Falling for Mr. Slater by Kendall Day

Author:Kendall Day
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Howling Mad Press

* * *

ASSESSMENT: Slater totally banged Rambling. DOES NOT MEET EXPECTATIONS. <-- Thank fuck for that.

What Was I Thinking? Dick. That’s What I Was Thinking.

[Rambling]

* * *

LEARNING GOAL: Roxie Rambling will draft lesson plans for her teaching unit.

I’ve done a lot of dumb things in my life, but hooking up with Jack Slater last night takes the cake.

I can’t stop thinking about him. About what we did. It was just so … dirty. So exhilarating. Who’d have guessed Slater had such a wild streak. It fit mine—along with other things—perfectly.

But we can’t do it again. We could both get in so much trouble.

Now, I’m wondering if agreeing to meet him to talk about my unit was a mistake too.

I glance around Bob’s Bagels. It’s midafternoon on game day Saturday. We should be fine. If I run into anyone I know, I’ll just play it cool and say I’m having trouble with my unit and McSlutbag—Mr. Slater—is helping me iron out the details. It’s a public place. There’s nothing wrong with talking about work stuff over a bagel and a cup of coffee.

I sink into my seat and check my watch again. He’s fifteen minutes late.

I open my folder and spread the pages over the table.

Slater did me against a basketball post last night.

Heat sears my cheeks as I remember his lips on mine and that look of pure, stormy abandon as we came and kissed and melted and breathed. I rub my finger over my bottom lip, tracing the curve, imagining it’s his tongue.

My nipples harden.

Warmth pools between my legs.

I close my eyes and see his handsome face, all growly and bossy and pissed off. It closes on me and turns seductive, possessive, like he’d battle a wombat for me. Wombats are big and scary, right?

Shit. I think I meant a wolverine.

Whichever of those hairy things is badass and alpha-y.

“Roxie?” Slater’s voice trips me, and I lurch out of my yummy daydream face first into reality with a painful punch to the lady nads.

I straighten my spine and curl my fingers around a stray bit of hair, tugging it out of my face. I have a pervasive, acute case of total and utter embarrassment for which there is no known cure. I apply a smile and hope for the best.

You will not screw him again, Roxie. You will not. Mind on business.

Jesus Murphy.

Wearing my favorite pair of jeans—the ones that are loose enough to keep my imagination active but tight enough to remind me those sweet glutes powered the cock that was inside me last night—Slater towers over the two-top table in the middle of the restaurant, staring down at me. Is he really that tall? How did I miss it before?

Self-conscious and still blushing, I motion for him to sit. “Hi, Mr. Slater. Thanks for coming.”

I wince. Gotta work on that word choice, Roxie.

As he takes a seat, the angle on his grin slides wider, signaling his acknowledgment and appreciation of the Freudian slip. “Sorry I’m late,” he says. “I had to get an Uber and pick up my car.

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