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Devotion: For Love or Honor
Ryan
On the first day of school, I walked in, tired of football, girl drama, and worrying about the future. It was on the tip of my tongue to ask if I could move up my date to join the military if I graduated in December instead of waiting until May, but promises made amid the heartbreak controlled my choices.
I walked the hall, debating my options on the way to my elective, Journalism, which I chose as an easy option. I continued my path, a daunting task when surrounded by cheerleaders fighting for my attention. Clueless, them, not me, a talent I developed the first year I started playing varsity football while fighting off the older girls. I learned how to seem interested. I have perfected the technique; I am a master, not a jerk or even a bad guy. I have not found a girl in this school that interested me; it was as simple as that. Until that day, first-period Journalism, as I broke away from the crowd at the sound of the bell and walked into the classroom as if I owned the place. Another technique I had developed, which hid my insecurity in this life, to all outside appearances, I was calm and confident when I was, in all reality, as nervous as a kindergartner on his first day of school. I plastered my best smirking smile as I heard the collective gasps from the girls. The smile fell as my stride faltered when I listened to her voice, rendering me speechless.
"Good morning Mr. Raines. How nice of you to join us."
My eyes met hers, halting me in my tracks. With a pounding heart and dry mouth, I was utterly silent. It could not have been, but a second before, I heard a clearing of a throat, witnessing as she pointed towards an empty seat, but to me, it felt as if hours had passed where I was lost, caught up in the spell. I found my voice.
"Good morning. Miss?"
"Mrs. Stephenson."
My heart did this strange flip-flop while my gut churned, causing some crazy sea-sickness feeling as I rocked in powerful waves. I took my seat, supporting my jaw in my hand while my eyes roamed over every inch of her body while she spoke. Her shiny brown hair reminded me of the warm chocolate sauce my mom used to make, and her eyes, I guessed, were hazel, similar to mine, but when the light hit them from the large window, I swore they were green. She was tall but not too crazy tall; athletic built with very soft curves. She wasn't dressed sexy like some other teachers, a simple skirt molded across her hips and legs. Her shirt looked silky, with short sleeves showing off her toned arms, and I watched her every move hoping for her to bend enough for a glimpse of her breasts, but the shirt hugged just below her collarbone.
I shifted in my seat on the hard plastic chair, having to remove my eyes from her body. If I didn't stop, I threatened to break through my zipper.
That was the first day of school, the beginning of September. It was now March, and I continued to get excited each Monday morning because I knew I would see Mrs. Stephenson today. "Good Morning Mrs. Stephenson."
"Good Morning Mr. Raines."
Her cheeks blushed as her feet moved past me down the hall, and once again, I was content. I was still here, previous plans intact, except I had added a new goal to my mission for graduation night to show Mrs. Stephenson how I felt.
On the first day of school, I walked in, tired of football, girl drama, and worrying about the future. It was on the tip of my tongue to ask if I could move up my date to join the military if I graduated in December instead of waiting until May, but promises made amid the heartbreak controlled my choices.
I walked the hall, debating my options on the way to my elective, Journalism, which I chose as an easy option. I continued my path, a daunting task when surrounded by cheerleaders fighting for my attention. Clueless, them, not me, a talent I developed the first year I started playing varsity football while fighting off the older girls. I learned how to seem interested. I have perfected the technique; I am a master, not a jerk or even a bad guy. I have not found a girl in this school that interested me; it was as simple as that. Until that day, first-period Journalism, as I broke away from the crowd at the sound of the bell and walked into the classroom as if I owned the place. Another technique I had developed, which hid my insecurity in this life, to all outside appearances, I was calm and confident when I was, in all reality, as nervous as a kindergartner on his first day of school. I plastered my best smirking smile as I heard the collective gasps from the girls. The smile fell as my stride faltered when I listened to her voice, rendering me speechless.
"Good morning Mr. Raines. How nice of you to join us."
My eyes met hers, halting me in my tracks. With a pounding heart and dry mouth, I was utterly silent. It could not have been, but a second before, I heard a clearing of a throat, witnessing as she pointed towards an empty seat, but to me, it felt as if hours had passed where I was lost, caught up in the spell. I found my voice.
"Good morning. Miss?"
"Mrs. Stephenson."
My heart did this strange flip-flop while my gut churned, causing some crazy sea-sickness feeling as I rocked in powerful waves. I took my seat, supporting my jaw in my hand while my eyes roamed over every inch of her body while she spoke. Her shiny brown hair reminded me of the warm chocolate sauce my mom used to make, and her eyes, I guessed, were hazel, similar to mine, but when the light hit them from the large window, I swore they were green. She was tall but not too crazy tall; athletic built with very soft curves. She wasn't dressed sexy like some other teachers, a simple skirt molded across her hips and legs. Her shirt looked silky, with short sleeves showing off her toned arms, and I watched her every move hoping for her to bend enough for a glimpse of her breasts, but the shirt hugged just below her collarbone.
I shifted in my seat on the hard plastic chair, having to remove my eyes from her body. If I didn't stop, I threatened to break through my zipper.
That was the first day of school, the beginning of September. It was now March, and I continued to get excited each Monday morning because I knew I would see Mrs. Stephenson today. "Good Morning Mrs. Stephenson."
"Good Morning Mr. Raines."
Her cheeks blushed as her feet moved past me down the hall, and once again, I was content. I was still here, previous plans intact, except I had added a new goal to my mission for graduation night to show Mrs. Stephenson how I felt.
339 pages, Paperback
Published June 25, 2023
About the author
Isabella Harron
14 books9 followersI am an indie author, who loves a good steamy romance. What gets my heart warmed and my juices flowing? A story full of special moments, where eyes meet for the first time. Where the romance begins with the gentle first touch of a finger, warming you to your soul. This is the type of love story I read and desire to write.
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