Dancing In The Stars

- 9 -

- Sagittarius -

I woke up late, and it's my first day of work. What an impression in making.

I wear a black skirt and a white tanktop, tucking it in then wearing a black vest on top. I cover up as much cleavage as possible. It's the most conservative tanktop I have.

I drive as fast as I can, and I attempt to run to the class, but it's kind of hard to run in heels.

I open the door, silently gasping for breath. All the class turns and looks at me.

"Good morning, Miss Sagittarius. You're late," a man with dark brown hair and piercing blue eyes says.

"Im sorry, err.."

"Mr. Gomez. I'm your co-teacher in this class. I would expect you to arrive on time?"

"Mr. Gomez, I was running late. Sure, it isn't something good to do on your first day, but as my fellow, I would expect you to have some respect and not discredit me in front of our students on the first day." I look at him, and he raises his eyebrows.

"Very well. Let's begin, then."

As he talks on about how the class will work, I can't help but notice how casually he's dressed. Jeans and a t-shirt.

I try to pitch in a little, but having been late, I didn't have time to review the notes so I have no idea what we're talking about.

About an hour later, the bell rings and the students file out.

"I appreciate how you responded," he says, his arms folded across his chest as he studies me.

"Next time, if you wanna talk at me, don't do it in front of our class." I say calmly.

"Next time, don't be late."

"I find it funny how you can talk to me disrespectfully yet you come wearing the most unprofessional clothes."

"Hmm, Sagittarius. If you had read the dress code, it says that in cooking class, a mess is predicted so casual clothes are permitted."

"Whatever. Can you give me the notes for tomorrow?"

"Yes. May I have your number?"

"Excuse me?"

"I need your number to contact you for lesson plans, of course,"

"You don't need my number, Mr. Gomez. You can use my work email."

"Brendan,"

"Im sorry?"

"Call me Brendan. Also, I prefer to use numbers, it's more personal." He scribbles something down on the notes and hands the clipboard to me. In neat but quick writing is his number.

"Um,"

"See, I find it funny that you speak to me about being appropriate and professional, whereas your skirt is so far up your ass. You might want to fix it, you don't want any perverts looking there,"

He walks out of the room with a smirk on his face. My jaw drops. He's the disrespectful little pervert. I can't believe I'm dealing with this for a little money.

I spend the rest of the day observing and doing paperwork, making lesson plans and all. Later on, I text him the lesson plans - professionally - and head home.

Once I get home I start packing. I have to pack so much shit before I move in with Aquarius.

My life is really a wreck.