His mussed, dirty-blond hair is loosely styled to give off an effortless appeal One you know takes effort to achieve. It matches his expensive jeans and polo shirt look. He’s definitely got the snobby glare down. But then ‘sex on legs’ opens his mouth to speak, tanking my attraction faster than the euro…instant nose dive. At least this thirsty bitch knows that douche is not on the menu.
“Sam, is this miscreant bothering you?” the asshole says to the bitchy one whose name is apparently Sam, whom I’ve affectionately named ‘wankstain’ in my head. Also, what teenager says miscreant?
What geriatric ward did this tool escape from?
“Rowan, babe, she was trying to take my spot then had the nerve to talk back,” she whines in this squeak of a voice, that’s mousey and ungodly annoying.
I’m guessing this is her attempt to sound sultry, but she sounds more like Scuttle from
The Little Mermaid when he tries to sing
Kiss the Girl. I try my best not to let the corners of my lips curl as I chuckle to myself, picturing her going wah wah wah wah. ‘Captain Save-a-Ho,’ or Rowan as she called him, interrupts my mental comedy show just as Sam is about to serve up some major duck face.
“Well, you know how the peasants are always looking for ways to be important. Let’s just go inside, and if she’s smart, she’ll take the warning,” Captain says, giving me a side eye as he continues. “But if she’s as dumb as she looks, then I’m sure we can have fun with her later.”
“Did we jump back to the Victorian age with a caste system? Who the fuck says ‘peasants?’” I ask, staring him right in the eyes and continuing before he can turn to leave. “I’ll tell you, like I told your Barbie, there was no name on the fucking spot, and I would’ve been fine if she and her lackeys didn’t touch me.”
I swear the crowd makes a collective gasp. The noise causes me to pause, and I realize there’s quite an audience now. Scanning my surroundings, I notice three more drool-worthy guys standing at the crowd’s edge. They’re watching with varying levels of interest, and the one that seems the most amused gives me a wink.
No one stands close to them. They are kings holding court as they emanate a level of power that would rival world leaders. Suddenly, something inside me stirs to life like a whirlwind. My thighs clench, my core hums, and my heart revs.
What is it with this school and making my once dormant lady parts peek out from under their rock? I can’t remember the last time my body had such an immediate visceral reaction.
I don’t have the time to fully process these feelings because ‘The Captain’ speaks again. “Well, I’m glad you recognize there’s a pecking order. Maybe you’re not so dumb after all.” He pauses. His grin widens, and a glint of something shows in his eyes but disappears before I can even name it. “Though I highly doubt it.”
Agitation builds. I’m about to tear him a new asshole when they turn and walk away hand in hand, with the asshole bending to kiss the top of her head. Whatever, I can’t waste any more time on this. It was stupid of me to engage in the first place, but I knew it would only be worse if I said nothing. I’ve tried brushing it off at previous schools, and that only caused me more stress. I’m not looking for trouble, but I’m also not putting up with bullshit either. A huff releases as I mentally prepare myself for what I am sure will be a hell of a day.
* * *
A man is standing behind the counter as I walk into the office. His features are so young there’s no way he can be part of the faculty. But his tailored black sports jacket, starched white collared shirt, and cerulean tie that matches his eyes say otherwise. He can’t be more than twenty-one, or twenty-two tops.
The outfit pairs nicely with his wheat-colored hair and olive-toned skin. He looks up while I’m about to open my mouth to speak.
“You must be Emma Elaine Bishop.” His voice sounds like warm cocoa on a freezing rainy day, and I forget how to form words. This stupid town is turning me into a stereotypical horny teenage girl. It’s even more frustrating because it’s not like I haven’t seen any guys since moving here. So, I’m not sure why I’m suddenly having these reactions.
He speaks again, “Are you Emma? I mean unless we have two new students starting that I’m unaware of.” A smile spreads across his stubble-lined jaw.
My brain finally gets the signal. This is where you use your words, stupid. I clear my throat. “Yes, I’m Emma, but I go by Riah or Ry. Are you Mr. Grant?”
