Page 5 of Tempting the Teacher

Chad

Striding into the computer lab is like stepping back in time. The scent of aged wood and lingering dust still hangs in the air, the same way it did years ago. My eyes fall on the mismatched desktops and the tangled maze of ethernet cables snaking across the floor. Hell, even the squeaky linoleum underfoot and the sturdy, unforgiving wood chairs have remained unchanged. Memories seep in like water flooding under a door.

“It’s like a time capsule in here,” I marvel, the words slipping out as my eyes wander. They fall on a wooden table, the surface marred by scratches, doodles, and age. A grin tugs at my lips as I spot my own teenage rebellion—the name “Chad” carved crudely into the table’s surface. I quirk a brow at her. “Should I be flattered that you kept it?”

I glance at Raya, hoping to share the moment of nostalgia. But when I catch her eye, it’s like staring down the barrel of a loaded gun. Icy, unforgiving. I don’t move. Don’t blink—until she speaks.

“Not flattered. Grateful,” she quips. “Happy that I didn’t charge you with vandalism.” Her eyes flit to the name scratched into the wood. “Still leaving your mark where you shouldn’t?”

I lock eyes with her, shrugging as the temp drops a notch. “Depends. Did I leave an impression on you? A mark you can’t erase. Because God knows, you’ve left one on me.”

Her eyes widen, her mouth opens, but no words follow. It’s a knockout punch she didn’t see coming. She’s off-kilter, and that wall of icy detachment she built around herself wavers for just a second.

“What do you want, Chad?” she finally says, voice loaded with meaning.

What do I want? My mind flips through a dozen red-blooded answers. My eyes sweep her head to toe. Leaving my dick is so hard I wish for the non-existent backpack to cover it up. My libido pictures all the ways I want her. On her knees, over my lap, straddling my dick, coming in my mouth—I imagine a thousand ways I want her. They all circle back to the woman before me—her laughter, her intelligence, her curves, the fire in those damn eyes. She’s not ready for the answer, so for now, I leave it.

“I want to talk,” I start, my voice gravelly and rough from the words I swallow down. Even though I hold the words inside, she senses them. Raya knows me too well, always has. She sees the threat and the promise and retreats behind her desk. Creating a physical barrier between us, a layer of self-preservation. I let her have her façade of security.

Realizing I’ve pushed her boundaries, I exhale a controlled breath, grounding myself back to the matter at hand. Business first. I clear my throat, refocusing on the plan I came to discuss. “Let’s talk about something that could transform Bear Ridge. Something that’ll outlast even the etching on that table.”

She rolls her eyes at my grandstanding. Now I’m holding in a laugh. Like I said, she knows me too well. My laughter halts when she prods. “If you have a point, please make it and go. I need to get some work done.”

I wince. No sugarcoating there. “Wow, that’s quite a welcome for an old friend…” I use ‘friend’ cautiously, testing the waters. As if on cue, her eyes narrow, answering my unspoken question.

“We were never friends.”

Ouch. “I thought we were.”

She laughs, the sound sharp and hollow. “Then you’ve got a funny definition of friendship. Cut the crap, Carrington, and tell me what you want. So, I can say no, and we can both get on with our lives.”

Message received loud and clear. No room for charm or wit here. My eyes take her in, really take her in, and it’s like my vision snaps into high def. Damn, she’s magnificent. Even the unforgiving, harsh school lights become an aura around her, as if they too know they’re in the presence of something special. My eyes trace the halo of dark ebony curls framing her warm brown face, their soft coils a contrast to her fierce eyes—deep reddish-brown, like aged whiskey, like embers waiting to burst into flame.

And those lips. Plump, delectable, a promise of sin and salvation rolled into one. How in the hell did I resist Raya’s lips all those years ago? Ah, right. Because I was the world’s dumbass champion. My younger self didn’t know what he had—sure, she’d been pretty and tempting then, but memory has not done justice to the stunning woman before me now.

My tongue knots, stumbles, and tangles. It’s taking all my reserves to maintain any semblance of control. Mental slap. Another one. Come on, man, get it together. Pulling myself out of the reverie is a herculean effort. “I want to talk about a program,” I grind out, the words harsher than I intend, as I wrestle my focus back. I need her to hear me out, but God, it’s hard when every fiber of my being is screaming to close the distance between us, relearn the map of her face and close my lips over the ones I’ve tasted a thousand times in my dreams. The tension in the room is electric, a current neither of us dares to break. It crackles the air between two people who have so much and yet so little to say.

A subtle lift of her eyebrow beckons me to continue, her eyes never leaving mine, and in that lingering glance, I sense both a challenge and an invitation.

Challenge accepted. I square my shoulders and start again. It’s now or never. “A program that could turn lives around, especially for kids who are on the wrong path. Kids like I used to be.”

And there it is—the tiniest flicker in her eyes, a subtle shift that signals I’ve caught her interest, if not yet her trust. The tension is still there, but it’s different now, richer, layered with possibilities and, yes, hope. “I want to build a multimillion-dollar technology center for Bear Ridge and Mishewa County. A safe space for kids during the day and tech classes for adults in the evenings. Think coding for workers or even internet basics for seniors. I’ve got a laundry list of ideas.” I hold onto the interest brewing in her eyes. “Ever heard of Scott STEM Academy? It’s run by a friend’s wife, and she’s killing it.”

Her eyes light up. “Cameron Scott’s school is cutting edge. Of course, I’ve heard of it.” Leave it to my girl to be impressed by another tech rock star. Me? Do I impress her with the billions I’ve made or my internationally successful operating system? Not so much, if I go by her initial response. I squash the unfamiliar jealousy and continue.

“I want to do something similar, yet different here. Something authentic to Bear Ridge. Cameron and Blake are crushing it for urban communities. I want to build a blueprint for small towns to follow. There are still places on Bear Ridge Mountain where you can only get internet reception on a clear day. I want to change that and make technology accessible for all. Even if it means coming into town and visiting the free tech center to connect.”

“Sounds ambitious,” she says, her tone still guarded but a note of curiosity laces her words.

“Maybe, but I’ve got the resources, the connections, and the drive to make it happen. Of course, I can’t do it alone. I—” My heart hammers against my chest, and for the first time in years, I’m nervous. “I want you to run it.”

Her mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. For a second, I just revel in her expression—those plush lips slightly parted, her dark, reddish-brown eyes widening as her long lashes flutter like the wings of a startled bird.

“Why me?” she finally manages.

“Why not you?” I retort, taking a step forward.

“You don’t even like me.”

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