“He listens to his dad?” I had a little hope that I could just send Tatum to rat him out to his dad, but Tatum’s not an idiot. If it were that easy, he’d have done it by now. Still, I was curious.
“Yes, and no. About this one thing—don’t know what’s going on there. I’ve seen them fight. They can really go at it, but at the end of the day, McKinnon gets whatever he fucking wants from dear old dad—like new helmets for the entire hockey team. McKinnon does what daddy says.”
Great, so I’d be dealing with a spoiled brat. But I’m a sucker for my brother.
“Fine. I’ll be there, but I’ll be late. I’m not cutting my plans short just to tame some hockey diva.”
Tate smirked. “Still just a merry woodsman, huh, bro?”
If that’s what he wanted to call it. I have a house on an acreage far, far from people, but that’s not enough. I’ll often spend some of the warmer months deep in the woods, living off the land. If it weren’t for Tatum and the need to take a man or woman to my bed now and then, I might never surface.
Now I was going to have to live on campus surrounded by little idiots.
Amazing.
I’d hoped my fixed holidays would render me ineligible, and I wouldn’t have to follow through with the monumental level of nonsense, but the school was more than willing to make the exception. Hard to tell if it was because of my affiliation with their prized hockey coach or because they needed someone that desperately. It was probably both.
So, one week into term, here I am.
Thankfully, I don’t need this job. It’s a favor to my brother, no more. My real job, as far as I’m concerned, is keeping his hockey team in line, and if they step out of line, I’m willing to take measures other professors won’t.
Corporal punishment in schools should never have been outlawed, in my opinion. My palm’s already fucking itching to take each of them over my knee—that would keep them obedient.
Sigh.Those days are unfortunately over, but I have other methods I can use that won’t land me in jail.
I’m not the first one to arrive at my own class. A few keeners are already sitting in the front row with their laptops out. I set up my laptop and pull my retractable pointer from my bag.Students file in, taking their seats, but the upper left corner remains noticeably empty, even after the bell has rung.
Huh.
Call it a hunch, but I suspect it’ll soon be filled with hockey hooligans—if they bother to show up.
Fifteen minutes after the start of class, six of them saunter in as if class begins when they get here. I slam my pointer, which is actually a thin retractable cane, on the desk.
“Gentlemen.”
The biggest one’s staring at me, sizing me up like I’m the one out of place here. I probably should have shaved so I looked more “teacher-y”. There’s a proud letter “C” stitched on his jacket, so that everyone knows he’s the captain. The others flank around him like he’s Danny Zuko. Yeah, this one’s definitely McKinnon. It’sgotto be McKinnon. Tate didn’t say he was the team captain, but it was heavily implied. And of course it’s him. The shaggy hockey hair, the swagger, the “I run this school” energy.
“Sorry,” he says in a voice smooth as honey, flashing his pretty eyes at me. Because he is a pretty thing, despite the rest of his rough and masculine appearance. Bet those eyes get him out of a lot of trouble. “Early practice, and we had to be fed. I’m sure you can understand that, Professor.”
They carry on to the area clearly reserved for them, thinking they’re going to sit down without consequence. I have half a mind to kick them out of class, and if they show up late to my class again, I will. Splitting them up’s also an option, but that feels like the easy way out. Divide and conquer.
But I don’t need to do that. I’m happy to leave them within the false safety of their numbers.
I bet a gang of them was too overwhelming to take on, so the previous professor rolled over. With so much on the standardprofessor’s to-do list, the average professor is exhausted—I can understand that. Lucky for me, I’m not the average professor.
My brother was right. The captain’s so obviously their ringleader, all I have to deal with is him—cut the snake off at the head.
I lick the back of my teeth. This little arrogant fucker. I’m not going to waste time by giving him the benefit of the doubt. He’s going to learn quickly that I’m in charge.
“McKinnon,” I snap, reading it off the back of his jacket. “To me.”
He freezes, but then slides his duffle bag over his head, leaving it where he’d usually sit, and jogs down the stairs until he’s in front of me. There’s a curl to his lip and a dangerous glint in his eyes.
Dropping the golden boy routine for me already? Should I feel insulted?
Nah. Can’t find it in me. All it means is that he’s intelligent and knows his own kind. Like him, what you see is not what you get with me.
What other secrets are you hiding, pretty, pretty boy?
