Lust - 1 (16 page)

“Flattering as that is …” Harper murmured, her mind spinning through options at a furious speed. Kane and Beth … It was true that there was only one person at Haven High more devious than Harper: Kane himself. If he’d targeted Beth as his next conquest—and if the two of them worked together …

And then she remembered Miranda. And the promise she’d made.

“Sorry, Kane.” And she was—more than she could al ow herself to let on. “Much as I’d like to take part in your sordid little plot, I think I’l sit this one out. I do have a
few
principles, you know.”

Kane looked skeptical. Even more so than usual.

“Doesn’t sound like the Harper I know.” He shrugged. “Wel , I’l stil be here when you change your mind. And trust me, Grace: You wil .”

“He said he doesn’t real y see you that way.”

The words were stil echoing through Miranda’s mind. She pressed herself against the locked door of the bathroom stal , trying to slow her panicky breathing.

Harper seemed to think there was stil hope, that Kane just needed to see the light—that he thought Miranda was smart, beautiful, funny, etc.

Whatever.

Miranda knew the truth and—she should just admit it to herself—she’d known it al along. Kane could never be interested in someone like her. She was too pale, too bland, too ugly—too everything. And, on the other hand, just not enough.

Harper Grace’s loyal sidekick. Everyone’s best pal. Good for a joke—and not much else.

Miranda had nodded calmly when Harper sat her down at lunch and gave her the bad news, then said, with a wry smile, “Wel , his loss, right?” That was her thing, after al . Living on the surface, never taking things too hard, never letting bad news knock her off stride, the voice of reason and moderation to Harper’s nonstop drama. Always neurotic, but always staying just a few feet back from the edge. Harper was the one who lived life on the brink. Miranda just watched.

She’d lasted ten minutes. One minute of deliberate deep breathing as Harper told her the bad news, and one minute of concerted effort to keep her face perfectly stil and the tears from fal ing as Harper tried to console her. Two minutes of laughing it off, to convince Harper that consolation was uncal ed for. Five minutes of forced gaiety when a group of girls sat down with them and began gossiping about homework and music videos and what they were planning to wear to the dance next week. And one minute of torture, as she pushed the food back and forth on her tray, blood thumping in her ears loudly enough to drown out the chatter swirling around her, the claustrophobic panic boiling within her threatening to burst out.

Almost one minute too many, and that’s when she’d left—just in time.

She’d pushed herself back from the table, walked slowly out of the cafeteria, and raced down the hal way to the nearest girls’ bathroom. It was only after she’d brushed past the two skater punks smoking by the sinks and slammed herself inside one of the stal s that she’d al owed herself to burst into silent tears.

Chest heaving, she berated herself for getting her hopes up, for thinking she had a chance. Not with a guy like that.

Lester Lawrence, captain of the chess team, who’d sent her one love letter, written in iambic pentameter, every week for a year? Vince Weiss, who’d taken her to the Starview Theater’s annual showing of
It’s a Wonderful Life
, spent the first hour trying to devour her with his large, saliva-covered lips and the second hour trying, unsuccessful y, to pick his gum out of her hair?

That was her league. That was her life.

Miranda felt her stomach churning and regretted the two brownies she’d scarfed down in the cafeteria, a chocolate chaser for the fries and meat loaf. Harper always lost her appetite when she was nervous or upset, but Miranda had no such luck. No crisis was too smal , no emotional tailspin too shal ow that Miranda’s appetite didn’t decide her woes deserved a piece of cake.

Because when you’re truly upset,
she thought bitterly,
turning yourself into a fat, ugly blob is just what you need to make yourself feel better
.

She sagged against the cool wal of the stal and noticed, among the graffiti advising “Lacey” to “suck this” and suggesting that al guys were either “dicks,” “pigs,” or, in a nice display of creativity, “bottom-dwel ing, scumsucking creatures of darkness,” a new warning etched into the plastic:“Remember, girls:This is a no purging zone! :)”
Skinny, sanctimonious bitch,
Miranda thought.

