I’M WAITING out in front of Wren’s dorm building, wrapped up in my thickest coat, a beanie, gloves and a scarf, and I’m still cold as fuck. The sun shines brightly overhead, doing little to warm my bones. The entire campus is covered in a thick layer of snow and thank Christ someone got up at the crack of dawn to shovel the walkways.
She still hasn’t come out yet, and I’m getting worried. The bell is going to ring soon. She’s usually heading for the school entrance by now, and my friends won’t stop texting me, asking me where I’m at.
I ignore them. All I can think about is Wren. How she ran out on me yesterday afternoon. How traumatized she looked when her dad called, interrupting us. I’m sure that fucked with her head, made her feel like a sinner or whatever, though her purity promise has nothing to do with religion, from what I can tell.
It’s merely a promise she made to her father, and herself, not to stray with the first guy she’s hot for.
If her promise did have religious meaning, then I guess I’m the devil who’s leading her straight into temptation.
I can’t stop thinking about her. How incredibly responsive she is. The eager way she kisses me. How fucking wet her pussy was—she was turned on yesterday, that was obvious. And that virgin pussy was so tight, so fucking soft and hot…
I’m surprised I didn’t explode in my trousers.
Of course, when the word Daddy flashed across the screen right in the middle of me getting her off, that was a surefire way to kill a boner.
My phone buzzes, and irritably, I check it. Another text.
Malcolm: Where the fuck are you? Class is going to start soon.
Me: I slept in late. I’ll be there. Don’t worry about me.
Malcolm: Someone has to.
Not bothering to respond, I pocket my phone, my gaze on the double doors of the dorm building. At this point, I’m practically willing Wren to appear, and when the right door swings open and she appears, I nearly sag with relief. She’s as bundled up as I am, with snow boots on her feet instead of her usual Mary Jane’s and thick wool tights on her legs, a giant puffer coat wrapped all around her. She has one of those hats on that the girls love to wear with a giant fur puff ball on top of her head and matching gloves and scarf. I can barely see her pretty face.
She doesn’t even notice me, too intent on making her way over to the campus buildings.
“Wren!”
Her eyes widen when she spots me waiting for her, and I head in her direction, my steps careful so I don’t slip and break a bone from the ice.
“What are you doing here?” she asks, sounding nervous.
“I wanted to talk to you.” I stop directly in front of her, tempted to pull her into my arms and hold her close. She actually looks terrified. “Make sure you’re okay after yesterday.”
“Oh. I’m fine.”
“Your dad okay?”
“My dad? Oh yes, he’s fine. He was just checking on me. He’s been calling daily since the divorce announcement.” She mashes her lips together, as if she doesn’t want to say anything else about her parents or their divorce.
“Yeah, he kind of—interrupted us.” I say it on purpose, wanting to circle back to that moment in the library yesterday. Did it affect her as much as it did me? Is she as rattled by the intensity of that encounter? It didn’t even last that long, but I know if it had gone on any longer, I would’ve made her come.
If she’d have let me, I would’ve fucked her against that window. And she would’ve enjoyed every second of it too.
Well, maybe not. She is a virgin.
I definitely wanted to fuck her against that window though, that’s for damn sure.
“I know.” Her voice is quiet and she dips her head, her hair falling forward, the fur ball on top of her head bobbing. “Sorry about that.”
I take a step closer, slipping my fingers beneath her chin and tilting her face up so she has no choice but to look at me. “Don’t apologize. You do that a lot.”
“I know.” She visibly swallows. “It’s a habit I’m trying to break.”
“Are you really okay, Birdy? You look…”
Scared.
Vulnerable.
Fucking beautiful.
“I’m okay. I just—we probably shouldn’t have done that.” Her voice is so quiet, I can barely hear her.
“Do you regret it? What happened?”
She’s shaking her head. “I probably did it all wrong.”
“You were perfect.” She really was. And I’m repeating the very same words she said to me yesterday.
“I was?”
I hate how this girl doubts herself. Someone did a number on her to make her so self-conscious.
“Yeah.” I tug her scarf down, exposing her cheek so I can touch it. “You were.”
The bell rings in the distance since we’re a ways away from the main building, where most of our classes are, and the look of panic that crosses Wren’s face is almost comical.
“We need to go!” She darts forward, her feet slipping on the ice, and I grab hold of her arm to keep her from falling.
“Slow down. You’re going to break something.” I loop my arm through hers and we both start walking. “It’s okay. We can be late.”
“Fig won’t like it,” she says, her feet seeming to move twice as fast to keep up with my steady pace. I can feel her start to slip again, and I steady her once again.
“Fig can suck my dick,” I mutter.
“Oh, that’s kind of gross,” she chastises, but when I glance at her, I can see nothing but her eyes thanks to her scarf.
And they’re twinkling.
“I think you’re getting used to my crude ways,” I tease her, steering her down the walkway that leads to the back of the main building. I can see the students rushing down the halls through the windows of the double doors and I know we’re going to end up being a few minutes late.
We can blame it on the weather, though I’m sure Fig won’t buy it. He’s not one to care about lateness, but I’m thinking when it comes to me, he’s going to give me shit.
He hates me.
Feeling’s mutual, so I’m cool with it.
“I actually think I am too,” she says sincerely, and I can’t help but chuckle.
“I’ll have you dropping fucks here and there eventually, Birdy.”
“Oh, I doubt that. I can’t imagine saying that word.”
I can. When she’s naked and panting and dying for me to make her come. I’ll make her beg. I’ll force her to say, fuck me, Crew and when I finally slide inside her, she’ll come all over my cock.
