Mr. Tucker, Page 2

  "I just turned twenty-five and I moved here from Atlanta after teaching for three years right outside the city. I came up here to be closer to some of my family. Yes, that means I am related to one of your classmates. Chett Tucker and I are cousins." Mr. Tucker's eyes land on Chett and he smiles before adding, "But he already knows he won't be getting any special treatment from me."

  I don't know what I'm in more shock about–the fact that the new teacher is related to Chett or that he's only twenty-five. He looks so mature and distinguished. His older vibe had me convinced he was at least ten years older than that. I peek over at Chett and he just grins at me before giving me a sly wink. Of course the hot new teacher would be related to the guy I occasionally fool around with.

  "I'm looking forward to getting to know each and every one of you and furthering your knowledge in our world's history. There's so much more out there than what this small town has to offer you and I hope that by May you will feel the same way, too.

  "Over the next few days I'm going to ask you to read the first chapter in our history book and complete the study guide, including the three essays on the back page. Before you groan and complain, I know this is boring and I promise it will only be for the first few days. I want to spend these days meeting with each one of you individually and finding out what makes you unique and how I can help you get the most out of your senior year in this class.

  "Next week we'll dive into some more interesting topics and activities. So, pull out your notebooks, grab a textbook from the back of the classroom, and get to work. I'll start calling you alphabetically to the hallway where I have a small table and two chairs set up for us to sit down and get to know each other."

  Mr. Tucker uncrosses his legs and walks around to the back of his desk before tapping his mouse pad on his laptop and calling Zach Anderson out in the hallway with him. My last name is Simple–literally, the word simple–so I know I won't be called today. Bummer.

  "Where were you yesterday? I was hoping you'd be up at the lake with Jo Lynne." Chett is looking over at me expectantly so I give him a short answer. "Sorry, I had to work." Standing up from my desk I walk to the bookshelf in the back of the room and grab a textbook before sitting back down in my seat.

  "You're not really going to work on this all period, are you? You never give a shit about school."

  "I need to graduate, Chett, so I'm going to try and accomplish something this year other than goofing around with you and our other friends."

  He shifts his desk over to mine, the legs of the desk banging along the floor in the process. "Do you work tonight?"

  I should have been prepared for his question. It's easy for Chett and me to go weeks without talking during the summer because he doesn't see me every day. When school is in session things are different. Last year he would hound me every day to hang out and openly drool when I walked in the room. I guess this year will be no different. It's a curse to my beauty.

  I know I sound conceited but it's just a fact. I have great genes. I have long, chestnut brown hair and almond-shaped cat-like eyes outlined with long, thick lashes–the yellow and green irises really captivate people and draw them into me. Our town's preacher used to jokingly call it a curse because I have my mama's eyes and it was no secret the preacher was in love with my mama, even though he had a wife and seven kids to take care of. My mother wasn't interested in him, though. In fact, she wasn't interested in anyone.

  Her good looks mixed with my voluptuous curves had the rich and privileged boys willing to ignore the poverty I grew up in and ask me out anyway. Some say I should be flattered by their attention.

  I'm not.

  I look up into Chett's brown eyes. He's cute for a nineteen-year-old jock that should have graduated last year, but I'm not interested in him. I think I only fooled around with him for so long because I liked the idea of being with someone like him. He's captain of the football team and being with him made me feel special. I know it's bullshit but it's how I felt. Now I'm over it and looking for someone older to make me feel special.

  "I work after school until nine and then I have to walk home and do my homework."

  Instead of looking me in the eyes when I speak to him he's too focused on my body. His eyes wander over my bare thighs and he tries to take a peek up my navy and white striped dress. "What if I pick you up and drive you home?"

  "I don't know if that's such a great idea, Chett."

  “Oh, come on. I've done it before."

  Hesitating because I don't want to lead him on, I look into his face as he starts to dramatically pout and I give in. "All right, be there at nine and you can drive me home."

  The rest of the period I focus on reading, and rereading the first few pages in chapter one, completely lost on what we're even studying. When I'm not reading I'm stealing glances at Mr. Tucker through the small rectangular window next to the door. Depending on the way he leans I can almost see his full profile through the clear glass and by the time the bell rings I'm ready to jump Mr. Tucker and offer my body to him, or just give up on history altogether since this textbook makes no sense.

  Chapter Five

  November

  How I've gotten through three weeks of tutoring with Landon and not attacked his hot ass is beyond me. Do you know how hard it is to have him lean over me while teaching me something, accidentally brush his strong arms against mine, or feel his breath on my neck when he leans in close to check my work?

  He's driving me crazy.

  He's twenty-five. He's had time to control his hormones and sexual urges¸ but my teenage hormones haven't had a chance to catch up because they’re screaming at me to just give in and seduce this man so I can finally experience what all the fuss is about.

  There's an even bigger problem than my crush on my teacher–I actually like Landon. He's really cool and fun to be around. He makes me laugh and when I'm with him he makes me forget the rest of my life and live in the moment with him. Sure, living in the moment with him is doing my homework together but I have high hopes that one day our relationship will expand outside of schoolwork.

