“No, because I’ll share my proposal with him as well. I think you just enjoy being a thorn in my side. You know what?” Her exhale is forced through her nose as she shakes her head. “Never mind. Forget it.”
“No, what? What were you going to say?” I want her to tell me why she’s so damn bent out of shape. I’d told her I’d fill her in when I’m done. I’m no slouch. I think I've developed great ideas to improve how we’ve been structuring our classes. I definitely don’t want us to get into a rut. Students these days lose interest quickly unless teachers can come up with innovative ways to hold their attention. That’s what I’m after—revamping how we do things to get better results.
“I don’t think you get it. This was all but guaranteed to be my position until you showed up. I don’t appreciate you going over my head on stuff like this or purposely not including me.”
I cock my head to the side, studying her. She’s all fired up, her face quickly turning beet red, breath coming fast. “So, you’d prefer the position was handed to you? I can’t believe that. Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a little competition, Piper.”
She crosses her arms and flounces back in her chair. “No. I’d just prefer not to have to compete with you.”
I hold my hands out, palms up, my eyes boring into hers. “Why not? What’s the matter, princess? Think I might be better suited to lead the department?” I fucking love to push her buttons. She’s so easily irritated.
She mumbles to herself as she rolls her chair back over to her desk. “What an egomaniac. So self-centered.”
She knows damn well I can hear her, and she’s starting to get on my nerves, so I jab right back at her. “And you’re spoiled. Did Mommy and Daddy always hand you everything you wanted? Is that what the problem is?”
“You—you have no idea what you’re talking about, Damon!” She rockets out of her seat, hands on her hips, glaring at me. I have her so worked up, I’d swear if I got close enough to her, I would probably see the flames flickering in her eyes.
I try to hold back the smirk forming on one corner of my lips. And she riles me up like no one else does. I have a feeling I’ll end up spending the whole damned weekend at the gym pummeling a bag, or better yet, my sparring partner, just to work out the frustration.
My eyes drift from her fired-up expression to her long, dark hair. My gaze travels the length of it, ending just below her breasts. She’s got on a white button-down shirt that seems tailor-made for her, tucked into a bright-pink skirt at her tiny waist. My gaze skims over her full, lush hips and down her legs to a pair of black heels. Judging by the way she dresses, she doesn’t know what it’s like to want for anything.
Her teeth clamp down on her lip. “I’m going to go make some copies. I’ll be back in a little bit and we can discuss. Maybe I can knock some sense into you.”
I shrug in a way I know will annoy her. “Whatever you need to do, princess.”
“Stop calling me princess, you jerk.” She leaves the same way she came in, with a bang of the door.
Shaking my head at her antics, I pull my phone out of my pocket and log into the Tryst app.
I’ll admit, it was not my idea in the first place to sign up for an account. My sister, Arabella, is four years younger than I am and suggested I try out this new dating app when she had luck with it. She met the guy she’s currently dating on it, so naturally, she thinks it’s going to work for me, too. She'd even created my profile—including a Moriarty avatar I would not have selected—without my knowledge. My phone started getting weird notifications, and I thought it had some sort of bug at first. Once Arabella admitted to what she’d done, I’d gotten … well, curious, I guess.
When I’d first seen some of the messages, I’d been like fuck no and had gotten rid of them quickly. But then one particular person intrigued me. Sherlock4Love. She’d been cautious at first, asking if Prof.M. really meant what she thought it did. Through our mutual love of all things Sherlock Holmes, a friendship started to blossom. Friendship might be the wrong word. We discuss. We debate. We argue. A lot. But she’s smarter than hell, and I enjoy locking horns with her over everything related to our favorite character.
Prof.M. to Sherlock4Love: I’m in the mood for an argument. I figure I’m better off bickering with you over Sherlock stuff than strangling someone IRL.
Sherlock4Love to Prof.M.: LOL, well, we never did finish our discussion about who portrayed Sherlock best. I’m going with Jeremy Brett. He played Sherlock for ten years in the 90s. It’s a very classic adaptation. He starred in forty-two of the original Sir Arthur Conan Doyle stories, and they were set in the original time period. I don’t know how you top that.
