Page 40 of Cruel Elite (Princes of Ravenlake Academy 3)

Jen frowns. “Haven’t you already? I mean, that’s what I heard.”

“Ancient history,” I say with a dismissive wave.

“But did you two…?” Anika hums a sexy song while shaking her hips.

I stare at her with mild horror. “What was that?”

“My sexy dance!”

“You looked like one of those hula dancers people stick on their dashboards.” Jennifer vibrates her whole body aggressively and then dissolves into laughter.

My friends are like goldfish. It doesn’t take much to change the topic of conversation.

For a change, I’m glad about that. I can’t talk about Noah like we don’t have a long, painful history looming behind us.

My stomach feels queasy. I’m not sure if it’s because of Noah or the mixture of alcohol with my empty stomach.

Probably both.

Suddenly, the bathroom door bangs open and heavy footsteps bang across the tile floor, echoing off the ceiling.

Anika and I both hurry to toss our beer cans in the trash can just as Mr. Thomas rounds the corner.

“What is going on in here, ladies?”

Anika gives a yelp. “You can’t be in here! You’re a man!”

Mr. Thomas crosses his arms over his plaid short-sleeve t-shirt and glares. “I can enter any room in the building if I believe students are in danger. Since everyone else is at the pep rally, I mistook your laughter for a cry for help.”

Jennifer nudges Anika in the arm. “Way to go, banshee.”

“And since I see a visible flask and beer cans in the trash can, I can now write you all up for drinking on school grounds and order a round of detentions.”

Mr. Thomas is one of the younger teaches on staff at Ravenlake Prep. He only graduated a few years earlier, putting him in his mid-to-late twenties.

But he grew up in Ravenlake, attended Ravenlake Prep, and his parents still send hefty donations to the school every year.

When he applied for the open history position, I’d be surprised if they even looked at other candidates.

He’s young, but his hairline is already beginning to crawl backwards and the body he kept lean playing soccer in college has gone soft, especially around the middle.

None of that ever stops him from staring down my chest when he stands by my desk in his U.S. history class.

Time to use that to my advantage.

“We’re sorry, Mr. Thomas,” I say, twirling hair around my finger and walking towards him, one foot directly in front of the other so my hips sway back and forth with each step. “It was a stupid way to celebrate the fact that we’re all graduating and becoming adults.”

I lick my lips. His eyes slide down to my mouth helplessly.

“Technically, I’m already an adult. I just turned eighteen a few months ago.” I lift a bare shoulder in an innocent shrug. “It seems silly that I can do almost anything I want to with my body now except buy alcohol, doesn’t it?”

Mr. Thomas swallows. “Well, laws are laws.”

I can see in his eyes that he’s regretting several different laws as he takes me in.

I feel dirty—sticky, almost.

Like my teacher’s gaze is leaving behind a physical residue on me, dirtying me in a way that will be hard to clean later.

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