  I think he feels it, too, because he talks to me like I'm a friend, not a student. The subtle glances he directs my way indicate he is interested in me physically. I just need him to forget about that pesky thing known as my age because age is only a number.

  Landon pulls up to the GG-mart right on time and I run out the door and over to the passenger side of his car. He opens the door from the inside and I slide in, ready for another night of tutoring.

  "How was work?" This is always the first thing he asks me when he picks me up. It's like he's reading from a script.

  "Boring. We were slow tonight."

  He pulls out onto the main road and in the direction of his place and we ride in silence as I stare out the window, content just being around him. There is something about being inside his car that is comforting and makes me feel safe. It could be because I'm surrounded by the scent of his cologne and each time I inhale it soothes my body.

  When we get to his townhouse I walk right in like I own the place, passing the bare walls of the foyer and sitting down on the bamboo wood floor in front of his dark brown Ikea coffee table in the living room. By the time I have my books out and am ready to go he comes over with a mug of hot green tea for me–my usual–and a bottle of beer for him.

  The ease of which we move together has me asking, "Do you think it's weird how comfortable we are around each other?" I sip my steamy hot tea while I wait for his answer.

  He takes a long drag from his beer. "What do you mean?"

  "Our interaction is so casual and familiar that sometimes I think we act like an old married couple."

  Landon sets down his beer and pulls a hand through his brown wavy hair. "I guess after spending a few weeks together we've grown to know how the other acts, but I don’t think that's a bad thing and I definitely don't think we should be comparing it to anything romantic. I'm your teacher and you're my student, Savannah. S
ometimes I think you want me to forget that."

  I purse my lips together, debating if I should stay quiet or be honest with him. The truth wins. "Honestly...I'd love it if you could forget I'm your student, at least for one night."

  Grabbing his beer by the neck he lifts the bottle to his lips and gulps down the rest of the liquid, trying to drown the unquenchable thirst that's taken over his mouth. Once the bottle is empty he responds, "That's never going to happen, Savannah."

  His voice is steady, his facial expression firm, and I know that I shouldn't press him on the issue anymore. He grabs his messenger bag off the floor and I stare at the sculpted definition of his back muscles through his white t-shirt as he opens the bag and pulls a thin packet of stapled papers out. He turns back around to face me, his glasses slightly dip down his nose as he peers over the frame, and then he leans forward and places the packet in front of me on the coffee table.

  He's so stunning. Why couldn't he be old, ugly, or gay?

  "I got your pre-test back from your English teacher. You failed."

  I look down at the packet in front of me–the marks left by a red felt-tip pen take over the front page. I flip through the three remaining pages and they're all covered with red marks. On the last page Ms. Kielly wrote a large capital F with a circle around it. It's like she was afraid I'm so stupid I still might think I did well, so she made my grade as large as possible so I wouldn't miss it. "How can that be?" I ask, truly shocked that I did so poorly. "I studied my ass off. You know that."

  "I know you worked hard but it must not be enough. Are you having trouble concentrating? The real test is in two days so we need to focus tonight and tomorrow night."

  "What's the use," I respond, closing the packet and tossing my pencil on the table. "I'm not studying just to get an F on the real test."

  "Savannah, you have the wrong attitude about this."

  "I don’t, actually. I'm dumb. I've always known it and this proves it. Your incentive no longer seems worth it to me."

  "What does that mean?"

  "It means a guaranteed B in your class doesn't mean shit if I can’t pass my other classes."

  He lets out a low groan as he taps his large hands on his khaki pant covered thighs. "You're going to pass your classes, Savannah. Now stop bitching and let's get to work."

  "No."

  "What do you mean, no?"

  "I mean, no. I'm not doing this anymore. There's nothing in it for me." I sound like a child throwing a tantrum but I don't care.

  "You're right, Savannah. Good grades and a sense of accomplishment is a horrible incentive," he says, mocking me. "What new incentive would you like me to offer you? It's not like I have anything better to do than volunteer my time to help an ungrateful student.”

  Oh, he thinks he's so clever trying to pull this guilt trip on me but I already know what a great guy he is. He gives up so much of his free time to help me out and when I flirt with him and throw myself at him he ignores me. My teenage body is practically perfect. My tits are the highest they're ever going to be and my pussy is still nice and tight. He'd have to be a saint to deny himself this.

  I purposely pull the collar of my pastel blouse past my shoulder to expose my bra strap. Bringing two fingers up I start to play with the cream strap as I smile seductively and whisper, "Now that you mention it I could definitely find a much better task for you to volunteer your time with."

  "Stop it, Savannah. That's not going to happen."

  Even though I knew he would turn me down I pout my lower lip and fix my blouse so my bra is no longer showing. A more PG idea pops in my head. "I know. Every time I get an English question correct I get to ask you a question and you have to answer. It can be about whatever I want and you can't get shy or pass if it's too personal. How does that sound?"

  He sits down on the edge of his sofa, his khakis tightening across his quads. "It sounds like something I'm going to regret..." He trails off but then adds, "All right, I'm in."