His grin grows more prominent, and my body flushes. I’m sure there’s a blush tint to the apple of my cheeks. Yeah, this dude shouldn’t be allowed at any school. Even my virgin body wants to do bad things.
Hey, I said I’m a virgin, not a saint. Goosebumps line my arms when some of those thoughts cross my mind, but I stomp them out quickly.
Get your hormones under control, you wanton slut. You’re here for school, and teachers are off limits.
Inhaling, I refocus as he continues to speak, “Well, Riah.” I squeal internally at his use of my nickname. “The only Mr. Grant in this town is my uncle. Please call me Sebastian. I’ll be your advisor this year,” he states, and I wonder if his uncle is the lawyer that met with Mom.
Sebastian. I wonder if he likes being called sir? Crap, I’m doing it again. How am I supposed to go the whole school year with a hot advisor?
Like a bucket of ice-cold water, reality strikes. I’m not a regular teenager, so I don’t have time for silly schoolgirl crushes. I have siblings who depend on me to be level-headed and focused. Shaking off whatever little butterflies were trying to grow, I tell my hormone-riddled brain to take a hike.
His voice cuts through my wayward train of thought, “Hopefully, you’ve received your school schedule. I am sorry again for being unable to be here for your orientation last week, but I am here now to ensure you are all set for your first day.”
“Yes, I got my schedule, and I’m glad you’re here because I have a few questions,” I say, my lips forming a straight line. “I’m missing some of my AP courses, and is joining a sports team seriously a requirement?” I groan.
“Ah, you have an old schedule. I had to wait for some of your records to come in before I could add your AP courses. Unfortunately, those didn’t come in until the Friday after you had orientation,” Mr. Grant explains. I wonder why it took so long for my last school to send over my information.
He pivots toward the printer, grabbing a sheet of paper, which I assume is my updated schedule. “Here we are. You now have AP Calculus, AP U.S. History, and AP Chemistry.” He hands me my schedule and continues, “Now, to answer your second question. Yes, it is a requirement. We here at Calloway expect our students to be well-rounded. Therefore, you must find a club or a sports team to join.”
Excellent, just what I wanted to hear.
Psych.
Rolling my shoulders back, I stand straighter, trying a different approach. If I appear more confident, I can work my way out of this stupid rule.
“There’s no way to get an exemption or something? I work just about every day after school. Can’t real-life experience take the place of the club?” I suggest.
His pointed look tells me I have lost this battle before it’s even begun, and because of my living situation, I can’t push too hard. I can’t have him phone home to discuss this further with a parent. So, I accept whatever he’s about to say and take the ‘L.’
“No, Miss Bishop. Seeing as the clubs and sports take place during school hours, there’s no way to use your job and earn class credit. Furthermore, failure to complete this course will prevent you from graduating.
Groaning, my shoulders slump. I thank him as I take the schedule and head for the door. This is going to be a long fucking year.
ROWAN
“The nerve of that bitch, Rowan! Who the hell does she think she is, talking to me like that? Does she not know who I am?” Sam keeps complaining as we walk to AP Calculus together.
Jesus, her voice is annoying. If I wasn’t trying to get a closer look at the new girl this morning, I wouldn’t have to be listening to Sam’s nagging voice now. This is just another reason for me to hate the new girl.
Emma Elaine Bishop. The seventeen-year-old, with three younger siblings, who just moved into town over the summer. She and her family are all this damn town has been talking about since they moved into the old Washington house.
I was backpacking through Europe all summer, so I didn’t get a chance to see her until this morning. She’s all the guys have been talking about in our group chats. I didn’t understand what the damn fuss was, but I can see it now.
That body- I internally groan and bite a knuckle. She looks like sin on a pair of thick long legs that lead up to an even thicker ass. Not to mention that rack. Those things have to be at least DDs. Far more than a handful, that’s for damn sure. She’s all curves, with long wavy blue-black hair that hangs down to her delectable ass.
I’m not usually into thicker girls. I like my women tall and thin with no more than a handful of tit and definitely not too much ass- girls who look like Sam.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.