Apparently some things translated well.
It was the big joke in the house that Kevin, the brother with the job and all the responsibilities, the guy with the drive to succeed, with the need to teach and make people realize their potential, had never had half the social life of his brother.
Until last night.
Kevin shook his head at himself as he ate breakfast. He was still shaking his head as he started the one vice he allowed himself: his motorcycle. As always, riding calmed him, whether it was the balmy LA weather, the wind in his face, the speed, the sheer power of the machine beneath him…
On the freeway, his thoughts shifted to last night, an event he felt sure would headline his fantasies for months to come.
Bad in bed…
No way had those low, whimpery pants of hers been for show. She couldn't have faked her eyes going opaque, glazing over as he'd sent her skittering off the edge with his fingers, then his tongue.
No way.
Damn, he should have stuck to his usual evening plans. A pizza, a beer, no harm, no foul. Instead, Mia Appleby had stayed him with one glance. Maybe she wasn't classically beautiful, but she had a way of walking, of holding herself, of looking at a man that made her extremely worth a second look. And a third. There was just something about her-maybe her confidence, her no-nonsense ways, maybe her sharp mind, or maybe just the stubborn set of her chin…
She was a woman who knew what she wanted and went for it. She'd gone for him, and it had been quite a ride.
Until she got spooked.
She could insult him all she wanted. She could walk away-even run-but he knew better.
Last night had been more than she'd bargained for. Far more.
The roads were surprisingly clear of traffic, and he enjoyed the view of the low-riding hills on either side, still green from a late spring. The air was cool enough now but held a hint of the muggy heat yet to come once the sun got on its way. He pulled into the high school with half an hour to spare, thinking he could use the time to further prepare his new classroom.
Parking turned out to be limited due to the construction of a desperately needed new gym and cafeteria. The parking spot he'd been told to use had a Dumpster sitting on it. He eyed the next spot over, which had a sign that read reserved for principal.
Joe Fraser and Kevin went way back, but they hadn't exactly been friends.
In high school, Joe had been a football star and all things popular while Kevin had been backpedaling as fast as he could, surviving a broken home, dealing with Mike, etc. In fact, due to Joe's bullying and obnoxious ways, they'd hated each other.
Not much had changed there; that had been obvious during the hiring process. But Kevin got the job, with or without Joe's approval, so it was with great pleasure that he pulled into the 'reserved' spot and turned off his bike.
Payback was a bitch.
The school was mostly empty. Heaven forbid anyone got here early. The halls were hot, too hot, and smelled vaguely like feet. Kevin wondered if the janitor was still Vince Wells and if he'd gotten drunk in his office again, turning on the heater instead of the AC.
Perfect. The students would all be napping at their desks by ten thirty.
Kevin passed by the front office, where Mrs. Stacy was already filing. She'd been there since the dawn of time. Not exactly the warm, fuzzy, grandma type, she stood tall and was painfully thin, with a perpetual frown on her grim face, her glasses hanging off her nose. 'Yesterday when you came to set up your classroom, you left your lights on,' she snapped. Lights are expensive, Mr. McKnight. I turned them off for you.'
Kevin shook his head.
'Talk to the hand,' she said and lifted it palm outward, an inch from his nose.
Since somewhere in the previous century she'd undoubtedly mastered the art of arguing, he only sighed and kept walking. On the walls in the hallway were posters advertising upcoming games, events, clubs. Kids were still scarce, because after all this was summer school, land of the I-don't-want-to-be-here, and they had twenty minutes until the bell.
But it turned out his classroom door was unlocked. Knowing damn well he'd locked it on his way out yesterday afternoon and that the anal Mrs. Stacy would have locked it as well, he stepped inside and staggered at the overpowering cloud of marijuana smoke. When he blinked, coughed, and waved the -smoke clear, he realized the window was open, the screen still flapping.
He raced across the classroom, past the science burners lining the back, one of which was lit, and headed directly for the window.
'See?' Mrs. Stacy stood quivering righteously in his doorway, her blue hair waggling like a Dr. Seuss character. 'How many times do I have to say this to you young teachers? You can't be the kids' friend. They'll walk all over you.'
He didn't plan on being their friend, but he did want to make a difference. It was why he taught, he had this need to fix people.
Well aware that a shrink would have a field day with that, given that he'd never actually succeeded at fixing anyone, he stopped listening to Mrs. Stacy and stuck his head out the window.
'You have to be smarter than them,' she said.
Gee, really?
But, damn, he was too late, his early-bird stoners had escaped, apparently the promise of an empty classroom too alluring to resist. Pretty ballsy to smoke right in the classroom, though. Maybe the first lesson would be going over exactly how many brain cells were lost to weed, and the long term effects.
'Mr. McKnight,' she said, tapping her geriatric loafers. 'I'm talking to you.'
'No, you're lecturing.'
Which was probably her problem. 'Did you see who came into the school this morning?'
'If I did, I'd have told you.'
Yeah, that was undoubtedly true. Head still out the window, he eyed the ground. In the dirt lay a knit cap in Lakers colors, and he smiled grimly. He'd put it on his desk. Chances were, someone would want it back, and he'd be waiting.
Chapter 3
Mia walked through her quiet, peaceful, gorgeous house, with no particular destination in mind. She just loved all the big, wide, open space, the living room with views of the hills from a wall of windows, and her state-of-the-art kitchen, all meticulously and spartanly decorated by the best of the best and kept spotless by her weekly cleaning service.
No bumping elbows in the hall, no cheap paneled walls, no lingering grease smells, no cigarette-stained carpets.
But especially, no white, frothy lace.
As she moved into her sprawling earth-toned bedroom with the fabulous Century bed and dresser that had been her first splurge, she pulled the panties and bra out of her pocket and set them on her comforter. She slipped out of her skirt and top, fighting the flashback of Kevin doing the same but in a much more sensual, arousing manner.
How dare he throw her orgasms back in her face.
