“Oh, that’s kind of gross,” she chastises, but when I glance at her, I can see nothing but her eyes thanks to her scarf.
And they’re twinkling.
“I think you’re getting used to my crude ways,” I tease her, steering her down the walkway that leads to the back of the main building. I can see the students rushing down the halls through the windows of the double doors and I know we’re going to end up being a few minutes late.
We can blame it on the weather, though I’m sure Fig won’t buy it. He’s not one to care about lateness, but I’m thinking when it comes to me, he’s going to give me shit.
He hates me.
Feeling’s mutual, so I’m cool with it.
“I actually think I am too,” she says sincerely, and I can’t help but chuckle.
“I’ll have you dropping fucks here and there eventually, Birdy.”
“Oh, I doubt that. I can’t imagine saying that word.”
I can. When she’s naked and panting and dying for me to make her come. I’ll make her beg. I’ll force her to say, fuck me, Crew and when I finally slide inside her, she’ll come all over my cock.
Yeah, these are the thoughts I’ve been dealing with since yesterday afternoon. Every single one starring Wren in my dirtiest fantasies.
The final bell rings and now it’s Wren who’s running ahead, her arm still through mine, so she’s almost dragging me along with her. We slam our way through the double doors, turning right to head to our English class. The door is closed, which is unusual, and Wren lets go of my arm to reach for the door handle, me right on her tail.
We race to our seats in the middle of Figueroa taking attendance, and I watch in mute fascination as Wren shrugs out of her coat and leaves it hanging over her chair, the scarf dangling there as well. She pulls the hat off, shaking her head so all of that silky brown hair spills past her shoulders.
I immediately want to touch it. Feel the soft strands curl around my fingers.
Instead, I take off my coat, my gaze finding Fig’s, who’s glaring at me like he wants to rip my head off.
Come at me, bro.
“We’re going to work on our essays for The Great Gatsby today,” he announces as he starts pacing in front of the classroom. “By now, all of you should be wrapping up the book, or already finished. There will be a test next week for finals.”
There’s some grumbling, but Fig ignores it.
“And the paper will be due the day we get back from winter break.”
The complaining is in earnest now. Very rarely do our teachers assign us projects over breaks. They know we actually need the break, and they don’t really want to grade assignments when they come back either.
Guess Fig is the exception, the asshole.
“So let’s use this week’s class time to catch up on our reading, going over what the themes are in the book, and starting to work on the paper. If you’ve already finished the book and understand the many themes within the story, congratulations. Consider yourself ahead of the game, and you’ll most likely have the essay wrapped up by next week before winter break starts.” He smiles, ignoring the fact that most of us are disgruntled.
Wren raises her hand, and he smiles at her, his gaze soft. “Yes, Wren?”
I clinch my hands into fists, wishing I could beat his rotten face in.
“What exactly should the essay be about?” she asks in her sweet voice.
“Great question.” He turns to the whiteboard, grabbing a blue marker and writing furiously across it before he steps away from the board, tapping the end of the marker against it. “How does Gatsby represent the American dream? That’s the theme.”
I lean back against my seat, already bored. I can handle that topic in my sleep. I still haven’t read the book, and I should probably study for the upcoming final, but I’m thinking I’ll be fine. There’s enough information on the internet that I can find.
There are a few more questions, but I tune them out, concentrating on Wren sitting in front of me, her head bent, exposing her nape. I remember kissing her there yesterday, making her tremble.
“Mr. Lancaster? A word?”
I glance up to find Figueroa watching me, his hands in his pockets, his posture deceptively casual. I can tell he’s tense by the rigid line of his shoulders.
“Sure.” Shrugging, I rise to my feet and follow him out of the classroom, Wren’s eyes on me the entire time. I send her a quick look, noting the worry in her eyes, and I flash her a quick smile to reassure her.