Chapter 3

The next day, James adjusted the strap of his backpack as he stepped into the teachers’ lounge. He had been too busy prepping in his classroom on his first day to take his break, so this was new territory. The room smelled faintly of coffee, tea, and Japanese sweet buns, and he felt distinctly out of place, his youthful face and neatly pressed shirt contrasting with the more relaxed, world-worn appearance of the few other teachers lounging around.

It was late afternoon, and he plunked himself down and sat hunched over a stack of papers that needed grading. His brow furrowed in concentration, his pen scratching out comments in the margins. James was the youngest teacher on staff, and his inexperience showed in the way he approached his work, almost painfully meticulous. His dark hair fell over his forehead as he leaned closer to the page, his slender frame tense with focus.

The door clicked open and a man strolled in, his presence immediately filling the room. James looked up from his work. Tall and lean with long, dirty blond hair tied back loosely and a well-groomed mustache, the man exuded a casual confidence that seemed to command attention. His blue eyes scanned the room before landing on James, and a smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth. He wore a fitted Henley shirt and dark jeans, his attire effortlessly stylish yet understated, a reflection of his laid-back demeanor. Carrying a mug of coffee, he sauntered over to the table where James sat, towering over James’s average build with his six-foot-three athletic frame. Without being asked he dropped into the chair beside James with a dramatic sigh.

The man looked him over, his blue eyes sharp with amusement as he noticed James’s uncertain gaze. “You’re the new guy.” His voice was rough but casual, like someone who had seen and done too much to be fazed by anything anymore.

“Yeah, I’m James,” he replied, leaning forward and offering a hand. “James Connelly.”

“Jake Hudson.” Jake took the proffered hand in a firm shake, smirking slightly. He pointed to the stack of papers in front of James. “Writing the Great American Novel?”

“Uh, not really,” James replied, his voice slightly uncertain. “Just grading papers. You know how it is.”

Jake chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that seemed to carry a hint of mockery. “Oh, I know how it is. I do it occasionally. But let me tell you, grading papers should be the least of your interests around here. You’re too young to be spending your nights buried in schoolwork.” He paused, his eyes narrowing playfully. “Unless, of course, you’ve got other plans I don’t know about.”

James felt his cheeks flush, a familiar warmth creeping up his neck. He wasn’t used to this kind of conversation, especially not with someone like Jake, who seemed to radiate a strange mixture of charm and arrogance. “I, uh, I don’t really have plans,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been pretty busy with work and ... other stuff.”

Jake’s smirk widened, as if he’d just been handed a juicy piece of gossip. “Other stuff, huh? Like what? Video games? Reading? Or are you still ... you know ... a virgin?” The word hung in the air, heavy and accusatory, though Jake’s tone was light, almost teasing.

James’s heart sank. He hadn’t expected that question, and the bluntness of it caught him off guard. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his fingers tightening around his pen. “I mean, yeah, I guess I am,” he mumbled, avoiding Jake’s gaze.