for this mess, but we’re also not going to be a snitch either. Betrayal is a big no-no in student life, and if it were to get out, you did such a thing. It doesn’t matter whether the dean expels you or not because your life on campus is pretty much over.

"But," the dean continues, his tone softening slightly, "I believe in second chances. Therefore, instead of sending you all home, I'm going to give you one more opportunity to prove yourselves. Consider this a warning. If anything like this happens again, there will be severe consequences. Understood?"

What does this mean, though?

"Good," the dean says, leaning back in his chair, not waiting for our reply. “Instead, I’m suspending all five of you for two weeks. You will miss the joys of orientation week and will spend your suspension making amends by contributing positively to society.”

I’m puzzled by this and have no idea what he’s talking about.

“You will fly to Mozambique,” the dean clarifies, "a small village in need of assistance.”

Africa?My eyes widen with shock.What the heck?

“Our college has partnered with a sponsor there, and you will assist in building a much-needed water sewage system for the community. Mr. Coldwell will accompany you on this trip and report back to me on your progress."

Our attention is drawn to the tall man who literally walks out from the shadows of the giant bookcase next to the drawn curtains that line the tall old windows.

My surprise isn’t by where the fuck he came from but the fact that he has to be one of the most attractive guys I have ever laid my eyes on. Sure, there’s something very preppy casual about him with the way he wears his tweed blazer and the sleeves pushed up. His white shirt is messily tucked into his pants. But it’s the way he wears his shirt unbuttoned at the top and the little peak of his tanned chest. There’s no doubt that he’s athletically built by the way his tailored jacket hugs his rounded shoulders and trim waist. He may not be built like Zane and Astro, but there’s no doubt about how fit he looks.

He shoves his hands in the pockets of his gray pants, drawing my attention to the seriously impressive?.

Nope! Not going there with him either.

Dick hungry or not, I’m not getting involved with men.

I tear my eyes away from his crotch. Why the fuck am I looking at this man’s package at a time like this?

“Zane Jones,” the dean diverts our focus from the new guy. “You are already acquainted with Mr.Coldwell, but for the rest of you, allow me to introduce you to the institute’s latest faculty member. Mr. Coldwell has joined us this term and will assist with the preparation of the Martial Arts and Fencing teams for the next Olympic trials and qualifications. He already holds several achievements under his belt, including the numerous gold medals he won for Britain, and he is currently writing his master's thesis for his studies at Cambridge.”

My heart nearly plummets into the pit of my stomach.

A teacher?

He looks way too young. But then again, he’s still doing his master's degree, so maybe he’s a little older than us. I find myself unable to tear my gaze away from those piercing, cleargreen eyes as he blinks at each of us.

“I wish our initial meeting would be under better circumstances,” Mr. Coldwell says. His voice is so smooth and sexy, with a hint of warmth that sends a heated vibe through me. “So I’ll cut to the chase as I imagine most of you are puzzled by the bomb Dean Carmichael has dropped.”

Even his voice is golden and I can't remember ever feeling so drawn to a teacher in my life. His messy brown hair is styled purposely in such a wistful way, framing a jawline so sharp it could cut glass.

What the heck is in the water in Scotland and England? Byron, Jack, this guy, and, cringing with admittance, but even Astro is freakishly attractive.

“This opportunity is no mere slap on the wrist,” he continues. “It’s a chance for redemption. A prospect to use your time and energy for a greater good.” He gazes over to the dean.

"Upon your return," the dean takes over, "you will each be required to write a 5000-word essay detailing your experiences in Mozambique and how it has impacted your lives. Consider it a reflection on the lessons learned and the growth achieved during your time there."

The five of us listen in silence, the weight of our suspension settling over us like a heavy blanket. I don’t want to go to Africa. I need to be here, networking my way into college society, not building sewage systems.

“When do we leave?” Byron asks curiously.

“Tomorrow morning,” Mr. Coldwell replies. “Provided all of your passports and vaccinations are up to date.”

My eyes nearly pop out of my head.

“That’s really last minute,” I say, thinking out loud.

“Miss Winters,” the dean addresses me directly. “Sometimes life takes an unexpected turn, taking us on the journey of a lifetime. We may not end up where we dreamed, but we’ll always end up where we belong.”

He has no idea what he’s talking about.

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