The Substitute (The Bros Series Book 1) Page 2

  I bounce up the steps at the same time I apologize. “Sorry. Couldn’t find my bag.” An innocent, sweet smirk is offered up as penance. “Forgive me, Willis?”

  He gives his shiny, white bald head a short rub. “Of course, Ainsley... Just go have a seat. I’m sure I can make up the difference.”

  The doors shut and I make my way towards the middle where my best friend, Sloane Gomez, is sitting.

  When I flop down beside her, she pulls out her ear buds, and bites, “What the fuck took you so long this morning? Thought I was going to have to journey to the center of hell all alone.”

  I roll my eyes.

  Too bad she’s not being over dramatic. Ollander Academy is hell for those of us on this bus. The few selected as proof the wealthy ‘care’. The handful labeled outcasts before we even step foot in the building. My elite private school only has this bus for a reason. Most of the students own their own cars and those too young to drive have nannies or ‘help’ who have no problem escorting them to school. Unlike my mother who opened her legs so they would open their doors for me, Sloane’s mother and father work for the Headmaster, which is how she was granted access. That’s the story for everyone on this bus. They’re all children of someone who works for someone important, here on a favor that can easily become a tax write off. I envy them for that. I loathe being the exception.

  “You’re not alone. Scott’s here.”

  “Since when does that count?” Sloane mumbles before nodding her head at the envelope in my hand. “Is that what I think it is?”

  “Hoping so…” I quietly reply, staring at the envelope.

  “Rip it open,” she demands, her Latino accent she typically hides, slipping out. “You know I’m not a patient person.”

  After cutting her a glance, I shove the doubt darting its way up my throat back down into my stomach and tear it open. What’s the point in prolonging it any further? The sooner I know if I’m going, the sooner I can start making actual plans for my future rather than cringing over the community college back up plan I’ve been toying with. My eyes quickly skim the letter, each passing word, building a victorious feeling deep inside.

  By the time I reach the end, the only thing I can do is let my jaw hang open. The excitement from knowing I earned this warmly swarms me.

  “Tell me you’re making your O face because that’s an acceptance letter.”

  The thought of riding Nate’s cock flutters back into my mind. With him, it was stuck in this position. It’s like it wasn’t sure what else to do between shouting for more and screaming his name. And I was screaming by the end. Actually screaming. God, I hope his neighbors heard but didn’t complain.

  Sloane suspiciously eyes me. “What are you thinking about?”

  I snap out of the reverie. “Hm?”

  “Just now.” She gives her long black hair a ruffle. “I swear you just whimpered.”

  Quickly, I shake my head. “No.”

  “You did.”

  “You’re hearing shit.”

  “But-”

  “I got in,” I announce, anxious to change the subject.

  “Yes!” She throws her hands up in the air. “I knew it! I fucking knew you would get into that shit. I mean, hello, who would be a better film student at that place than you?” Before I can retort, she boosts herself up onto her high waist jean covered knees, and informs the entire bus, “Bitches and Gents, may I have your attention please! Our own Ainsley Jacobson has just received her acceptance letter to Ashwin University!”

  All of a sudden there’s a round of applause, some hoots and hollers, followed promptly by her hand giving my hair a ruffle. There are a few shouted congrats from those I share classes with and a few nods from those ‘too cool’ to say anything.

  After the attention fades elsewhere, Sloane wiggles back down beside me and adjusts her neon colored crop top. “So when do you get the packet of all the shit you have to fill out?”

  I shrug. “According to the letter, they’ll mail me an acceptance packet and the state of my scholarship funding somewhere in the next few weeks.”

  “Hopefully it’s a full ride,” she states as the bus arrives in front of the school. “Last thing you need is having to give a full ride in order to cover it.”

  Her reference to my mother’s choice of profession causes me to gag.

  She has a valid point. My level of desperation to go to Ashwin is unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. I need to go. I need to get the hell out of this pompous suburban purgatory and make myself an actual future. One where my name and face isn’t associated with being the daughter of an escort.

  “What about you?” Shoving the letter into my bag, I ask, “Decided where you wanna go yet?”

  Sloane purses her lips together. “Maybe Clover Rose? I haven’t given much thought to it. Anywhere that isn’t near here is a total win in my book. I’m pretty easy.”

  “We all know that,” Lee mocks as he strolls by.

  “Can’t be that easy if she won’t fuck you, asshole,” Scott says from the seat in front of us.

  Lee gives him the finger and continues walking.

  Once we’re off the bus, Sloane throws her arms around Scott from behind, and hops her pencil thin body onto his back barely faltering his large steps. Overdramatically she coos, “Scott Snyder, you’re my hero!”

  He groans his annoyance at her position on his linebacker body. “You’re squishing my fucking lunch, Sloane.”

