The clock ticked louder than her conscience.
“Miss Vance,” Mr. Callahan snapped, steel in his voice. “If the story you’re writing is more important than my lecture, maybe you’d like to share it with the class.”
She didn’t even flinch. Leaning back in her chair like she paid rent on it, she blew a gum bubble and let it pop. Loud. Obnoxious. Perfectly timed.
“No, sir,” she said sweetly, but her eyes sparkled—wicked, challenging. She always did this. Showed up with that skirt just a little too short, those thighs crossed just so, lips glossy like a dare. She was a brat, and she knew it. And worse, she knew exactly what she was doing to him.
He could feel the way the rest of the class stilled. They weren’t breathing. Not while Mr. Callahan’s jaw tightened and his gaze pinned her like a kni
