A heightened buzz filled the air. Obviously, there was more excitement from the girls than the boys. While he chatted to Mr Stevens, I used that opportunity to admire the new teacher. Dressed in a baby blue dress shirt, navy pants matched with a vest of the same colour, brown shoes and belt, his hair worn short on the sides and long on the top with the same messy locks falling to his brow, the man was beautiful—if I could call him that. All that was missing, was a suit jacket to complete the attire. Somehow even without it, he not only oozed charm and grace but an authoritative confidence that told anyone looking, he knew exactly what he wanted and went after it. He smiled at something the principal said and that slow parting of his lips, left me breathless, and a bizarre feeling in the pit of my stomach or maybe it was a bit further down south.
I sighed wondering what it would feel like to be touched intimately by a man like him, to be kissed and held. Thoughts of what his body looked like beneath his clothes had me biting my lip to keep from laughing out loud. I guessed he was toned and ripped in all the right places. Was he married? I couldn’t see a ring on his finger. A girlfriend maybe—a man this gorgeous wouldn’t be lonely for long.
Quit perving on your teacher, Lee, I scolded the same time my eyes met Cian’s.
“Oh, my God, he’s so hot,” she mouthed, before her tongue hung out over her bottom lip, mimicking a panting dog.
I nodded then snapped my attention away as Mr Stevens left. Mr Sinclair slung his black leather satchel over his chair, picked up the register and moved around to the front of the table. His other hand produced a pair of square black-rimmed glasses which he slipped on. That just about sent my heart rate flying through the door. I snuck a glance at Cian. She held her hand to her chest, imitating a hand to the brow fainting act. I bit the insides of my cheek to keep from laughing out loud.
Leaning his butt against the table, Mr Sinclair’s gaze roved across the class. “Morning ladies and gentlemen,” that deep, commanding voice brought an immediate hush to the room.
“Gentlemen?” Ass that he was, Jordan sniggered. “What era are you from, Mr Sinclair?”
Mr Sinclair’s eyes narrowed, his clean-shaven jaw clenching. “I take it, you have an aversion to being called a gentleman, young man?” Undisguised steel lined his words. I shivered, not wanting to be on the receiving end of that deathly stare. “Would you have preferred the term prat, plonker, dipstick or twit perhaps. Or as you Americans would say, jackass, prick, dickhead. Should I go on?” Slowly, he rose, set the register and his glasses on the table, then walked toward Jordan who seemed to shrink into his seat with each step closer.
All eyes turned on Jordan and a few sniggers made its way around the class. No one had seen him this dumbfounded before. As the usual loudmouth, if he wasn’t running his mouth about nothing important, he was harassing one of the students. Given the stark expression on our new teacher’s face, I didn’t think anyone would blame Jordan’s lack of the English vocabulary right now.
“I asked you a question, Mr...” Mr Sinclair’s brow lifted.
“J-Jordan Smit, sir,” he stuttered. I wondered if he’d just peed himself. “I’m sorry, sir.”
Mr Sinclair stood there for another full minute. Silent. Intense. Imposing. “Now, Mr Smit, there will not be another peep out of you unless I say so. Do you understand?”
“Yes—” Jordan broke off at Mr Sinclair’s hand landing, palm flat down in a hard thwack, on his desk.
“I do believe I said, not another peep, did I not?” Mr Sinclair said, his tone quiet yet no less forceful.
Jordan nodded, his cheeks a cherubic red. I rolled my lips over my teeth to keep from laughing out loud. Mr Sinclair moved back to the front of the class, his gait more prowl than walking. There, he slipped on his sexy glasses once more and picked up the register. What an exciting start to the history class.
He began speaking again, “since we’re going to be spending a few weeks together, I’d like to know who I’ll be interacting with. When I call your name, please stand and tell me one interesting fact about yourself. If you don’t have anything exciting to share, then tell me why you love history, and if you don’t, tell me why you hate it. Easy, right?” His lips, the bottom one fuller than the top curled in a slow smile.
I felt a distinct tingle between my thighs again. A few sighs reached my ears and I grinned. He’d just wet more panties.
“We’ll start at the top of the list.” He scanned the register. “Miss Alonso?”
A girl seated in the front row, stood. “Hi. I’m Jessica Alonso and I like eating ice cream in winter.” She giggled.
“I guess you give new meaning to brain freeze,” he said, and she giggled some more. “Mr Big?”
The boy next to Jordan rose. Three heads shorter than me, he was actually the tiniest guy in the class. “Hi, I’m Ryan Big.”
“Jesus, Mr Big, you’re small, where’s the rest of you?” Mr Sinclair’s comment had the class in hysterics.
For a man who seemed so dark, mysterious and stern, Mr Sinclair was proving to be a fun teacher. With each introduction, he had something either funny or admirable to say which seemed to be earning him brownie points with everyone. Even Jordan seemed at ease.
“Mr Langdon?”
Wes, sitting to my right, swaggered to his feet. “Hi. I’m Wes Langdon and the ladies call me the Frank Sinatra of love, if you know what I mean, sir.” He winked.
A week ago, I found Wes attractive. Tall, angular jaw, pretty smile, and muscular for a seventeen-year-old. His dark hair, extremely fair skin and shockingly pink lips, giving off seriousTwilightcharacter vibes. Now, there was a new player in town. I glanced at our teacher, fighting hard not to rest my elbows on my desk, cup my chin, and stare with a stupid smile plastered to my face. Grace was so going to love this new dynamic.
Mr Sinclair shook his head. “I believe you’ve just made Mr Sinatra roll over in his grave and say, ‘let me try again.’” He chuckled, quoting one of Sinatra’s songs. Yeah, I knew that, courtesy of dad’s choice of music in the car.
Samanthaand her wingman, Vanessa, seated side by side in front of me, looked at each other before Samantha said, “oh, my God, even his laugh is sexy. I think I just came.” She made a show of fanning her face. “I didn’t know teachers can be that hot,” she breathed, earning a disgruntled scowl from the boy seated on her left. Either they were dating, or it was unrequited feelings, on her side.
“God, he can’t be the teacher. He just can’t. How are we supposed to pay attention with a sexy, tall, ‘come sit on my lap daddy vibes’ walking up and down these aisles,” Vanessa whined.
“Well, I for one am not going to complain. It’s about time we got some good eye-candy in this school. All those grey fuddy-duddies we have are downright boring,” Samantha stated.