It was the smiley face that real y got her—she could imagine the girl’s perky voice warning of the evils of eating disorders and the benefits of a healthy diet. As if she, whoever she was, knew anything about—wel , anything.

With a grim smile, Miranda pul ed out her thickest black pen and scribbled over the “no” in “no purging zone.” Then she leaned over the toilet, stuck her finger down her throat, and made it official.

The words were completely innocent: “Kaia, can I see you after class for a moment, please?”

But the tone told Kaia al she needed to know—specifical y, that Jack Powel had final y gotten around to grading those pop quizzes. And had thus final y discovered her little invitation. Took him long enough.

She stayed in her seat as the rest of the class filtered out of the room, al eviating her boredom and excising some nervous energy by mental y rating the girls who filed past her.

Too fat, too short, too thin, too gawky, too geeky—no, not too much competition at al , Kaia decided. There was Harper, of course, undeniably gorgeous, if in a seedy, film noir kind of way; but from what Kaia had observed, Harper had too many other things on her mind to think about screwing their French teacher. Her forbidden fruit grew on a different tree. Stil , the sultry brunette shot her a curious look as she stepped out of the room. Probably wondering whether to be pleased that Kaia was—to al outward appearances—getting into some kind of trouble, or dismayed because she had snagged some one-on-one face time with Haven High’s Most Wanted.

When the room had emptied out, Kaia final y stood and walked slowly to the front of the room, where Jack Powel maintained his customary position, arms crossed behind his head and legs propped up on the desktop. A perpetual five o’clock shadow only added to his good looks; it gave a much-needed edge to his boyish charm. And Kaia was al about edge.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Powel ?” she asked, sitting down across from him and watching his eyes fol ow her leg line up from her low heels to the high slit in her snug-fitting skirt. It was always nice to be appreciated. “Or should I just take this as a yes?”

Powel looked taken aback, then leaned forward in his chair and grinned.

“Wel , you’re bold, I’l give you that,” he told her. He pul ed out a piece of paper from the top drawer of his desk—Kaia recognized her tel tale scrawl across the page.

“I’m sure you can guess why I’ve asked you here, Kaia,” he began.

Oh, she could guess al right—although the classroom was a bit public for her tastes.

“Wel , I didn’t think it was to work on my pronunciation skil s.”

Powel laughed. “No, you’ve demonstrated quite a—proficiency in the subject matter,” he admitted. “I want to talk to you about what you wrote here,” he said, tapping the page with his index finger. “I’m flattered, Kaia, I real y am.”

“As you should be.” She smiled to let him know she was joking. Sort of.

“But this sort of thing, teacher-student—it can’t happen.”

She leaned in, giving him easy visual access down the dark crevasse of her cleavage, if he wanted it—which, she could tel , he did.

“Oh, it
can
happen, Mr. Powel ,” she assured him. “Trust me, I’ve seen it.”

“Okay, then,” he said, folding the quiz in half and methodical y tearing it into smal pieces, letting them filter through his fingers and drift down into the trash can. “It
won’t
happen.

Don’t be embarrassed,” he added quickly. “It’s very common that a student develops a crush on a teacher, especial y since you’re new here. I’m sure it’s been a little tough for you to adjust. I can empathize.”

“Mr. Powel ,” she interrupted him cool y, “I think you’ve got the wrong idea. This is not some sweet schoolgirl crush. I’m not in love with you, nor do I dream of marrying you someday and bearing your British schoolteacher children.”

“I didn’t say—”

“What I’m offering you is a simple physical relationship with a very attractive woman,” she informed him. “So if we’re going to talk about this, let’s do it adult to adult, instead of pretending I’m some kind of blushing virginal teenybopper. Because I’m not.”