Prof.M. to Sherlock4Love: I still say no one can compete with Benedict Cumberbatch’s modern take on Sherlock. He’s the man.
Sherlock4Love to Prof.M.: Agree to disagree, then. I still like a classic better.
Prof.M. to Sherlock4Love: You can’t deny that women love Cumberbatch. I’m surprised you don’t, too.
Sherlock4Love to Prof.M.: Don’t get me wrong—he’s okay. He’s just not the best interpretation of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s character.
Prof.M. to Sherlock4Love: If you say so. The other guy seems old and too stiff.
Sherlock4Love to Prof.M.: C-L-A-S-S-I-C
Chapter 3
Piper
Over the weekend, my exchanges with Prof.M. had gotten the tiniest bit … dirty. Funny how just his words can get me all hot and bothered. I think we both must have been bored because I’d spent a lot of time messaging him. An inordinate amount of time, really. It would be embarrassing to the extreme if he turns out to not be the someone special I think he could be.
I glance down over our messages on the Tryst app. It all started innocently enough …
Prof.M. to Sherlock4Love: Maybe this is going to completely change our little online relationship … but can I ask what you look like? Your profile just says you’re 26.
Sherlock4Love to Prof.M.: I am 26, correct … and I see you’re 29. Neither of us has an actual photo posted. You sure you want to destroy whatever illusion you’ve created in your head? Could be dangerous.
Prof.M. to Sherlock4Love: I’ll admit I’ve been daydreaming about you—what you might look like. It has me curious.
Sherlock4Love to Prof.M.: Is that all you’ve been daydreaming about? Just what I look like?
Prof.M. to Sherlock4Love: Maybe not the only thing. But tell me. I want to know what you look like so I can build on the fantasy.
Sherlock4Love to Prof.M.: If you’re sure … brunette, long, straight hair, brown eyes, fair skin.
Prof.M. to Sherlock4Love: Tan. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Six feet tall. I work out a lot.
Sherlock4Love to Prof.M.: I’m average height for a woman, but I like wearing heels, so I always appear taller than I am.
And then because I couldn’t help myself, because need raced right through my veins, because some uncontrollable force moved me, I’d gone there. Yes. This next bit was definitely all on me. All. My. Fault.
Sherlock4Love to Prof.M.: What would you do if we were to meet?
Prof.M. to Sherlock4Love: Besides arguing with you, you mean? Which I fucking love doing, by the way …
Sherlock4Love to Prof.M.: Yes. I want to know what you’d want to do first.
Prof.M. to Sherlock4Love: I’d probably sink my fingers into that long hair of yours, cradle your head in my hands, and kiss you until you’re breathless and the taste of you infiltrates every last corner of my mind.
Sherlock4Love to Prof.M.: Professor. You have a way with words, sir.
Sherlock4Love to Prof.M.: I like it.
Prof.M. to Sherlock4Love: I like you. Continue our fantasy, please.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I’d mustered courage I didn’t even know I had … and being hidden behind my phone made what I’d said next a little easier. My hands begin to sweat as I reread the next portion of our exchange.
Sherlock4Love to Prof.M.: I’d put my hands on y
ou, use my tongue to lick you everywhere.
Prof.M. to Sherlock4Love: Damn. That happened fast.
Sherlock4Love to Prof.M.: Too much?
Prof.M. to Sherlock4Love: I’ll never get enough.
Sherlock4Love to Prof.M.: Is it weird that just your words make me wet?
Prof.M. to Sherlock4Love: Oh, hell. Did you just tell me your panties are wet?
Sherlock4Love to Prof.M.: What panties?
I huff a laugh at myself. I can’t believe I’d been so bold. I mean, I kind of want to meet this guy at some point, and I’ve gone and shown him a side of myself I wasn’t aware even existed until just now. It’s something he’s bringing out in me. I’ve spent way too many evenings alone thinking of all the things we could do together. And clearly, it’s been way, way too long since I’ve had a date.