Yeah, these are the thoughts I’ve been dealing with since yesterday afternoon. Every single one starring Wren in my dirtiest fantasies.
The final bell rings and now it’s Wren who’s running ahead, her arm still through mine, so she’s almost dragging me along with her. We slam our way through the double doors, turning right to head to our English class. The door is closed, which is unusual, and Wren lets go of my arm to reach for the door handle, me right on her tail.
We race to our seats in the middle of Figueroa taking attendance, and I watch in mute fascination as Wren shrugs out of her coat and leaves it hanging over her chair, the scarf dangling there as well. She pulls the hat off, shaking her head so all of that silky brown hair spills past her shoulders.
I immediately want to touch it. Feel the soft strands curl around my fingers.
Instead, I take off my coat, my gaze finding Fig’s, who’s glaring at me like he wants to rip my head off.
Come at me, bro.
“We’re going to work on our essays for The Great Gatsby today,” he announces as he starts pacing in front of the classroom. “By now, all of you should be wrapping up the book, or already finished. There will be a test next week for finals.”
There’s some grumbling, but Fig ignores it.
“And the paper will be due the day we get back from winter break.”
The complaining is in earnest now. Very rarely do our teachers assign us projects over breaks. They know we actually need the break, and they don’t really want to grade assignments when they come back either.
Guess Fig is the exception, the asshole.
“So let’s use this week’s class time to catch up on our reading, going over what the themes are in the book, and starting to work on the paper. If you’ve already finished the book and understand the many themes within the story, congratulations. Consider yourself ahead of the game, and you’ll most likely have the essay wrapped up by next week before winter break starts.” He smiles, ignoring the fact that most of us are disgruntled.
Wren raises her hand, and he smiles at her, his gaze soft. “Yes, Wren?”
I clinch my hands into fists, wishing I could beat his rotten face in.
“What exactly should the essay be about?” she asks in her sweet voice.
“Great question.” He turns to the whiteboard, grabbing a blue marker and writing furiously across it before he steps away from the board, tapping the end of the marker against it. “How does Gatsby represent the American dream? That’s the theme.”
I lean back against my seat, already bored. I can handle that topic in my sleep. I still haven’t read the book, and I should probably study for the upcoming final, but I’m thinking I’ll be fine. There’s enough information on the internet that I can find.
There are a few more questions, but I tune them out, concentrating on Wren sitting in front of me, her head bent, exposing her nape. I remember kissing her there yesterday, making her tremble.
“Mr. Lancaster? A word?”
I glance up to find Figueroa watching me, his hands in his pockets, his posture deceptively casual. I can tell he’s tense by the rigid line of his shoulders.
“Sure.” Shrugging, I rise to my feet and follow him out of the classroom, Wren’s eyes on me the entire time. I send her a quick look, noting the worry in her eyes, and I flash her a quick smile to reassure her.
Her smile is weak. Barely there.
Girl worries too much.
Once we’re out in the hall, Figueroa turns on me, his expression grim. “Why were you late?”
This from the teacher who normally doesn’t give a shit. Who told us at the beginning of the school year that attendance was a chore he hated but was forced to do. “The weather. Weren’t you outside?”
“The sidewalks were all cleared earlier this morning. If you left in enough time, you would’ve made it.” He crosses his arms in front of his chest, on the defensive.
“The sidewalks were icy as fuck.”
“Watch your mouth.” His eyelids flicker, as if he’s got a twitch. “Why did you come in late with Wren?”
That’s what this is all about. Good ol’ Figueroa is curious.
“That’s none of your damn business,” I drawl, leaning against the wall. “And what, we were like two minutes late?”
“Late is late.”
“From the teacher who doesn’t have a tardy policy.”
“I still have to follow school rules.” His gaze is steely. “As do you and Wren.”
“You’re just mad,” I murmur, so low I almost think he didn’t hear me.
But he did. I witness the anger crossing his face that very moment. “Explain to me what you think I’m mad about?”
“The fact that Wren isn’t interested in you—that she’s interested in me. We’ve already had this conversation, Fig. And I told you what was going to happen. You don’t have a chance in hell getting in her panties.” I smile, enjoying the anger I see flashing in his eyes.
“How would Miss Beaumont feel, knowing you talk about her in such a manner?”
Doesn’t he sound like a stuffy old teacher who respects his female students? What a crock of shit.
“First, you’ll never say anything to her, because you know she’d be more offended by the fact that you brought up her panties to her in the first place. And second, I’ve been in those panties, so she couldn’t deny it even if you mention it to her.” Oh, I’m feeling really smug now, mentioning the ‘in her panties’ bit, and I fucking love it.
“I don’t believe you,” Figueroa says through clenched teeth.
“Go ahead. Ask her.” I flick my head toward the closed classroom door. “Call her out here.”
“I am not about to get involved in my students’—sexual activities,” he says.
I laugh. “That’s rich, coming from you. Are we done with this conversation?”
“Watch your tone. And don’t be late. I’ll write you up next time. Wren too.” His words are clipped.
Oh, she won’t like that. A write-up might send her spiraling.
Standing up straighter, I salute him like the asshole I am. “Yes, sir.”
He sneers at me but otherwise doesn’t say a word, both of us walking into class at the same time, Wren’s curious gaze on me the entire time. She even turns in her desk, lowering her voice to whisper, “What was that about?”
“I’ll tell you later.” I glance up to find Fig’s gaze on us, and I smirk at him as I reach out and tuck a stray tendril behind her ear. “Don’t worry about it.”
