Bad Teacher (Temp Title)

7| The Invitation

Casey

I hate being caught red-handed.

I first started drawing right around ten years old. With zero knowledge of what I was doing, I didn't hesitate to give it a shot. And with all my might may I add. From images like trees and plants and the moon at night—a while before I started with the drawings of humans. My first human subjects were my mother and father sharing a kiss. Dad saw it and their weird reaction towards the image felt off—weird. Like the picture brought back a memory.

I now realise that I had reminded them of a time they were getting hot and heavy.

Right as hot as I feel as my eyes land on than Mr Black.

Standing at my desk.

And going through my sketchbook. One that has his face in it.

My entire world turns on its axes as his hand pauses, and then those piercing dark eyes turn upwards, and they meet mine.

Without a second thought I know that he has seen the sketch of him.

Red, hot embarrassment flashes through me, and my stomach twists violently. This cannot be happening to me. Not here and not right now.

I had come back to get what I left behind, somehow having forgotten it while half talking to Logan and half packing my bag whist she yapped my ear off. I didn’t expect to still find him here, and definitely not while paging through the most private parts of me.

His back straightens, and then he’s closing the book and walking across to room towards me.

The once calm air suddenly charges with a tension I have no words for. Those stormy eyes bore into mine and his body seems to move with a dangerous grace that sets fire to my veins. The closer he gets, the more I lose the ability to regulate my breathing, and the variety of emotions plaguing me brings my mind to a spin.

He stops a few inches from me, and I stare up at him.

This presence is… not even words can describe just how much big dick energy he radiates. It’s infuriating that he has the power to alter the energy the moment he steps into the room. He commands attention, and he gets it without force.

This is bad.

Really, really bad.

“Cassandra.” His voice reverberate through even fibre of my being, and my body once more does what it always does around him; it lights up like a damn Christmas tree.

“It’s Casey. Please… just Casey.”

Has he not heard me tell him to call me Casey? Multiple times if I remember correctly.

He doesn’t respond, and we continue sharing at each other like idiots. I struggle to uncover what he might be feeling. I can’t read his thoughts, not even on his face. His face has never once portrayed any emotion for me to feed off of. I always go in blind when it comes to him. Especially now that I know what he’s seen in my sketchbook.

Suddenly he takes a small step closer but it’s enough to crowd my personal space. My brain screams in alert to this intrusion but greedily inhales his dark scent and memorises every little aspect of his face. Has he always been this handsome?

Yes. Yes he has.

He then brings up the sketchbook between us as if to remind me why he’s here. Why I am here. Shit.

I swallow as subtly as I can but it seems Mr Black’s eyes see everything with a focus that has me cautious. He knows I’m nervous. I need to explain myself right now.