I grunt and thread my fingers together, placing them on my belly. “What do you want?”
She takes up residence on her favorite part of my desk. “Mika says she saw you leave right behind a cute brown-haired twink. Seeing someone already?”
I roll my eyes, but gaze at her to make sure she doesn’t know it was Luca.
For some reason, I don’t think he wants anyone to know he was there. I’m not sure if it’s because the club was queer friendly or because it was a kink club. Either way, I want to keep his secret.
It’s important for Luca to trust me if I’m going to pursue him like I want.
Yeah, it’s stupid and I’m a fucking fool, but after the way he freaked out and practically levitated from my car, I need to know what’s going on in that pretty head of his.
Memories of how he unconsciously worked his cock against my leg, and how his warm breath drifted over my face washes over me. He was so into it, not displaying any of his usual shy, fluttery behavior.
Not until I asked if I could kiss him.
There’s a story there, one he’s reluctant to tell me, but I won’t find out if he doesn’t trust me. Which leads me to my original point: I have to keep his secret about him showing up at Mask so he’ll trust me and let me into his world.
Luca is intriguing as fuck, and I’ll make it my fucking mission to make him mine. To unravel all of his secrets and make him feel safe. To make him?—
“Earth to Maddox,” Crista snaps in my face, bringing me back to the present. I shake my head and glare at her, swatting at her fingers. She laughs as she lowers her hand. “What’s on your mind? Students giving you trouble?”
I tick up an eyebrow. “Why would they give me trouble?”
She fidgets, wringing her hands in front of her. “Well… I overheard a few students say your intro class is easy and they’re only there for the credit.”
Narrowing my eyes, I stand and ask, “Who?”
“Some kid on the football team. Can’t remember his name, but I think he’s one of the kickers.”
I run through the football students in my class and realize she’s talking about Justin Echer.
Justin fucking Echer.
Not only is he a know-it-all who thinks he can act out every fucking character I put in front of them, but he’s full of himself without cause.
He’s a second-string kicker who pretends he’s months away from the NFL draft.
I’m sure Crista feels bad about diming out a student, but she’s my friend, not theirs. And to her, it may look like some sort of constructive criticism on how I can do better. But I don’t need to do better. I run a tight program, but it’s the best on campus. Even though students are sometimes afraid of me, they know in order to hone their craft and make it further—perhaps even all the way to Broadway—they need to study under me.
Using my class as an easy credit won’t fucking fly.
Looking down at my watch, I see that my class starts in less than five minutes. Luca should already be there, handing out play scripts and updated syllabi as my students walk in.
Crista gets up from the desk and throws her hands up. “I knew I shouldn’t have told you. You haven’t made anyone cry in about a month. I thought you were turning over a new leaf.”
I give her a hard look. “I don’t make students cry. I tell them the hard truth and they can’t handle it. If they cry over that, it’s on them.”
Her expression slackens as she gives me a look. “Bro, what?”
I grimace. “You’re hanging around these kids too much.”
“We’re not that old, so don’t give me that. You can’t pretend that making kids cry is their problem. Stop being mean.”
“I’m not. And I won’t make him cry.” I pause as I gather my things. “In front of the class.”
She grimaces. “I’ll keep my mouth shut next time.”
“I’ll see you later,” I say as I brush past her.