  She squeezes him tighter and pushes a kiss on his cut jaw. “But you love me…”

  Scott shakes his head but doesn’t deny it.

  Because it’s true. Scott’s loved her since sophomore year and has never stopped. They’re stuck in the typical friends who want to be more bullshit but are too stubborn to admit it. Guess it still beats pining after your substitute teacher.

  The three of us swing right towards the older wing of Ollander Academy. The college sized institution is divided into two parts. One for those in middle school and one for those of us in high school. Between the two buildings are the enormous school cafeteria and the extensive courtyard, which is basically one giant stage for whatever drama is circulating for the day.

  Just as we enter the double doors, a familiar face is coming down the stairs with his fan club fawning after him.

  “Snyder!” Josh Buchanan announces with his arms thrown in the air. He joins his side and playfully shoves into him. “What up, dick breath?”

  “I think that’s you,” Sloane sneers looking down at Josh while the two of them bump fists.

  Despite the fact they have similar athletic features from years of winning state championships side by side, Scott only played football because his parents promised he would upon acceptance into the academy. Josh on the other hand played because it’s what’s expected of him. Unlike me, who has a mother hell bent on keeping me away from what she’s spent most of her single life doing, his father has spent most of his time paving the path for Josh to be next in the family line of NFL players, down to guaranteeing him a spot at the university of his father’s alma mater. And he fits the role. From impressive skills on the field, to charming smile, to adoring fans, he is set up for greatness. Why he insists on bothering me is the question I have never discovered the answer to.

  Josh gives her the finger and leans around to say, “Hey Ainsley.”

  I offer him a kind smile. “Hey.”

  He lags back a few steps, instructs the chicks that were following him to piss off, and arrives on the other side of me. His cologne causes me to start coughing profusely.

  “Look at that, she’s allergic to you,” Sloane snickers at the same time Scott drops her onto her feet outside of their classroom.

  “Come on, babe. Let’s spread your charm around,” Scott says, nodding his head for them to head inside.

  She makes a motion with her fingers to let me know to text her.

  “You going to the game tonight?” H
e asks with hope in his voice rather than cockiness. Whenever he makes the transition from talking to the crowd of girls who worship at his feet to just me, he does this. He softens his speech. Stumbles on his words. It’s like he’s nervous around me, which is probably the most ridiculous thought I’ve had this morning.

  “Um…” I hum uncertain. “I don’t know. I’m not working, so maybe.”

  We arrive at the end of long hall, right in front of my classroom. “Why don’t you come with me?”

  His usual offer of a date causes me to tilt my head to the side.

  I’m sure it’s nothing more than the typical want the one who tells you no bullshit. I just…I can’t be the only girl in the entire school whose panties don’t melt at his over polished grin.

  “Josh-”

  “I know,” he cuts me off and grabs my hand. “You think I’m just some asshole jock who’s got a bet with his friends about nailing you or some shit.”

  Playfully, I counter, “Well I do now…”

  He joins me in the small laugh. “Well I don’t.”

  “Then why this shit every other week?”

  And it truly feels like it’s been every other week since right after Halloween.

  “Because you’re the hottest chick in my English Lit class and the only one who doesn’t follow Kylie Jenner on IG like she’s some sort of Russian Goddess.”

  I offer him a sympathetic expression. “Greek.”

  “Right.” He nods. “Like Afromighty.”

  His idiocy hurts my head. “Aphrodite.”

  “Yeah,” Josh casually agrees and rubs the back of his neck. “See. You don’t even rag on me for getting it wrong.”

  At least not out loud.

  The warning bell rings, which gives me the perfect excuse to finally pull my fingers away. “You should get to class, Josh.”

  He nods. “Think about tonight? I’ll even take you to dinner. Anywhere you want.”

  I pretend to be tempted by the idea. “I’ll text you later.”

  Josh caves, turns on his heels, and heads for his first period class.

  Thankful to have some distance from him, I let out a heavy sigh. My eyes steal a glimpse of Nate who had the perfect view of the situation from his desk. His arms are resting on those of the chair while the expression on his face is one of severe disapproval. Jealousy even.

  I smirk to myself and head for my desk on the right side of the room. Once I’m settled, I lean back in my seat, and admire the man who fills something inside of me I didn’t know was missing. From the conservative way he carries himself, no one would ever assume underneath the surface is a barbaric beast who craves the basic instinct of a man claiming a woman. A man who can be the only one to touch the woman he’s proclaimed as his own. He doesn’t exude such dominance, but it’s definitely there. Behind those crystal blue eyes and surprisingly young features for a twenty nine year old, is a savage protector I know would do anything for the woman he loves. How wrong is it that I want that woman to be me?

  The final bell rings and Nate’s eyes immediately glance to the door where two students barely make it inside on time. He skips the notion of scolding them and instead says, “Shut the door behind you Mr. Keegan.”