“That much is obvious.” His voice hardened, the genial warmth replaced by a sliver of ice. “You want to be treated as an adult?” he asked, offering a condescending smile. “I make it a policy not to get involved with my students—but even if that were not the case, I wouldn’t touch you, Ms. Sel ers. Not if you paid me. You’re trouble dressed up in a miniskirt, and I’d have to be blind not to see it.”

She tried to interrupt, but he cut her off.

“Blind and stupid—which must be what you think of me if you imagined this little Lolita act was actual y going to work.”

“Mr. Powel , I—” Kaia broke off in midsentence. For once, she was speechless.

He sat up straight and smiled at her, but the smile never touched his eyes.

“Play al the games you want with the boys your own age, Kaia, and have fun.” He folded his arms on the desk and leaned toward her, their faces now separated by only a few inches of frosty air. “But trust me—I’m way out of your league.”

Kaia left the classroom fuming … but intrigued. This new and improved Jack Powel was even sexier than the old one. Who didn’t prefer Colin Farrel to Colin Firth? No, this cold, calculating front was definitely hot. And promising.

After al , any teacher wil ing to speak to a student like that clearly had a somewhat flexible understanding of standard school policy—whatever he may have said, she knew he’d be up for bending the rules. It was just a matter of getting him to bend in the right way.

But she stil needed something to keep her entertained in the meantime. Down but not out, she decided to take Mr. Powel ’s advice and pick on a boy her own size.

So, onward to the boys’ locker room. (Where else?)

By her calculations, the swim team should be just about finished with their practice—which meant that Adam, who despite his halfhearted commitment to the sport was too much of a stand-up guy to ever skip a practice—should be on his way in. Hot, wet, and mostly naked. Perfect.

She burst through the door, and the locker room echoed with enraged shouts of flustered jocks as they whipped towels around themselves and ran from Kaia’s prying eyes.

“Get out of here!”

“What gives!”

“Hey, baby, you want some of this?”

“Trust me, boys, I’ve seen it al before,” she said calmly as they shouted her down. And while that was true, it didn’t mean that she couldn’t appreciate a repeat performance.

Once again, she marveled at the caliber of male bodies this tiny town had produced.

She threaded her way through the crowd of flesh, searching for Adam, final y spotting him on the edge of the sea of muscles.

Those orange bikini briefs didn’t leave much to the imagination.

“What the hel are you doing here, Kaia?” he asked, when she stopped just in front of him and stared him down. “Is something wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” she said sweetly. “I just wanted to see you.”
All
of you, she could have added—but it seemed redundant.

“It couldn’t have waited?” he asked, wrapping a towel around himself protectively and slowly inching away from her.

“I’m tired of waiting,” she explained, taking his hand and threading her fingers through his. He pul ed away and shot a quick look behind her, where the rest of the guys on the swim team were toweling off and throwing clothes onto their wet and sticky bodies as quickly as possible. Each was keeping a close eye on the live-action soap opera.

“What are you talking about?” he hissed, dropping the towel and pul ing on a pair of jeans over his sopping briefs. He grabbed the rest of his clothes and ushered her over to a

—relatively—more private area behind a bank of lockers. “Tired of waiting for what?”

“For this,” she said, and grabbed his face and kissed him, sucking in the taste of his soft lower lip before he harshly shoved her away.

“Kaia, what the fuck …?”

“What? You didn’t enjoy that? You didn’t
want
that?” she chal enged him.

“Can you please lower your voice?” he whispered frantical y. He peered around the edge of the locker—the room had pretty much emptied out, but a few swimmers stil lingered, hoping for some excitement.

“Can you get out of here, guys?” he cal ed out. “Come on, help me out here!”

He turned back to Kaia.

“What are you trying to do to me?” he asked in a low and urgent voice. He suddenly looked down and, realizing his chest was stil bare, quickly pul ed on a T-shirt, the thin white cotton clinging to his wet body. “It’s going to get back to Beth that you came looking for me here. She’l freak.”