Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 90795 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90795 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Once I’m in bed, I pull out the sticky note, studying those two words again.
Stop this. Stop looking at the note.
But instead of throwing it away, I fold it up, put it back in my briefcase, and sleep better than I have in days.
*
I have no classes on Friday, but I always go in in the mornings to deal with assignments, appointments, or my duties as department head. I frown when there’s a knock on my office door.
“Come in,” I call out, the door slowly opening before Silvia, one of the teachers who uses the same classroom as me, comes in.
“Hey, James. You left your lunch bag in the room. I thought I’d bring it to you real quick.” She holds out a brown paper sack this time, the top folded over and my name written on it.
My stomach gets strangely fluttery as I walk over and take it from her. “Sorry. I started bringing lunch, and I keep forgetting it.”
“No problem.” Silvia smiles, then ducks out of my office. I immediately open the bag, which was stapled closed, breathing out a sigh of relief that she couldn’t have gotten into it.
This time it’s a stir-fry with rice in a warming container. At the bottom of the bag is another sticky note.
I’m so proud of you.
It’s absolutely ridiculous. He’s proud of me for eating? For all he knows, I could be throwing the food away…but I haven’t, and I won’t today either.
As I fold the paper, putting it in my briefcase with the other one, no matter how much I try to stop it, I smile.
CHAPTER NINE
Colton
I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing with James.
All my experiences with subs over the years have involved sex and a scene. Sure, I tell them what I want them to do before I see them, when and where to meet me, what to wear and things like that, but the whole making or buying meals for someone and expecting them to eat because I said so is new.
And strangely, I like it. I’m not sure why that’s surprising to me. It’s just another form of caretaking, and that’s always been something I enjoy, but I’m not sure if I would like it this much with anyone else. Something about James makes me want to take care of him in ways I’ve never considered before. And it’s killing me not to know if he ate the food. I assume he did since the lunch bag I left on Thursday wasn’t there on Friday.
I made him another lunch on Monday morning. It should be easier to slip into the room and drop it off while actually having a reason to be there. If I go a little early, I’m hoping I get as lucky as I did last week and no one is in there already.
Only when I walk inside, a very specific person is standing there—Professor Valentine, with his arms crossed, leaning against the desk, a scowl on his face that looks practiced.
I love the masculinity of him, the rough edges, hard muscles and lines, and knowing that beneath it, there’s a part of him no one else sees, one that is begging and pleading to relinquish control to someone else.
I want that person to continue to be me.
I don’t stop walking until I’m a few feet from him, and set the bag on the table. “I need the first lunch box back.”
“Mr. Hathaway, you do know I’m capable of making my own food, correct?” There’s a sharp edge to his voice that doesn’t ring true.
“Yes, I do, Professor Valentine.” I glance around to confirm we’re alone, voice low when I add, “But I like to take care of you…to make sure you’re taking care of yourself.”
The black nearly takes over the brown of his eyes as he watches me.
“Have you been eating your breakfast at home each morning?”
“I always eat breakfast. It was a one-off that day.”
“Did you eat every meal I made you?”
“Yes, but that hardly means anything.”
“I knew you would, which is what made it even more fulfilling for me. I know how much you want to be good for me, Professor, and I want that too.”
His breath hitches.
This is wrong, so fucking wrong, and not what I’d expected to say to him. Yes, I wanted to make sure he ate, but that’s as far as I’d gotten. Standing in the middle of his classroom, telling him I want him to be good for me, crosses too many boundaries. My logic keeps telling me to step away, to take the words back because this is a mess neither of us needs, but I don’t. I do, however, fight my urge to step closer, to breathe in his warm vanilla-and-musk scent.
“I can’t do this here…right now. We’ll discuss it later. After class,” James tells me.