Defy

That was it. I was so pissed that I wasn’t above punching his smug face. I stepped back, fishing out my cell phone from my bag. So what if they fired me? They weren’t going to renew my contract anyway.

A warm, familiar hand stopped me before my fingers dialed 911. “Apologize,” Jaime’s voice commanded.

But the order wasn’t aimed at me.

Vicious tipped his head back and snorted, his straight teeth on full display. “Tanked again, Followhill? Jesus. It’s not even midnight yet.”

“You better do it,” Jaime sing-songed, ignoring the jab, stepping into his BFF’s face. Nose to nose now, their gazes dripped defiance. “Unless you want out of the HotHoles.”

I was baffled, to say the least. Two bullets in less than a month this guy had taken for me. Vicious and Jaime were locked in a stare-down. Vicious glowered under his devilish brows, begging Jaime to let it go—every muscle in his face quivering in anger—but Jaime wouldn’t back down. Finally, after a whole minute at least, it came. Sweet and orgasm-worthy.

“My bad, Greene.” Vicious’s words were sharp and insincere as his shoulder brushed past Jaime’s. He looked like it physically pained him to say them.

As much as his indifferent act sprinkled fear-dust on everyone’s heads at school, he was still mortal. Capable of feeling the loss of his best friend. And Vicious knew the truth. People didn’t like him, not really. They loved Jaime, Dean and Trent. The handsome, funny, wholesome jocks he hung out with.

He needed them.

But something told me that they needed him, too.

“Apology accepted. Now, break this thing up immediately.” I smoothed my blouse, arching one eyebrow and slanting my head to his captives.

“No,” Jaime said firmly, turning around to face me.

I allowed myself to drown in his face, even if for only a second. We were back to acting like a teacher and a student, playing our roles, but I knew those lips which he now rolled inward, probably to suppress words he should never say to his educator. Knew how they tasted and what they were capable of doing under my thin, worn blanket.

“Sorry, Ms. Greene, but you’ll have to sit this one out. This is a team matter. I give you my word, it won’t rub off on you. Someone screwed Trent over.” He shook his head, his lips pinching in annoyance. “We need answers.”

“Mr. Followhill—”

“No,” he said, cutting me off. “You lose.” The last sentence came out soft, and what came after was even softer. “Next time I catch you stalking me from across the road,” he whispered into my ear, close enough for it to look suspicious but not enough for people to talk about it afterwards, “you better come say hi. Better yet, you better show me how much you miss me with your lips, instead of stripping me with your eyes.”

There wasn’t anything I could do about Vicious and his dangerous tricks, and I knew it. The HotHoles always took care of their own. Trent was injured again, and someone had to pay. I had very little power over the students of All Saints, but I very much doubted anyone else, including Principal Followhill herself, would be able to stop them from seeking retaliation.

Slowly, without breaking eye contact with him, I backed down, until I finally turned around and walked back to my parents, who were still waiting on the other side of the road.

“Well?” My mother elbowed me, her eyes shimmering the same healthy curiosity she had about almost every subject matter in the world.

“I took care of it.” I avoided her gaze, pretending to look for something in my bag. Maybe it was my dignity I was looking for. Either way, Vicious had won.

And Jaime helped him.

But not at my expense. And that was something.

That was a lot.

I SPENT THE WEEKEND WONDERING what happened to the poor bastards the Four HotHoles had interrogated at Liberty Park and whether my face-off with Jaime and Vicious would change the pact between me and my fuck-buddy. My fingers tingled to text him and ask all those things, but I knew it was risky.

Was I angry at him? Was the incident a wake-up call, reminding me that we were so different? That he was still a teenager, taking tentative steps toward becoming a man? These were exactly the kind of questions I didn’t want to deal with. No. I was biding my days, clinging to the weekend in the hope distance and time would wash away the fog of lust between us, making room for logic and rationality.

Monday was the best day of my entire career. Everything ran smoothly, and when I reached the last class with Jaime and his friends, they all behaved.

Everyone…other than Jaime.

He was messing with his phone, as usual. Since he wasn’t looking at me, I let it slide. I wanted to teach this class without feeling my nipples puckering under his scorching gaze.

My phone on my desk flashed. I resisted the urge to check it, focusing on Millie, who was standing up, reading a poem she’d written. She was good. A creative spirit, with an artistic flare that poured through every cell in her body. Did she want to write? Maybe paint? Her textbooks and hands were always decorated with doodles, her nose always buried in a book. With the right guidance and nurturing, she could do great things.

