Hot For Teacher(118)

“I don’t understand the connection,” I say.

“This idea of same-sex classrooms, along with every trophy you ever received for ‘participating,’ has only clouded your idea of what the real world is all about. Out there,” she points toward the window, “you aren’t entitled to shit. People aren’t going to cater to your every wish and demand. If we start separating boys from girls—putting you in a class where success is likely—it’s only catering to the idea of your sense of entitlement. In the real world, men and women work together. Work space temperatures aren’t monitored. They don’t care if you’ve read Hemingway or whether or not you’re an alto or a bass. If you don’t get the work done, you’re going to get fired. And I can tell you with absolute certainty that they aren’t going to give you a trophy when you leave for simply participating.” She shakes her head and her expression turns grim. “They will tell you you’ve failed. And if you’ve never heard that sentence in your life, the first time comes as a total blow. If we segregate students, we’re adding fuel to the fire and creating a country full of pussies.”

I try not to grind my teeth but I can feel everyone’s eyes on me.

My cheeks burn and my mind spins. I look around, and even the girls in the Simon fan club have shifted their eyes and are staring down at the table.

I lost a debate. This is a first.

Fuck. I don’t lose. Ever.

I glance back at Arleen, and she’s packing up her backpack.

She’s not smug. She’s not rubbing it in. She made her point, and she beat me. It’s clear she has nothing more to say.

Even Miss Shields is a bit shell-shocked by what just happened, she seems as surprised as everyone else. I can’t even summon up a flirty smile for her.

Because right now, I’m sort of blown away by the girl who has just so eloquently put me in my place.

I jump up from my seat while everyone else is gathering their books, and follow Arleen into the hallway.

“Hey!”

Arleen doesn’t turn; she just keeps a death-grip on the strap of the backpack over her shoulder and continues walking at a swift pace.

“Hey!” I call louder.

“Not now, Simon. Not here. I’ll see you tonight,” she says over her shoulder as her fast walk becomes a jog.

What? Why?

Tonight?

“Simon? Can I see you at my desk, please?”

I’m ripped from Arleen-induced stupor by the sound of Miss Shields’s voice. Regretfully, I tear my eyes from Arleen’s retreating form and follow Katie to her classroom across the hall.

“So,” she begins, crossing her legs. The lace from her thigh-highs catches my eye but I’m finding it hard to focus on anything but the girl who just walked away from me.

Miss Shields leans back on her hands, her chest popping out, and I can almost see the lace of her bra through her sheer shirt. I think absently about running my tongue up between them, but then I thought again about Arleen handing me my ass earlier.

She’d been pretty awesome. No one outwits me. And even though I still cringe a bit from it, I’m impressed with her all the same.

And she wants to meet me later. A flashback of Arleen’s cold hand sweeping against mine makes me smile.

“What was all that about?” Miss Shields asks.

“What?” I ask distractedly, only barely noticing her tits on proud display.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you lose a debate before. I think that shows you’re coasting a bit. You need to do some more research. Don’t you agree?” She runs her hand through her hair. Is she trying to be flirty?

What’s wrong with me that I can’t summon up any sort of sexual innuendo? I’m missing a perfect opportunity! Am I losing my edge?

I think about Arleen again and her pretty face and even smarter mouth.

“Yeah, I think I need to do a lot more research,” I agree, though not in the way Miss Shields had suggested.

Miss Shields has a funny look on her face, and suddenly sits up to discreetly straighten her shirt. This time I look at her chest and am relieved when my dick wakes back up.

“Good. Get back to it then,” Miss Shields says with a small smile.





Chapter Seven


It isn’t long after I get home from school that my thoughts drift back to Arleen. Who is she? Where did she come from? At what point had I invited her into my thoughts? And why is the desperation to find out all these answers making the words in my head stutter and tongue-tie?

She said she’d see me tonight.

I can only assume she wants to meet me at the ruins. I’ll go, of course—mostly so that the mysteries can be solved and I can go back to my routine. These small interruptions never last long.