Friday evening, I sat back on the suede couch at Radiant with Michelle and Hector and rested one ankle on the opposite bouncing knee. I sipped on my wine and clicked my tongue against the top of my mouth, wishing Sierra would walk right into the club tonight.
While I didn’t keep up with Sierra’s social life—because why would I? She was my student and nothing more than that—the thought of her being at a frat party with handsy college-aged guys made my blood f*****g boil.
“So,” Michelle hummed, sipping her wine, “how is your class?”
“Good.”
“Class?” Hector asked. “You’re teaching?”
“s*x Ed,” I said, cutting my gaze to Michelle. “Someone roped me into it.”
Someone “I did no such thing,” she said, eyeing a regular at the wraparound bar. “It’s just good?”
just good“Just good.”
“I’ve see
