Bad for You by Weston Parker

6

BRITTANY

Tristin Ramsey was in my classroom, standing there looking like a golden-eyed, corporate god in his fitted navy suit and his styled dark hair. He was watching me so intently that I felt like I was about to break out in a sweat.

Meanwhile, he radiated the confidence of a man who’d been born to lead. There he was, all unflappable while I was, most certainly, very much flapped.

Is that even a thing? Being flapped?

I had the strangest urge to whip out my dictionary, but I didn’t. Once he left, maybe I would, but for now, I had to at least appear like I was a grown woman who had her shit together.

And I had had it together.

Sort of.

Until he’d popped back up, acting like everything was fine between us and telling me he hadn’t stopped thinking about me.

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. He’s actually asking me out?

My insides were rejoicing, but outwardly, I kept my cool. I knew I couldn’t take him up on his offer, but the fact that I wanted to more than anything told me what I needed to know about my relationship with Beckett. If there had been any doubt left in my mind that it was time to end it, it had been obliterated under the intensity of how Tristin made me feel just by looking at me.

With his eyes still on mine, he tilted his head slowly to the side, silently asking for my answer. Before I could tell him that I was seeing someone and had to decline, Beckett walked into my classroom.

His eyebrows mashed together in a deep frown when he saw Tristin, his gaze flicking from me to him and back again. Instead of stopping dead like I’d thought he might, he strode right over to me and put his arm around my shoulders.

I frowned up at him, tensing under the unwelcome weight of his arm. It was strange that he was holding me like this. Beckett wasn’t an affectionate man by nature, and he tended to avoid any physical contact between us like the plague while we were at school.

“What are you doing here, Mr. Ramsey?” he asked, breaking the silence between us all in a tone so brisk it bordered on rude.

Which was also very much out of character, considering he obviously knew who Tristan was. Since his family had sponsored the fundraiser, I’d have expected him to be polite at the very least.

For his part, Tristin didn’t skip a beat. His gaze cut to the arm Beckett had around my shoulders, cooled significantly, and then landed on Beckett’s.

“I came by to talk about the fundraiser,” he said. “When I saw Brittany in the hall, I had to compliment her on her delicious cake. Who are you?”

Beckett bristled at my side. I couldn’t stand the awkwardness or the weird testosterone spike in the room, so I stepped in. “Tristin, this is Beckett. He’s my boyfriend and the principal here.”

“We met at the fundraiser,” Beckett said flatly, not moving away from my side.

There was a flash of disappointment in Tristin’s eyes when I said the word “boyfriend,” but he didn’t comment on it. Just seeing it there made my stomach drop, though. Damn it.

“Yes, of course we did,” he said smoothly, but Beckett remained stiff at the dismissive tone of his voice. “You’ll have to forgive me. I was introduced to so many people that night.”

You’ll have to forgive me.A statement. Not a question.

Tristin didn’t apologize, nor did he seem at all remorseful about either not having remembered Beckett or, more likely, pretending that he didn’t. As if he’d heard my thoughts, he brought his gaze back to mine, and a faint smirk touched his lips.

“I’ve never been very good at names and faces. Have I, Brit?” There was a wicked gleam in his eyes that made me want to punch him—playfully, of course—for the obvious power play.

“Brit?” Beckett repeated the nickname, then narrowed his eyes at me. “You don’t like the shortened version of your name. Why is Mr. Ramsey calling you by it?”

“Mr. Ramsey.” I accentuated the title and had to bite back a laugh at the humor that lit Tristin’s eyes when I did. “Tristin, I mean, went to high school with me. We’re old friends.”

“In a manner of speaking,” Tristin murmured.

Beckett’s brows drew together again, but he didn’t ask any more questions in front of Tristin. I also didn’t remind him that he was the one who didn’t like the cheapened, shortened version of people’s names. Personally, I didn’t mind it. Especially not when Tristin said it. In fact, I liked it when he used it. It reminded me of simpler, happier times.

“If you’re here to discuss the fundraiser, we should go to my office,” Beckett said curtly. “After you, Mr. Ramsey.”

He swept out his hand, pointedly waiting for Tristin to leave before shooting me a glare. “We’ll talk about this later.”

I nodded instead of rolling my eyes at him. “Sure. See you later.”

With every interaction between us, Beckett was treating me more and more like a child or a prized possession. I didn’t like it at all, but making a scene about it at school wasn’t an option. If I did, I’d be proving that I was as mature as the child he was treating me as.

