Tell Ms. White

The moment Elizabeth stepped into his office, John barely had time to open his mouth before she was already halfway across the room, her clipboard clattering onto his desk. "Don't even bother saying it—that grin on your face tells me everything," she said, and then her arms were around him in a tight, unexpected hug. The scent of her shampoo—something floral and expensive—hit him first, followed by the unmistakable press of her body against his. Her breasts were soft against his chest, the warmth of her radiating through his shirt as her fingers dug briefly into his shoulders.

John cleared his throat, stepping back just enough to regain his balance—and his composure. "Emily agreed," he said, adjusting his tie as if that might somehow reset the sudden shift in the room’s energy.

Elizabeth clapped her hands together, her eyes sparkling. "I *knew* she would. All she needed was the right nudge—or in this case, the right principal." She tilted her head, her smirk widening. "So? How'd you convince her?"

“Offered to provide her whatever resources are necessary to help her succeed. She requested help particularly with my Econ class…so, Tuesday and Thursday nights, we’re going to do some extra tutoring," John confirmed, leaning against the edge of his desk.

Elizabeth’s eyebrows shot up. "Oh-ho. *Evenings*." She folded her arms, her blouse pulling taut across her chest. "Bold choice, Principal Lee. Very bold."

John rolled his eyes. "It’s just tutoring, Elizabeth."

"Mhmm." She circled his desk like a shark, her hips swaying slightly with each step. "And I’m just saying—be careful. You’re not exactly *unattractive*, and these girls?" She whistled low under her breath. "Eighteen, nineteen, living away from home for the first time, hormones practically *dripping* off them."

John snorted, though he could feel his pulse kick up a notch. "You’re ridiculous."

Elizabeth leaned in, close enough that he could see the flecks of gold in her hazel eyes. "Am I? Because I’ve seen the way some of them look at you in the hallways. Like you’re the last cupcake at a bake sale." She tapped his chest with one manicured finger. "Just saying."

John laughed, shaking his head as he leaned back against his desk, arms crossed. “Elizabeth, I can assure you, my hands will remain strictly professional at all times. Scout’s honor.” He held up three fingers in mock solemnity, grinning when she rolled her eyes.

Elizabeth’s smirk deepened as she stepped closer, the toe of her pump nudging against his polished loafer. “Oh, *really*?” she purred, tilting her head so a curtain of dark hair fell over one shoulder. “What if sweet little Emily shows up in one of those tiny pleated skirts she loves, all legs and sunshine, and—” She paused dramatically, then let her clipboard slip from her fingers, clattering to the floor. With exaggerated slowness, she bent down to retrieve it, her blouse dipping just enough to reveal a tantalizing glimpse of lace at the neckline. When she straightened, her cheeks were flushed, eyes bright with mischief. “*Oops*. Pencil dropped. What then, Principal Lee?”

John’s throat went dry. He **** a chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “Then I’d—uh—hand her a new pencil.”

Elizabeth snorted, swatting his arm. “You’re only human. And Emily Carter? She’s the kind of girl who makes *saints* reconsider their vows. So I wouldn’t blame you, if you know what I mean.”

Elizabeth’s wink lingered in the air like the echo of a struck bell—bold, playful, and just a little dangerous. She sauntered toward the door, her hips swaying with deliberate rhythm, and tossed one last smirk over her shoulder before slipping out. The click of the latch seemed absurdly loud in the sudden quiet of John’s office. He exhaled, running a hand through his hair, and caught his own reflection in the window—flushed, slightly disheveled, looking every bit like a man who’d just been expertly teased.

His gaze drifted to the spot where Elizabeth had bent to retrieve her clipboard. The memory of her blouse dipping, the flash of lace, the curve of her waist as she’d straightened—it clung to his mind like static. Then, unbidden, his imagination replaced Elizabeth with Emily: the same slow bend, the same whispered *oops*, but with golden hair spilling over her shoulders and a skirt riding up those endless Texan legs. His pulse kicked hard against his ribs.