  “Sure thing, Mr. Greene.”

  Nate begins the moment everyone is in their seats. “As most of you should recall, I told you yesterday we would discuss your end of the year projects today. I considered keeping Mr. Garrison’s simple pick a random year out of a hat, find a movie that came out during that time, and give your opinion on it in the form of a long, boring paper.” Suddenly, he leans forward so his crisp, white dress shirt covered elbows are on his desk. “But then I remembered, I have to read all of those and chances are if you’re bored writing it, I’m going to be even more bored reading it.”

  The class lightly chuckles.

  “This is film appreciation,” his words continue to flow smoothly out of his perfectly shaped mouth that I swear I can still feel on my skin. “Most of you consider this a blow off elective, but some of you…” Nate’s eyes wander to meet mine. “Some of you have a real passion for this. It shouldn’t be ignored.”

  My bottom lip thoughtlessly slips between my teeth.

  His entire body tenses in response. He takes a hard swallow and forces himself to look away. “So, here’s what we’re going to do for your final. You’re going to make me a one minute video presentation paying homage to your favorite film of all time.”

  Franklin, two rows over lifts his hand. “What’s homage mean?”

  “Tribute.” Nate rises to his feet. “The rules of this project are lax for a reason. I want you to be willing to express your creativity. Explore your skills. And for those of you who are cringing inside at the idea of this being a meaningful experience then use your one minute to look in the camera and explain to me why you love whatever film you picked. It won’t get you an A, but it’ll keep you from failing your final.” He braces himself against the corner of his desk and folds his hands together. “Any questions?”

  Bethany, the bitchy blonde and an avid Josh fan who sits in front of me, lets her hand shoot into the air.

  He hesitates to answer as if afraid to let his eyes drift my direction in any form. Nate nods his head towards her. “Miss Winston.”

  “Okay first off of all, I love the way you call us by our last names. It’s so hot yet totally retro,” she giggles obnoxiously through her comment.

  Nate offers her a small smile of gratitude.

  I unconsciously twitch a glare and his smile widens in response. Okay. Fine. Apparently the jealousy bug can bite both of us. His smile was just as innocent as me politely trying to tell Josh to go away. The notion that neither of us is thrilled over the idea of the other one flirting with someone else shifts a smirk onto my face. I warned him. I knew he had claim over my body long before he touched it. I knew it the first time our eyes connected and my chest tightened. That happened months ago and there hasn’t been a day since that I’ve been anyone else’s. I’m not sure there will ever be.

  “One minute video, totally fine, whatever. Can we use our phones to record it?”

  He shrugs. “Whatever device you prefer.”

  “K,” she coos and readjusts herself in her seat.

  “We’ll be showing your videos the last two weeks of the school year. It’s a pretty cut and dry project, but if you have any other questions, feel free to send me an email, a text, or stop me after the bell rings.” He gives his long, black tie an adjustment. “As you all know the list for greatest films of all time is…highly opinionated. While the AFI has declared the ones worthy of being on the list, most with decent merit, some I don’t agree with. Some I know you won’t agree with. So for the rest of this semester, we’re going to do something a little different than what Mr. Garrison had planned. He had hand selected the films we would be reviewing. I’m actually going to turn the reins over to you. I want you to want to be in class. So you pick what we’re watching and discussing. There were will be various categories for us to sort through and choose from. We’ll vote on Monday mornings from the list he gave, a few of my own, and suggestions from you.”

  There’s a small chatter of excitement and Nate flashes his award winning grin again.

  God, he’s beautiful. And not in the usual stalk him for posting one shirtless photo on Facebook type of way. No. He’s got this young yet classic twist to him. Like bump into him at a ritzy bar, have him buy you a martini and then take you back to his million dollar penthouse vibe. I was actually surprised to find out he didn’t have a penthouse. In fact, his one bedroom apartment downtown is not at all what I expected. Teachers in this school make what college professors do, actually some of them make more, so I can’t imagine they would pay the substitutes anything less or that much less. Nate’s been subbing here for the past year. Usually on the middle school side because their drama teacher is more dedicated to trying out for Broadway than actually being a t
eacher, but once in a while he’s granted permission to this side. To be fawned over by all of the girls who cross his path. Josh may be the jock king but whenever Nate steps foot into our realm he’s a God. An athletic, tan, walking wet dream God. What’s really amazing is I don’t think he has any idea. And if he does? He’s mastered the art of pretending he doesn’t.

  He reaches for the remote. “Let’s continue with The Wizard of Oz.”

  The flat screen TV in the corner of the room flashes the welcome text and he busies himself resuming the movie from where we left off yesterday.

  While his back is turned, I lean down, grab my phone from where it’s wedged beside my laptop in my bag and check the message waiting for me.

  555-879-8769: Paid Synder a hundred bucks for your number. Is this it?