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“Well, last night—”
“Sorry I’m late all,” Mr. Stiles strolls into the classroom, his hair disheveled as if he’s run his fingers through it multiple times and his eyes bloodshot as he scans the room. He looks like he didn’t sleep a wink. My mind tracks back to the picture on his Instagram and how put together he appeared. How alive and energetic he looked. No sign of tired eyes, no signs of dark shadows under his eyes. I glance at him and notice how utterly drained he appears. I give Kal a quick glance. “I’ll tell you later.”
“I may sound like any other nineteen-year-old student, but funny enough, my alarm didn’t go off,” Mr. Stiles says with a laugh, removing his blazer and hanging it on the chair. With a clap of his hands, he shifts his attention to the class. I fixate my focus on him the entire time, but he never once glances in my direction. I sneak a glance at Kal, who appears completely absorbed and oblivious. I don’t know if it’s only me, but it’s becoming more and more obvious that he is avoiding me during class. I’m certain he hasn’t glanced at this side of the classroom even once. He assigns us the task of researching our end-of-year presentation topic. Our task is to create a product and present it to the class. Additionally, he’s developing an online poll that will be included in our college newsletter. This will allow everyone to view the presentations and vote for the best product.
I’m supposed to be researching, but my marketing teacher won’t acknowledge me. I’m anxious that he might have informed the dean, or that I said something wrong while drunk last night. Is he angry because he caught me drinking?
Tray kicks my leg, “Stop bouncing your knee, it’s annoying.”
“Sorry,” I mutter, nervously chewing on the skin around my nails as a distraction.
I continue to stare at Mr. Stiles, hoping for that quick glance, but he doesn’t give it. All it takes is one look to assure me that everything is fine. The more I worry, the angrier I become. How dare he have me here feeling like this? He’s supposed to be my teacher. Are teachers meant to make you feel this way? Should teachers be giving you inappropriate glances? Should teachers be watching your Instagram stories? My mind abruptly stops at the thought.
What was the reason for him watching my stories?
As soon as the bell rings, people grab their belongings.
“I’ll meet you at practice,” I say to Kal and Tray as they eye me skeptically. “I need to speak to Mr. Stiles.” They both nod, walking past me as I pack away my stuff slowly. While making my way down the stairs, I catch sight of Daxton getting ready to leave. He pauses, peering up at me, and gives a nod. His left eye is marked by a dark black bruise, and a noticeable cut on his lip mirrors the injury. Even though I’m aware this is a consequence of yesterday, I can’t muster up any concern. It may not be Daxton’s fault directly, but it’s his flesh and blood who is the reason Bexley is the way he is. His uncle and dad groomed Bexley. As I grew older, I began to realize that what they did was exactly like that. We needed money, we needed food. They were always at our trailer with my mom. They provided everything we needed all of a sudden. But it came with a price. My brother’s fucking soul. I know Daxton deals, too. His dad isn’t in charge, his uncle is. According to Bexley, that’s how Daxton got into this school. He wanted an education, so he had to work for it. He may not take the shit they sell and may not be as weak as Bexley, but he’s still one of their minions.
“Daxton, can you hold back a minute?” Mr. Stiles’ voice causes me to snap out of my thoughts. I grit my teeth and focus on him.He still doesn’t look at me. Taking a seat at the front, I slouch back and kick my leg out before dropping my bag on the floor.
I’m not going anywhere until he speaks to me.
“Brayden, you can leave.” His voice, firm and commanding, ignites a violent desire in me to throw a desk against the wall. While saying it, he doesn’t bother looking up at me and instead busies himself with papers on his desk.
“I’ll wait,” I grit out.
“The matter I need to discuss with Daxton is confidential. Please leave.” His eyes finally meet mine and I hate that it hurts to see exhaustion there. But I’m still mad and confused as to why he’s being the way he is toward me today.
“What I have to tell you is confidential,” I say, grinning. “Daxton, you can come back, right?” I arch an eyebrow at him, observing his gaze shifting between me and Mr. Stiles. Mr. Stiles appears on the verge of scolding me, and Daxton mumbles a reluctant, “OK,” before promptly disappearing.
“I don’t appreciate you dictating to my students when they can and can’t be here. Don’t forget that I am the teacher here, OK?” With anger oozing from him, Mr. Stiles walks around his desk and fixates his eyes on me. Strangely enough, I find solace in the fact that he’s paying attention to me, even if it’s with contempt.
“Why did you avoid me all class?” For a moment, he stares at me in bewilderment, then chuckles and bursts into laughter, throwing his head back. “This isn’t the Brayden Anders show. I have other students.” He shakes his head, walking around the desk and sits down in the chair beside his desk again. He continues, without making eye contact, “Brayden, I’m too busy for this immature nonsense. My afternoon is packed. Please leave.” My veins throb with anger as he casually picks up his pen and begins to write, disregarding me like an annoying little kid.
“I’m immature, huh? If I’m that immature and annoying to you. What made your eyes stay fixed on me at the bar? Whatmade it impossible for them to stop staring at me when they shouldn’t have? Could you please remind me, sir, how you found me last night? Oh yes, that’s right”—I snap my fingers as If I remembered something—“Because you watched my Instagram stories like a fucking stalker.” My voice oozes with sarcasm and disdain.
I lock eyes with him and only see pure fury.
Chapter sixteen
Bohdi
How the fuck did he know I looked at his Instagram? Surely it doesn’t show you people that view your profile. Rylee neglected to include that important detail.
I tilt my neck from side to side, attempting to calm the simmering rage within me. Who does this kid think he is, acting all high and mighty? What he doesn’t realize is yes, he is right. I spent the entire class avoiding him due to my mind being overwhelmed by thoughts of his lips and the sensation of his skin. I’ve never experienced such a confusing mix of right and wrong in my life. Why am I feeling like this for a fucking student? I can’t wrap my head around it. As I turned on my coffee machine this morning, all I could see were his lips. In the shower, all I see is his hand on that guy’s ass, which sent a jolt to my dick.
I fucking hate it. But how does it stop? How do all this consuming, overwhelming and so fucking wrong feelings stop?
Right now, he’s driving me crazy with his attitude, but I can’t deny that I’m also captivated by the way he looks. Sitting there so nonchalantly in gray sweatpants, a tight white top, and a backward baseball cap. You hear girls talking about guys in gray sweats and I’ve never in my life found this attractive, so why do I now?
I ended up searching for signs of a mid-life crisis at 3 a.m. all because of this boy. Apparently, finding your student attractive isn’t a sign. It provided me details of therapists in the area.
Maybe I should call one.
My eyes connect with his again. Brayden’s eyes don’t waver and with everything he has going on, I admire the confidence he holds. It’s clear the guy has some balls on him.
Oh fuck, don’t think about the size of his balls.
