Deep green eyes fringed with dark lashes gaze down at me, brows pinched together, lips in a flat line. Sybil wasn’t joking. He really is the hot teacher of doom. My heart beats faster as I study him, unable to stop this slow-motion train wreck from happening. He isn’t like any teacher I’ve ever seen before. The man is at least six feet tall with the body of an athlete. A body wrapped up like aGQmodel in black trousers, a crisp white shirt, and a black waistcoat. His cologne has notes of what I think are cardamom and sandalwood, but I drag in a deep breath just to be sure.
My God, this man is beautiful, and I can’t seem to stop staring at him. He’s older than me, but young enough that I know he isn’t quite in his thirties. Silky chocolate locks of hair soften his caustic expression and sharp, angular cheekbones. My eyes blaze over his coppery skin down to the beating pulse of his throat.
This must be what it feels like. That chemistry thing Sybil is always rambling on about. My hormones are firing on all cylinders, and I don’t know how to stop this roller coaster of emotions as his eyes cut over my face. That is until he speaks, reminding me we have an audience, and I’ve just humiliated myself for the third time today.
“You’re late, Miss LeClaire.”
CHAPTER FIVE
SEBASTIAN
THE FIRST DAYof school is as monotonous as the blur that has been the past three years. One by one, the students parade into the classroom, showing off the latest designer handbags while they humblebrag about their summers on the French Riviera. The endless cacophony of giggling schoolgirls born with Tiffany spoons in their mouth is a long-suffering death. Briefly, my thoughts drift to Katie, grateful that she never succumbed to the peer pressure to be just like them.
I scan the sea of faces, taking note of moods, new haircuts, casual attempts at cool conversation. There aren’t any who stand out. Not a single one. Already, I’m convinced that it’s hopeless. Finding someone who can think for themselves in this monochrome environment will suck the last of my soul from me.
The steady unfailing tick of my Tag Heuer timepiece alerts me to the hour, and I move on autopilot to seal my fate inside the classroom. It’s just another Monday. Just another school year. Another group of students I will forget as soon as they leave. Until it isn’t. Until a flash of red crashes into me, making this day one for the books.
Stella LeClaire.I know it must be her when she looks up and stuns me with those kohl-lined eyes the color of honey. I would have remembered those eyes if I’d ever seen them before. Vaguely, I recall glancing at her name amongst the others on my list, acknowledging that I had a new student this year. But after that, I never thought of it again. And now here she is. A banging drum solo in a world full of symphonies. Right away, I know she is the outlier in this group with her red wine-stained hair and ivory skin and her hundred thousand-megawatt face.
“Oh my God.” The words stumble from her crimson red lips. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Carter.”
Christ, those lips. I can’t tear my eyes away from them, and the limp dick in my trousers has taken notice too. My dick hasn’t seen any action for far too long, and now is an inopportune moment to remember that. This is new, and it’s a fucking problem, but that doesn’t stop me from taking stock of this mysterious new creature in front of me. Leggy with a body of a pinup fantasy, she has the figure of a model with none of the grace and only half of the confidence. There is something unapologetically genuine about her, and I am drawn to it like a goddamn moth. Soft lines and retro sex kitten lashes are all I can see. Unspoiled territory demanding to be explored.
Fuck. I’m staring at her, and the entire class is watching. How long have we been here like this? What fucking day is it? It’s time to rectify this situation. My eyes cut over her, and my voice turns menacing as I establish dominance. “You’re late, Miss LeClaire.”
“I’m so sorry.” Her eyes dart to Louisa and her gaggling pack of hyenas in the back of the classroom. “I had some trouble finding my way here.”
She’s lying, and it’s evident that she’s become the latest target of the self-proclaimed mean girls at Loyola. But regardless of her excuses, I have an example to set.
“Congratulations,” I reply flatly. “You’ve earned the award of fastest detention ever given on the first day of school. Now find a seat, Miss LeClaire, and get here on time from now on or don’t bother showing up at all.”
Her lips slam shut, and she stares at me in disbelief for a second before she swallows down her humiliation. Slinking to her seat, she leaves me standing at the front of the class alone with an unfamiliar shadow of frustration. I shut the door and take a moment to gather myself before I point out the rules I scrawled on the whiteboard earlier this morning.
“Welcome to AP Research. Those of you who have made it this far are second year students of the Capstone program, so I assume you will understand this is not an easy college credit for your application. If you are ready to put your mind to use, then I will be your guide this year. My name is Mr. Carter, and I expect you to address me as such. Now, let’s go over the rules, shall we?”
The class falls dead silent as I begin to ramble off the structure that is better suited for toddlers than teenagers.
No texting. No snapchatting. No selfies. No phones, period.
No eye rolling. No whining.
If I’m talking, you’re not.
If you plan to show up late, don’t bother coming at all.
My eyes inadvertently move to Stella as I read this line. To my satisfaction, she sucks in a breath, and I continue down the list.
If you’re passing notes, be prepared to share them with the entire class.
No gossiping. No food or drinks.
No shirt, no shoes, no classroom. This is not a hippie commune, nor is it your sofa. Come to class in compliance with the dress code and remain that way. Nobody wants to smell your feet when you kick off your shoes.
Do your homework and don’t make excuses.
If you are coughing, sneezing, shivering, or otherwise showing signs of an impending plague, you will be sent directly to the school nurse.
There are no participation medals in this class. Grades are earned through sweat and tears.