  My English class has just finished J.D. Salinger's The Catcher in the Rye. While I read the book like everyone else in the class, reading has never been easy for me because I can't concentrate on the written word. Give me an audio book any day and I'll ace the test. Written text? Not so much.

  Landon asks me the first question on the sheet of paper in front of him and I get it wrong. This sets us back ten minutes because he forces me to open the book and skim through the pages until I find the answer. Once I find it and tell him the answer he writes it down on the paper and we go to the next one. Question two is much easier and I get it right, smiling to myself in triumph before asking him my first question. "Do you have a girlfriend?"

  "Jesus, you could ease into these questions, Savannah. No, I'm single."

  "How come?"

  "Nope, you only get one question. Now it's my turn."

  We go back and forth and surprisingly, I know more about this story than I thought I did, answering several questions correctly, and I get to learn a lot about Landon Tucker.

  He grew up in Georgia with his parents and sister. He was a good student and preferred hiking and outdoor sports over organized sports. He went to college in Illinois and then went back home to teach. That's where he taught his first couple years before transferring up here to Tennessee. He's had only two serious girlfriends and he "casually dated" in college–which means he was most likely a college manwhore but will never admit that to me. Over the course of each question I've joined him on the couch and we're facing one another.

  I answer the last question correct and then Landon hands me the study guide with all my correct answers written down. "That's it. Now if you study your answers you'll ace this test. I asked you the exact questions from the test."

  I look down at the paper and realize he wasn't asking me questions from the study guide that was handed out in class today after we took the pre-test. I was holding a copy of the actual test.

  "How did you get this?"

  "Ms. Kielly helped me out."

  Rolling my eyes I fold the paper and slide it in my notebook. "Of course she did. I bet you get all the female teachers to do whatever you want them to."

  "Or she's just as concerned about your grades as I am and wants you to succeed. Shit." He looks down at his watch and then up at me. "It’s almost midnight. We lost track of time. I should get you home."

  He reaches over to the coffee table and makes a move for his keys but he's not getting away that easy. I reach out and rest my palm on his thigh.

  Holy shit, is he built.

  "Hey, I still get another question."

  He looks down uncomfortably at where my palm meets his leg but he doesn't ask me to move my hand, and that gives me the confidence I need to ask my question. "Do you find me attractive, Landon?"

  His irises darken to a smoldering steel gray as his eyes slowly trail up my body. I'm wearing a short denim skirt today and he studies my naked inner thighs before continuing his journey up my body, over my pastel blouse, until his focus is lingering on my large breasts. I wish I wasn't wearing a bra right now because then he'd be able to see how swollen my pink areolas are and how my nipples harden when I'm around him. His voice is low and husky as he responds, "That's an inappropriate question, Savannah, and I'm not going to answer it."

  Instead of bowing out in defeat, I grow bolder and lean forward and up onto my knees so we're just inches apart. This doesn’t make him uncomfortable or nervous like I thought it might. If anything, Landon seems more turned on. A strangled groan from the back of his throat escapes his lips.

  "I think you just gave me my answer," I whisper seductively. "It's okay to find me attractive, Landon. I'm completely enamored with you. I think about you all the time and you’re the reoccurring role in all of my late-night fantasies."

  I bite down on my lip seductively and his eyes dart to my mouth. Another groan escapes Landon's lips right before he breaks the moment and stands up abruptly from the couch. "I should really get you home."

&n
bsp; Disappointed, I sit back on my feet and ask, "What's wrong?"

  "Everything, Savannah. Everything about this is wrong." The urgency in his voice tells me that he's turned on yet confused. He wants me but thinks he can't have me. I get up from the sofa and stroll over to him. His eyebrows raise and his eyes grow big as he stands completely still. Once I'm directly in front of him I rest the palms of my hands on his chest and look up into his dreamy eyes. "I'll be eighteen in two weeks. Don't deny yourself what you want. This can be our little secret."

  I reach up on my tiptoes and cup the back of his neck with my left hand as I plant a soft, open mouth kiss on his neck. He sucks in a startled breath and a tremor passes through his body, but he doesn't make a move for me or stop me from what I'm doing. I take this as a good sign and kiss him a second time and then a third and then suddenly he's moving, too. His hands come out and grab me by my upper arms and before I know it I'm being shoved against the wall and Landon's face is right in front of mine. His lips are just a beat away and I feel his breath tickle my bottom lips. He leans in closer, his lips practically resting on mine.

  "Is this what you want?" he whispers huskily. I'm panting heavily, his minty fresh breath assaulting my senses and I'm in a Landon Tucker haze.

  "Yes, this is exactly what I hoped for," I confess. I'm ready for him to stop teasing me and claim my lips with his.

  The moment is perfect and each ticking second that passes only builds the tension between us. My body is starving, working itself up in a frenzy. I need Landon to finally cave and give me what I need. His hands tighten on my arms as his tongue darts out to lick his lips.

  I wonder how good he tastes? I want to lick his lips so badly.

  Just as I'm convinced another second won't go by before his lips are molded to mine, his mouth is gone and he takes a few staggered steps back, leaving me panting and worked up against the wall.