♡A-A-A-A-A-And they call you Baby Blue, 'cause it's your favorite colour♡
After being expelled, Tyler is sent to a boarding school for 'troubled youths' where a certain teacher catches his eye. But life at Rose Wood Towers is not simple.
Tyler's los...
This book has also overtaken Basketballsin the number of reads, becoming my most viewed book, and has hit 40k!! Thank y'all so much :)))
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Tyler's Pov:
It was days like these where I despised the weather: days where I had to run laps around the sports courts whilst the sweat from my hairline dribbled down to the nape of my neck. Days where I had P.E sessions -Fridays being the utter worst- and the heatwave made it feel unbearable.
My limbs felt weak, so damn weak, yesterday's fault with him, but I still forced myself to run as the torrid atmosphere engulfed my frame. Exhaustion overswept me with every foot hurling forward, and fuck, I hated this, this literal torture.
Who the fuck makes somebody run laps in a heatwave?
Him, obviously. And nobody would dare object, since of course, the man was pretty terrifying.
After the word had spread throughout the school about what consequences Brent was to face, that brought an entire new type of fear upon the students of the Headmaster. This past week, anyone, all, both East Wing and West Wing, were all too intimidated to even look towards the man's direction in fear that a single glance would land them with two-weeks worth of detentions.
That constant 'don't fuck with me' had been plastered across his fierce face, predominant in his clouded eyes, his sharp posture, and yet he wasn't even trying. Everyone obeyed. Even I, and everything about the notion, about him, was fucking sexy.
The air was hot, humid and sticky. The sun shone blindingly in the clear sky. The tarmac beneath my trainers absorbed the heat. Every single thing and one: hot, hot, hot.
Josh, I could say, was the very definition- and in both ways.
The class of boys jogged tiredly around the sports courts' edge; faces were red and puffy combined with the sound of heavy breaths and stampeding footsteps. I glanced to my right. My damp hair fell forward over my eyes, but didn't distract me from his composed figure stood centre.
A clipboard was in his hand, a grey whistle on a string hung around his neck. He wore a simple white T and black, branded bottoms, and yet still held that formality as a Headmaster, English literature and P.E teacher should.
He blew the whistle, and yelled, "Sixty seconds!" Then another blow, and I visibly cringed at the ear-deafening screech. "Hurry up, boys! Get those damn legs moving faster! Go, go, now! I don't want to see any of you not looking exhausted, otherwise that's an extra 20 minutes for you!"
