MY HOT TEACHER: (Volume 5 of the "My Hot..." series; a stand-alone, New Adult novel) by Isabella Johns
Authors: Isabella Johns
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the taste of alcohol and lighten up just a little?
Fuck this shit! The odds that Randy Sawyer will want to go out with me again are pretty slim and who the hell cares what he thinks about me?
With a firm voice I say to the bartender, “Cranberry juice.” I stare at him hard, daring him to smirk. He nods politely, serves Randy his beer, me the juice. Randy doesn’t seem to notice my drink. He holds up his glass and touches it to mine. “To an epic evening!”
It’s impossible to talk much, which in a way is a blessing as I’m not sure what I would have in common with Randy Sawyer anyway. The evening consists of multiple beers and juices while various sketchy guys come over to slap Randy on the back and catch up. He politely introduces me to everyone. I’m amazed at how many went to my high school yet fail to remember me, some starting conversations as if they’re trying to find out who I am, maybe set up the possibility of making a move at a later date. My haircut doesn’t make me look that different.
We’re simply back in that parallel universe and it does not compute for any of them that this Celine hanging out with Randy could be the Celine who had braces all through high school and was stuffed into her locker by the captain of the cheerleading squad and a few choice members of her posse. I realize that coming here in the first place was probably part of Randy’s effort to impress me with how popular he still is.
Hitching a ride on the Randy Sawyer express has suddenly turned me into a babe .
He finally suggests we go for a drive. I welcome the fresh air. In the truck he says, “You’re definitely cool. I can’t believe we never hung out before.”
“I was pretty invisible in high school.”
“Or I was pretty oblivious.”
“You were.”
He laughs.
I laugh.
“Do you have a boyfriend now?”
“I’m seeing someone at school. You?”
“Nothing serious.”
Now that I think about it, the only serious relationship I remember Randy having was with the cheerleader captain who stuffed me in the locker. What a hoot! She’d probably totally diss Randy if she heard he was spending time with me. And you know what? I don’t give a fuck. I’m suddenly laughing again.
“Did I say something funny?” asks Randy.
“Life is funny sometimes.”
Nothing like getting laid regularly to give a girl a whole new perspective on things.
And speaking of getting laid, I realize Randy is steering his pick-up in the direction of Freehold Canyon, the official make out spot for Bethesda High School.
Not that I’ve ever been there.
I just know exactly where it is.
He pulls into an area overlooking the canyon and a pool of water below. We’re the only car in the dirt lot. It’s a weekday.
It’s kind of sad that here it is three and a half years out of high school and Randy’s still hanging onto old habits. Half of the conversations with his buddies eventually came back to some old sports glory story and a round of guffaws.
But I don’t pity Randy. He actually seems to have it all in perspective. His friends wanted to talk about the old days more than him and he politely indulged them. He seems happy working at his dad’s garage and told me about an old roadster he’s restoring. Most of his friends are already developing beer guts and losing their hair. He’s in great shape and still has that beautiful silky blond mane.
He shuts off the ignition, looks at me and asks, “May I kiss you?”
I’m kind of shocked that he asks, that he’s so polite. I expected him to reach forward in some kind of drunken lurch, whether he’s drunk or not I can’t tell, or just be super-smooth and pull me to him. I like that he asks. I say, “Yes.”
I’m certainly not looking for someone new. I have very little in common with Randy. This whole night is some kind of retro throwback to high school, only it’s someone
Fuck this shit! The odds that Randy Sawyer will want to go out with me again are pretty slim and who the hell cares what he thinks about me?
With a firm voice I say to the bartender, “Cranberry juice.” I stare at him hard, daring him to smirk. He nods politely, serves Randy his beer, me the juice. Randy doesn’t seem to notice my drink. He holds up his glass and touches it to mine. “To an epic evening!”
It’s impossible to talk much, which in a way is a blessing as I’m not sure what I would have in common with Randy Sawyer anyway. The evening consists of multiple beers and juices while various sketchy guys come over to slap Randy on the back and catch up. He politely introduces me to everyone. I’m amazed at how many went to my high school yet fail to remember me, some starting conversations as if they’re trying to find out who I am, maybe set up the possibility of making a move at a later date. My haircut doesn’t make me look that different.
We’re simply back in that parallel universe and it does not compute for any of them that this Celine hanging out with Randy could be the Celine who had braces all through high school and was stuffed into her locker by the captain of the cheerleading squad and a few choice members of her posse. I realize that coming here in the first place was probably part of Randy’s effort to impress me with how popular he still is.
Hitching a ride on the Randy Sawyer express has suddenly turned me into a babe .
He finally suggests we go for a drive. I welcome the fresh air. In the truck he says, “You’re definitely cool. I can’t believe we never hung out before.”
“I was pretty invisible in high school.”
“Or I was pretty oblivious.”
“You were.”
He laughs.
I laugh.
“Do you have a boyfriend now?”
“I’m seeing someone at school. You?”
“Nothing serious.”
Now that I think about it, the only serious relationship I remember Randy having was with the cheerleader captain who stuffed me in the locker. What a hoot! She’d probably totally diss Randy if she heard he was spending time with me. And you know what? I don’t give a fuck. I’m suddenly laughing again.
“Did I say something funny?” asks Randy.
“Life is funny sometimes.”
Nothing like getting laid regularly to give a girl a whole new perspective on things.
And speaking of getting laid, I realize Randy is steering his pick-up in the direction of Freehold Canyon, the official make out spot for Bethesda High School.
Not that I’ve ever been there.
I just know exactly where it is.
He pulls into an area overlooking the canyon and a pool of water below. We’re the only car in the dirt lot. It’s a weekday.
It’s kind of sad that here it is three and a half years out of high school and Randy’s still hanging onto old habits. Half of the conversations with his buddies eventually came back to some old sports glory story and a round of guffaws.
But I don’t pity Randy. He actually seems to have it all in perspective. His friends wanted to talk about the old days more than him and he politely indulged them. He seems happy working at his dad’s garage and told me about an old roadster he’s restoring. Most of his friends are already developing beer guts and losing their hair. He’s in great shape and still has that beautiful silky blond mane.
He shuts off the ignition, looks at me and asks, “May I kiss you?”
I’m kind of shocked that he asks, that he’s so polite. I expected him to reach forward in some kind of drunken lurch, whether he’s drunk or not I can’t tell, or just be super-smooth and pull me to him. I like that he asks. I say, “Yes.”
I’m certainly not looking for someone new. I have very little in common with Randy. This whole night is some kind of retro throwback to high school, only it’s someone
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