“What the hell is going on?” Hadleigh slows as she comes in, eyeing me carefully. She drops the copies she’d just finished making on her desk, crosses the room to me, and perches on Damon’s seat. When she grabs my hands, her expression becomes even more concerned. “Your face is bright pink, and your hands are sweaty. Spill.”
I glance up as Sawyer walks into the workroom and sits down at his desk, his back to us.
I lean in and whisper, “You can’t say anything to anyone. I’m a smidge embarrassed.”
Hadleigh’s head rears back, and she gives me a funny look. “Explain yourself, sister.”
I really feel like bolting out of here and ignoring the whole situation, but I know darned well Hadleigh would be hot on my heels, needing to know what has calm, level-headed me in freak-out mode. “It’s bad. So bad. I, um, I downloaded this dating app. And I’ve been talking to this guy.” I suck in a breath, my emotions bouncing around like a Ping-Pong ball inside my head. I don’t know if I should say anything else. But this is Hadleigh. She’s the queen of innuendo, loves to talk about sex, and frankly, if anyone would understand, it would be her. “I’ve just been channeling my inner Hadleigh and letting her rip all over the place.”
She snorts, her mouth dropping open on a laugh. “Really? Like you’ve found a flirting partner? Or is it more like a sexting partner?”
I nod, ready to own up to it. “It started as the first and now it’s both, but I’m more nervous about the latter.” I allow my teeth to sink into my lip while I wait for her reaction.
“That’s freaking amazing,” Hadleigh whisper-shouts, then slaps her hands over her mouth, eyes wide.
Sawyer clears his throat, back still to us. “What’s the app called?”
“Dammit, Sawyer. You weren’t supposed to hear that.” I grimace, wrinkling my nose, as I stare at his back. His shoulders are jerking up and down a bit, and I’m certain he’s trying not to laugh out loud. Oh, well. What’s a little laughter at my expense, anyway? Sawyer’s a good guy. Truth be told, I don’t mind him knowing. After all, I know most of his business with Hadleigh.
He clears his throat with a chuckle. “Sorry.”
She waves her hand in his direction. “He listens, but he doesn’t care. So, what is this app again?”
I blow out a calming breath. “It’s called Tryst. It’s pretty new.”
“Just the name sounds hot and filthy.” She wiggles her eyebrows at me.
“Well, so far it’s been interesting. But it’s all online. I haven’t met up with anyone … yet.”
“But are you going to—? Wait. How many people are you talking to?”
I roll my eyes at her. “Just one. He’s a bit of a Sherlock nerd, too. That’s what caught my eye about his profile.”
By her second snort, I’m almost offended. I mean, I’m laying it all out here. I feel practically boobs-out naked.
She gives me an understanding look. “No, girl. I’m sorry. No judgment. I’m just amazed that you actually found someone you like on an app. So, Sherlock talks dirty to you?”
I slowly rake my teeth over my lower lip as I ponder how much more to tell her. “Um, yeah, he does. He’s Professor Moriarty, though, not Sherlock. And I’ve kind of been … egging him on?” The last part comes out as a question, as I still can’t quite believe what I’ve been doing myself.
She covers her mouth with her hand as she gasps. “Seriously?” She kicks her feet in excitement. “No freaking way. So, is that all it is? Like flirty sexting … or …?”
I firmly shake my head. “No. He’s smart and funny, too. I think I really like him. I’m scared. What if I end up meeting him and everything I’ve built up about him in my head isn’t anything like the real man?” Taking a deep breath, I exhale and send her my best wild-eyed I’m about to freak the hell out and it’s not going to be pretty look.
Sawyer’s deep voice interrupts us. “Hey, Had. We’re supposed to talk to Brian in his room in just a few minutes.”
Brian is their department chair, so I guess the conversation is over, even though I’m still all panicky and flapping about in the maelstrom of my emotions.
“Shoot. I gotta go, but I want to hear more when I come back. This is too amazing. I’m sure it will be fine. Just promise when you do meet him, you’ll do it in public.” She slaps her hand over her mouth. “You’ll meet him in public, that is. I didn’t mean to do him in public. That would be way naughtier than you’re ready for.” She winks at me with a tiny smirk playing at her lips.
