Preston Velez expected his first year as a high school art teacher to be hard. He didn't think it would be downright deadly. The student body at North West Boarding School have been dropping like flies. There's a murderer on the loose and this kille...
What's the square root of fucked? Half a give a damn, I supposed. Multiply the shitheads who knew nothing; divided by the know-it-alls going nowhere fast; add hormonal teenagers; subtract common sense; and you have the massive disappointment that was High School.
If money equals power, then the children at North West Boarding School are at the top of the social hierarchy. And it didn't help that they knew it.
The students who walked these halls couldn't wait to wave around their black cards and brag about mommy and daddy's money. These were the people who would never learn about consequences, when getting into trouble just meant buying your way out of it. School wasn't for learning at North West. It was to master your skills at being a socialite. A playground where you could make those smaller mistakes and learn how to throw your money at them until they went away.
But, maybe I had no room to complain.
When I was their age, North West Boarding School had been my stomping grounds. And working here was like coming home.
My parents would have rathered I become a doctor, following in the footsteps of my old man. And I had given it an honest try. But of course, I had known being a doctor would have never worked for me. The sight of blood had made me vomit since I was a child, and there had always been this thirst for knowledge inside of me that would had been a shame to waste on a profession as monotonous as being a doctor. So, becoming a teacher had always been a dream of mine. And at long last, I got to live out that dream.
Leaning against my desk, I waited for my new class to file through the doors on the first day of the school year. A nervous energy sent tingles through my fingers and down my spine, even as my phone beeped. I shoved my hands into my pocket withdrawing the device quickly so I could silence it before the day started.
One new message lit my screen. The number unknown.
My eyes shifted around the empty classroom. Fourteen empty tables were all facing me: four rows of three, with two extra tables in the back, and books laid out on the corner of every desk. My desk was angled off to the side so that I could see the door and the class at the same time, and the whiteboard was already covered with our objective and the drill for today's lesson.
I had my greetings planned out in my head. My lesson worked out to be exciting and fun. Practical Art could be a bit trying for some, but these students were supposed to be the elite.
I had already decided what kind of teacher I wanted to be. The fun loving, laid back, easy going type. The kind who was easy to approach and willing to give a helping hand.
Licking my lips, I opened the message.
And the wind was knocked out of me when I looked at the picture attached. A red lace bra that was sexy and sheer covered the small round mounds of flesh. Panties made of the same stretch floral lace hung on hips with multiple elastic straps.
The red looked amazing against the caramel complexion.
Everything from the neck down was on full display for me to appreciate. And the picture had incited desire inside of me that refused to be sidelined. I could hear the soft moans from my memory, and my finger moved towards the keys to text back.
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