Page 45 of Teacher's Pet
I grimaced, staring at the burner account I had made to find it. Why had I bothered? Why did I care what my student was doing?
I should have been glad he wasn’t bothering me anymore. Yet there was this unease curling in my gut, like something was brewing that I couldn’t quite see.
I sighed and checked my watch. I was already cutting it close to being late for my own class. All over something so stupid—
Holy shit.
The black Mercedes Ryan had climbed into when he ran out of my house.
Whose car was it?
My gaze dropped back to the time. 7:00 p.m. Exactly. Officially late.
I leaned back against the brick wall, debating. I needed to see who was driving him around. Did I know them? How old were they? Could they be the reason he had been skipping, the one distracting him from his studies?
The car was here now, just sitting. No one had gotten out.
It was getting dark, the parking lot half full. I crouched behind a different car and edged forward, trying to stay low. But the closer I got, the more I realized the Mercedes had tinted windows.
7:05.
If I left now, I might miss my chance. If I stayed, I’d be even later to my own class.
I stayed.
I crouched again, shifting to another car for cover, trying to get a better angle. Maybe I could make out a silhouette if I got close enough. The lot was quiet, no students walking by, and my knees ached from the way I was moving.
I was almost at the back bumper when the headlights flashed on.
Shit.
The engine turned over. They were moving.
I scrambled up too fast, pain shooting through my ribs as I twisted. A loud screech of tires made me stumble.
“Fuck,” I muttered under my breath, coughing and holding my side.
The driver’s door swung open. Footsteps approached.
“Man—sorry, I didn’t see you there—” The voice cut off. “Professor Thorne?”
I looked up.
Landon.
His face was all concern, but my eyes were locked on his neck, faint bruises peeking above his collar. Hickeys. More than one.
I straightened, leaning against his car, my ribs throbbing.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you,” he said again.
I waved him off, but the image was already in my head, Ryan in his lap, his mouth on Landon’s neck, the way he’d once been on mine.
Landon?Landon?
“You’re late to class,” I said flatly, trying to keep the bitterness at bay, glancing at my watch.
7:28.Perfect.
