Page 8 of Sexting the Single Pakhan

She snorts. “Happy? Please. What exactly is there to be happy about in your life? Teaching other people’s children for pennies while living in that shoebox apartment in Brooklyn? You—”

I cut her off. “Aria, the only thing sadder than your green sludge is how hard you try to make everyone else feel as miserable as you do. Maybe if you spent less time judging my life and more time fixing yours, you wouldn’t need to sip cow dung just to feel superior.”

Her mouth drops open. The straw slips halfway out, dangling awkwardly. I pick up my coffee, give her a small, sweet smile, and walk past her without another word.

Aria is part of the non-teaching staff at Prudence, but she obviously doesn’t need the job. She comes from money. Rumor has it her dad forced her to take the position to teach her the value of a dollar after she crashed his expensive car under the influence. Aria is deeply unhappy here, and she’s on a mission to drag everyone down with her.

Thanks to her, I snap out of my daydream about Leonid Volkov. I shouldn’t be thinking about him. He’s a parent. This is so far beyond inappropriate it’s in another zip code.

I push through the door of The Rusty Anchor a little after seven, the familiar hum of low chatter and clinking glasses wrapping around me. The place is dimly lit, all exposed brick and Edison bulbs.

Tasha’s already claimed our usual corner booth, two drinks waiting. She waves me over with a grin that says she’s been dying for this all day. She’s messaged me multiple times, reminding me that drinks are happening whether I’m tired or not.

I slide into the seat across from her, shrugging off my coat. “Hey you.”

“Drinks on me, as promised,” she says, sliding a vodka tonic my way. “Now spill. I’ve been dying to hear about what happened, all day.”

I take a long sip, the cold bite of lime and the smooth burn of vodka going down my throat. And launch into it. By the time I finish, Tasha’s mouth is hanging open, eyes wide like I just told her I robbed a bank. She blinks once, twice, then snatches her phone off the table.

“Wait. Hold up.” She’s already typing. “Leonid Volkov, right? The billionaire guy? One of New York’s eligible bachelors?”

I nod, now sipping my second glass.

She turns the screen toward me. It’s one of those glossy magazine shots, him in a tailored black suit, arms crossed, staring straight into the camera, looking so confident.

Tasha lets out a long, appreciative “Wow.” She fans herself dramatically. “Laurel. You saw this man naked?”

I nod again, cheeks burning. “Unfortunately. Or… fortunately? I don’t know anymore.”

“Oh my God.” She leans in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “What I would give to have your eyes right now. Just once.”

I laugh despite myself. “Tasha. You have a boyfriend.”

She waves a hand. “A little admiration here and there hasn’t done anyone any harm. James would understand.”

“I’m sure he would,” I say dryly, rolling my eyes. “Totally chill about his girlfriend drooling over another naked man.”

Tasha’s still glued to the phone, scrolling through more pictures. “Way to go, babe,” she murmurs, almost reverent. “You bagged the hottest forbidden fruit in New York.”

I shake my head, setting my glass down with a soft clink. “No, I didn’t bag him. Unfortunately, I can’t go on with what we did last night.”

Her head snaps up. “Why not?”

“Obviously because it’s against every school rule in the book. You don’t frolic with a student’s parent. It’s literally in the ethics handbook. I could lose my job.”

Tasha snorts, waving me off like I just suggested the sky is green. “Yeah, but they’re not going to find out. Who’s going to tell them? You? Definitely not Mr. Hot Daddy. He’s got a hell of a lot more to lose if this gets out. He’s not going to be the one running his mouth, and neither would you. So I don’t see the problem here.”

I laugh at the nickname. “Tasha.”

“I’m serious,” she presses. “You’ve already crossed the line. Why stop now? For the first time since forever, you’ve found a man who actually catches your fancy. A man who clearly wants you. A man you can finally lose your V-card to and get properly laid. And you’re just going to… give that up?”

I roll my eyes so hard it hurts. “I’m definitely not losing my virginity to Leonid Volkov.”

Tasha leans back, crossing her arms, one brow arched high. “Why the hell not? You’re twenty-five, babe. You’ve waited long enough for Mr. Right. Maybe Mr. Right is actually Mr. Tall, Dark, Dangerous, and Hung Like a—”

“Stop,” I groan, but I’m smiling despite myself. The vodka’s warming my veins.

She shrugs, unrepentant. “Just saying. Life’s too short to keep playing it safe. And from what you told me? That man is not safe. He’s exactly the kind of trouble you need.”