I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I wasn’t the person to bring them out of her. I lacked motivation, compassion, and authority, the three qualities that made a great teacher.

As I stared at her, I realized that even Vicious was quiet when she spoke. She had the kind of quirky charm a girl couldn’t fake. Everyone’s eyes were on her, which allowed me to sneak a peek at my phone. In the words of Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman: Big mistake. Big. Huge.

Jaime:

I missed you this weekend. Thought your ungrateful ass would text me a thank you for saving you from the wrath of Vicious. Alas, I was wrong.

Wow. Did he have any idea how much trouble he could get us into if someone saw this text? Students and teachers had each other’s numbers for professional purposes only. I ignored him and continued nodding at Millie, smiling tightly. Ping, another text came.

Jaime:

It’s cute how you pretend to listen to Millie when I know your just waiting for the clock to hit 3 so I can bend you over that desk and fuck you so hard the windows will rattle.

Of course, I didn’t grace that message with an actual answer. Although, I was itching to correct “your” with “you’re.” The Lit teacher in me hated when people misspelled shit. Apparently, even during sexting.

My cheeks darkened, and I played with my anchor necklace, brushing it against my lower lip. I coughed, clearing my throat, and said, “Louder, Millie.”

She looked around, anxious as I was, and reluctantly raised her voice with the next line. Her poem was pretty fascinating, actually. About life and death and the way the cherry blossom tree symbolizes both. Everybody was quiet and alert. Dean Cole had his elbows on his desk, leaning forward, drinking her words like they were oxygen. And Vicious? He looked at her like she was his.

But there was no point. The only thing my ears were tuned into was what I secretly hoped to hear—the sound of my phone vibrating against the table as another message came through.

Jaime:

Your nipples are so tight I could cut fucking diamonds with them, baby. It’s a turn on when everyone can see what I do to you. In half an hour, I’m going to shove my hand into your pencil skirt and my fingers into that pussy. Digging into Ms. G’s G-spot and hitting it again and again until you pass out from your orgasms.

I circled the table and leaned back against it facing the class, hoping they couldn’t see the blush that was a daily challenge since the start of our affair. Jesus! Affair? That was a bit much. It wasn’t an affair. I was fucking my student, and my future, all at the same time. Nonetheless, I couldn’t stop. I scanned the classroom full of students, and his face was the only one that stood out in the sea of bland teenagers. I barely registered the other faces, lost in the fog of lust.

Another vibration. This time I waited a few seconds before I glanced his way and found him smirking at his phone. Asshole.

Jaime:

Then I’ll take my hand out, let you lick my fingers one by one, suck on them hard, and beg for me to take you. But I won’t. You’ll have to go down on me first, and I’ll make you choke on my cock until you can’t breathe. How would you like that, Mel?

I was sweating. Sucking in short breaths. Millie finished reading her poem. She was still standing, expecting my feedback. All eyes were on me. She’d done a wonderful job from what I could decipher in my lust-induced haze, but the words wouldn’t leave my mouth. I was truly afraid that I’d blurt out something about Jaime and his dick. It really was too fucking beautiful not to be celebrated by our fine nation.

“Millie,” I started, clearing my throat when I realized my voice cracked. I heard Jaime softly chuckle in the back of the room. I was going to kill him when the class was dismissed. Her big, blue Bambi eyes followed my every movement as I spoke. “I thought it was brilliant. Your poem had a rhythm like heartbeats. It was…enchanting,” I managed, my smile almost apologetic.

It wasn’t the right thing to say. I needed to open this up for discussion, but I was having a hard time stringing together a coherent sentence while my panties were this wet. Damn Jaime and his texts.

Straightening my spine, I clapped my hands one time. “Let’s hear your thoughts about Miss LeBlanc’s poem. Anyone?”

Bzzz. Another vibration erupted. A handful of people raised their hands, and I chose Shelly, the girl who I knew wouldn’t shut up, and therefore allowed me time to read my incoming text.

Jaime:

So lost. So confused. So fucking mine. Owning someone has never felt this good.

His words hit me hard.

Was I really his? It didn’t feel like it. Like it was real. Maybe for him, it was. But for me? I was too scared of the consequences of truly having him to even consider it an option.

Lost. Confused. I felt all those things. Not just in that moment, but in general. Where was I going after this? I was a terrible teacher, and my students deserved better. What more, I cared enough about them to acknowledge the fact that I need to make room for someone more passionate. More caring. Someone who would take the Millies of the world and turn them into artists, and not keep them here, in the gray classroom, reading poems they could barely understand.