I cover my mouth to hold my laughter in, my eyes rolling. Only Hadleigh …
With an encouraging squeeze to my arm, Hadleigh gets up and walks out of the workroom in front of Sawyer, who waves at me on his way out, an amused smile on his face.
I don’t even get a moment alone to compose myself because in strolls Damon, a cocky, smug grin on his stupid-handsome face. “Hey, did you share your thoughts yet with Jake in regard to next year’s curriculum? He seemed to really like my ideas.”
“No, Damon, I haven’t. I’m still doing some research. I like to be thorough.”
“I bet you do.” He stops next to my desk, tossing his gradebook on top of a bunch of essays he’d been grading earlier.
I rise from my chair and square off in front of him, forcing him to look at me. “Why are you goading me like this? Honestly, you are so exasperating lately. What is your deal?”
I blink, and the next thing I know, his hand wraps around my upper arm and he’s hauling me into the supply closet. The door clicks quietly behind us. It’s a dark and musty little eight-by-eight room. The only thing we bother to keep in here are classroom copies of books. Stacks and stacks, shelf after shelf of books surround us. Why did he drag me in here? I huff, flustered, as I go to flip the light switch. Damon grabs at my wrist, halting me. “Stop,” he huffs.
My mouth drops open to ask him just what the hell he thinks he’s doing when his fingers tighten on my arm. I blink a few times, trying to focus in the dark room. He raises a forefinger in front of his full, masculine lips in a classic shush gesture. His head bends down toward mine and his deep, hypnotic eyes glitter in the darkness. “Wait,” he whispers.
My heart thunders. I don’t understand why we’re in here, and Damon’s body is just a little too close to mine for comfort. He’s tall and muscular, dominating most of the space in the room, and oh my God, get me out of here.
“It’s Jake and Principal Smith. Listen.”
I whisper-shout right into his face. “I’m not listening in on their conversation. What are you, some kind of teacher-slash-spy?”
“If you’d just listen, you’d know they’re talking about us. About who he’s going to choose.”
“What?” I bump into Damon’s chest with my shoulder as I twist around toward the door. I have no shame as I lean closer, straining to hear.
Okay. Maybe a little.
He chuckles quietly right next to my ear, his big, hard body at my back. “I thought you might be interested in hearing what they’re saying.”
I can’t decide whether to follow what my brain is telling me to do and pay attention or heed the warning signals that my body is giving off. Hi
s front is practically molded to the back of me as we both eavesdrop on the conversation happening in the workroom. It’s … not awful. Oh. Oh my. Horny single lady needs to get her head back in the game.
Jake wonders aloud, “Well, I don’t know where they are. They’re usually here during their planning period.”
Then Principal Smith questions, her voice muffled, “Maybe they’re in their rooms or the copy room. Maybe we should wait a few minutes?” Oh, no. She wants to wait?
Oh my God, we’re going to get caught in here listening. Worse, when they find us, they’ll think there’s something going on here, the two of us crammed into this tiny closet. In the dark. Alone. Together. I’m never going to live this down.
I get a little light-headed at the thought and sway, suddenly off balance in the dark. Damon grasps my hip firmly with his hand, steadying me. I can’t tell if he’s not letting go on purpose or what, but the heat of his hand seeps right through my skirt, and I can just imagine how those firm fingers would feel on my bare skin.
Oh, for fuck’s sake, Piper. What is wrong with you? Now you’ve missed what Jake said. I angle my head back toward Damon, agitated. “What did he just say?”
He tucks his face near my head and whispers softly right next to my ear. “I think Jake said they didn’t have to wait for us—he’d really give it some thought and would be watching us carefully in the next few weeks.”
I suck in a deep breath just as I realize my face is frighteningly close to his neck. What a terrible mistake that was. His scent is intoxicating. It’s masculine, potent, and uniquely him. My stomach flutters. What. The. Fresh. Hell?
“Whatever. I’ve got this in the bag.” I can’t help sniping at him.
He chuckles quietly, provoking me yet again. “I’m just wondering why you’re wasting your time in the first place.”
“You wish. I’ve been running circles around you, Damon.”
Burn for You (Flirting with Forever Book 3) Page 2
