Confessions of a Queen B*

Untitled Part 40

The next morning's handoff was made even sweeter by a large vanilla hazelnut nonfat latte...and a smile from Brett. The tension from the previous morning had vanished, and thankfully, he respected my wish to keep our public interactions at a minimum.

That, of course, didn't extend to health class. He took the seat to my right, just as he had last week, and arched a brow at me, daring me to tell him to get lost.

I didn't.

In truth, he did make the class more bearable.

That was the only reason I permitted him to stay.

The bell rang, and Mr. DePaul stood, double clicking on another PowerPoint presentation. "I can see by the flood of emails in my inbox that most of you have completed your stress inventories, and we have a lot of potentially sick teens in this class. So, now we're going to start a discussion on stress reduction. Today's topic: Physical Ways to Reduce Stress."

"Sex," Brett whispered under his breath.

I rolled my eyes. Just when I was beginning to think highly of him, he did something immature and testosterone-injected like that. "I don't think that's what he meant."

DePaul was droning on about the beneficial aftereffects of exercise such as reduced cortisol levels, increased mental acuity, blah blah blah.

Brett nodded to the slide. "Sex is physical exercise."

"So is running," I countered, ignoring the flush that rose into my cheeks.

"But running isn't as fun."

"Football?"

"Still not as fun."

Would sex be fun with him? "Is there a point to this conversation?"

"Just making an observation. Perhaps you should consider it."

If I didn't know better, I'd think Taylor had blabbed about my virginal status, and he was using it to torment me. "Is this some kind of lame pickup line?"

He sent me a wicked grin that sent shivers straight to the pit of my lower stomach. "What do you think?"

Mr. DePaul interrupted me before I could reply. "Is there something you'd like to share with the class, Ms. Wyndham?"

Part of me wanted to melt under the table in complete mortification. The other part of me wanted to call Brett out. "Brett was just talking about how he could reduce his stress level."

"As excited as you two are to be working on your assignment, please keep your discussions for after class." Then he went back to lecturing.

I closed my eyes and wished I could get up and walk out of class right now.

I didn't need them open to know Brett was leaning closer. His scent grew stronger, and my heart rate spiked as though I was on a treadmill that just increased the incline and speed at the same time. "Your face is red," he whispered.

Who needed exercise when I had Brett nearby? "Shut up."

He retreated, quietly laughing as he did. This round was his. He'd successfully gotten a rise out of me, and that was all he seemed to care about until the end of class. Once the bell rang, he revived the subject. "You really need to find a way to loosen up."

"Or my stress levels will reach yours?"

"At least I know how to handle it."

"Oh yes, I forgot, you have a fuck buddy."

That wiped the grin off of his face.

And just in time for Summer to appear. She glared at me from the doorway.

I grabbed my bag, relieved to be baby-free for the rest of the day, and paused long enough to say to her, "You might want to help Brett unwind."

More than likely, she'd offer him a blow job in the parking lot.

I didn't care. Let the hornball have her.

I had a meeting with Morgan at The Purple Dog.