Page 31 of Taming His Teacher

“Nice, right?” Paul’s weasel face is hanging over my shoulder and I shrug. He smacks me upside the head. “Come on, dude—”

His accusations are muffled by a commotion on the platform. The guy who’d been hitting her has moved around to where her hands are attached to the bench to undo her bonds. Some douche in a backward baseball cap and a White Sox jersey has jumped up and has his hands all over her, squeezing her ass and making pumping motions with his hips, grinding into her from behind.

Her partner comes around and yells at the guy to get back, but fan boy’s got a good four inches and fifty pounds on him and despite being shit-faced, lands a solid punch. I’m out of my chair, telling Paul to get a bouncer or, failing that, the rest of the team. Fan boy’s friends are pulling him back, but he’s bigger than them, too. I bust in between his drunk ass and the girl right before he grabs her again.

“Hey, buddy, hands off. Girl’s just trying to do her job.”

I am so going to get clocked. I sneak a glance at the girl’s partner, out cold on the floor. Shit. I can’t afford to get in a fight. Luck’s with me, though. My interruption has given fan boy’s friends enough time to get a good grip on him and he doesn’t have enough leverage to get his fist close to my face. They drag him off and I turn around. She’s crying and calling out, wrenching her wrists in the leather cuffs like she could rip free if she pulled hard enough. “Denny? Denny, are you okay? Oh, god.”

I crouch down in front of her, brush a curtain of corn-silk-soft blond hair behind her ear so I can see her face, and reach for the wrist Denny’d started to unfasten.

“Hey, he’s going be okay. It’s just a punch. Look, he’s coming to already.”

Twitches of his fingers and a roll of his head say he’ll be conscious in a few seconds. In the meantime, “Hey, sweetheart, settle down. I can’t get you out of here when you’re struggling. I’ll get you out and then you can go to him.”

She bites her lip and stops flailing, cooperative, tears leaking from her eyes. My fingers are steady as I unbuckle the cuffs and she rubs her wrists, red from her struggles. I put my hand on her arm and drag it up to her shoulder, down her back, over the side of her hip and down her leg. Not trying to cop a feel, but letting her know where I am so she doesn’t freak when she feels me behind her.

I get her ankle cuffs unfastened and help her stand. I expect her to drop to her knees at Denny’s side. He’s sitting up with the help of a bouncer who’s showed up.Awesome timing, dude.But she stands on tiptoe, throws her arms around my neck, and squeezes the breath out of me.

“Thank you,” she murmurs into my neck. This really fucking hot chick, smelling like lilacs and sweat and sex, naked as the day she was born, is pressing her whole body the length of mine. If I were Paul or Jamie, I’d have a raging hard-on. But I’m not. I put my arms around her and hold her hard and close until some of the desperation leaves her grasp.

“Sure.” Who wouldn’t have done that? But the answer is none of the twenty other guys in the room had. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

She nods into my shoulder and sniffs. The slightest tug back makes me release her, and she presses a quick kiss to my cheek before turning away.

“Hold up.” I strip off my button-down, leaving me in my undershirt. I hold it out to her and she tugs it over her head, mouthing another thank-you before tackle-hugging Denny, who’s sitting up against a pillar. After a few words, she’s sitting in his lap and he’s comforting her while a bartender comes over with a towel full of ice. A few seconds later, the girl is pointing at me. Denny’s eyes meet mine before he offers a halfhearted salute. I do the same and turn to leave. Hopefully Hurley and some other guys are ready to ditch this place. I won’t leave anyone stranded, but goddamn, do I want to get the fuck out of here.

I’m stopped by someone grabbing my shoulder. I twist out of the grip, expecting fan boy wanting to get in a late hit. Instead it’s a guy in his early forties, kinda Lenny Kravitz–looking. He holds up his hands and looks me up and down.

“Easy, man. Just wanted to talk to you. Got a few minutes?”

The wariness from expecting to get punched hasn’t entirely eased up. “For what?”

Instead of answering me, he sticks out a hand. “Name’s Mordecai. Nice to meet you.”

I’m still suspicious but all those damn manners they shoved down our throats on the Hill make me reciprocate. “Shepherd.”

Everyone at school calls me Shepherd or Shep, even my professors. I don’t think twice about it, but the guy cocks his head and gets this funny smirk on his face. “You serious?”

Guy’s named fuckingMordecaiand he’s giving me shit about Shepherd? What the fuck? I swallow my smart-ass response and turn to go. “Hey, man, Shepherd. Sorry. It’s a little…on the nose. Come on, let me buy you a drink. I’ll stop being a dick.”

“I’m not drinking.”

There’s that fucking smirk again. “Tonic and lime?”

“Yeah, okay.” The adrenaline rush is draining from my system. I’m feeling jittery and wound too tight. A glass in my hand would at least give me something to hold on to.

Mordecai flags down a waitress and holds up two fingers as we take a seat at the back. The action’s stopped, maybe over for the night in the wake of fan boy. It’s nice to have a break to gather my thoughts. My fingers drum on the edge of the table as my eyes are drawn to the front of the room, where Paul’s reenacting the earlier drama for some of our teammates. At least they’re leaving me alone. I can’t take their crap right now.

“You been here before?”

I shake my head. “You?”

“I come here a few times a year.”

“Business or pleasure?” It’s a smart-aleck thing to say but he surprises me.

“Business.”

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