The men departed, leaving me stewing in too many conflicting emotions as I sat down to grade my papers. Frustration over my situation with Beckett won out in the end, and I pressed my pen so hard into the paper that I nearly tore a sheet before I gave up.

No matter what Tristin stirred up in me, I needed to deal with Beckett first. Not only was our relationship not working, but he also needed to learn how to treat the woman he was with. That wouldn’t have been an easy conversation to have under the best of circumstances without it deteriorating into a lecture or a screaming match.

Since Beckett was still my principal and I really did love my job, it would be an even more difficult subject to broach. Breaking up with him was going to have to be done very delicately if I didn’t want our personal relationship to interfere with our professional one.

Or maybe I’m fooling myself to think there’s a way to do it that wouldn’t jeopardize my job.Suddenly finding it difficult to breathe, I went outside to get some air.

The bell had gone for recess, and Shelley was watching over our classes outside. She smiled when she saw me coming.

“Hey, you. What are you doing out here? It’s my turn to monitor today, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but I needed to get out of my classroom. The walls were closing in on me.” I quickly gave her the lowdown of what had happened, explaining how Tristin had shown up and asked me out just before Beckett walked in.

“Well, what do you know?” she mused. “A midday dick-measuring contest over my best girl. How are you feeling about that?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted, repeating the same sentiment that I had at the fundraiser. “I’m confused as hell about Tristin. After the way I broke up with him, I never would’ve dreamed he’d been acting this way toward me if he ever came back.”

Before we could discuss it any further, there was a commotion on the playground. A flash of orange hair in the middle of it made me groan.

“It’s Lou again,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”

Lou was eight and the most troubled student in my class. He had a rough home life, and that made for behavioral problems here at school. He and I had bonded, though. One of the other teachers had gotten bitten by him once when she tried to calm him down, and since then, there were few who went into the thick of it when he was involved.

When I rushed over to break things up, his freckled skin was red, eyes filled with anger. His face fell when he saw me, and the fight rushed out of him at the speed of light.

Lower lip trembling as I pulled him away, he pointed at the boy he’d been sitting on top of. “He made fun of my mom. She’s not a whore, Ms. Cleaver. I promise.”

“I know, sweetheart,” I said calmly. “What did I tell you about using that word, though?”

“It wasn’t me,” he protested loudly, wrenching his arm out of my grip as he shot the boy a narrow-eyed glare. “Peter said it. He said she’s a drunk and a whore.”

“Ms. Hart will set Peter straight. Why don’t you and I take a walk?” I met Shelley’s gaze and waved her over.

After letting her know what had happened, I watched as her mouth formed a hard line and left her to do what had to be done. Lou and I stayed on the playground but walked toward a pool of shade formed by the canopy of the towering oaks along the side.

“What Peter said hurt you.” I kept my voice soft and gentle as we sat down on the grass together.

Lou’s eyes were watery when he nodded. “He makes me so angry. They all do. They’re assholes.”

“They’re what?” I didn’t scold him for his language. The school counselor had been very clear with us when she’d explained that he’d lash out at any attack—perceived or otherwise.

He sighed. “I know it’s a bad word, but I can’t help it if that’s what they are. He said that I was a ginger and that I probably survived on eating souls since we can’t afford any food.”

Indignant rage flared in my belly. I hated how some of the kids treated him. We’d followed every process in the book, but it hadn’t helped much.

The school and parents were involved, but there was nothing I could do in this moment except to be there for him. “What Peter did was wrong, and what he said was very hurtful and unfair.”

He nodded, his little features scrunching up again. “What’s the but? I know there’s one coming.”

“The but is that two wrongs don’t make a right,” I said. “Getting into a fight is also wrong. Hitting him and resorting to violence isn’t the answer.”

Lou scoffed, averting his gaze as he crossed his arms tightly in front of him. “There’s nothing I can say back that will hurt him as much as my fist can.”

He kept raging for a few minutes after that, and I let him get it all out. At the end of the day, emotions were always better coming out than being bottled up.

Ha. Maybe you should follow your own advice on that one.

Putting a pin in that thought for now, I focused all my attention on Lou and had him laughing again soon enough. I wished there was more I could do for him, but there wasn’t. All I had left in my toolkit was to continue being here for him, and for now, that was going to have to be good enough.