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  Mister English

  S.R. Watson

  Ryan Stacks

  Mister English

  Copyright © 2019 S.R. Watson & Ryan Stacks

  First Edition: February 2019

  Second Edition: April 2019

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, actual events or locales is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction. The publication of these trademarks is not associated with or sponsored by the trademark owner.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without the express written permission of the author.

  Editor: Jenny Sims (https://www.editing4indies.com)

  Contents

  Other Books

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Epilogue

  Preview of Silas: A Playboy’s Lair - Part One

  Chapters 1 - 2

  Acknowledgement

  About the Author ~ S.R. Watson

  About the Author ~ Ryan Stacks

  Other Books

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  Other Books by S.R. Watson & Ryan Stacks

  S.I.N. Rock Star Trilogy

  Sex in Numbers ~ Book #1

  Creed of Redemption ~ Book #2

  Leave it All Behind ~ Book #3

  The Playboy’s Lair Duet

  Silas: Part One (A Playboy’s Lair Duet)

  Silas: Part Two (A Playboy’s Lair Duet)

  Forbidden Trilogy

  Forbidden Attraction ~ Book #1

  Forbidden Love ~ Book #2

  Unforbidden ~ Book #3

  Stand Alone

  The Object of His Desire

  Peppermint Mocha Love: A Christmas Novella (written as S. Renee’ … co-authored with R.L. Harmon)

  Her Favorite Christmas Gift (written as S. Renee’ … co-authored with R.L. Harmon)

  Prologue

  Finleigh

  It’s nearly noon, and I still have one last class left to attend—chemistry—but my swollen vagina protests with each step I take in that direction. The dull ache between my legs is a reminder of the romp session I had last night with Sebastian, our university’s star quarterback. Sitting on the bench in the middle of the courtyard, I plop my leather book bag beside me. I bask in the warmth of the sun as students rush past me either to get to their next class or to find food during their lunch hour. Sometimes, it’s nice to be invisible—to study the world as a passive participant. Unseen, I allow my mind to escape to my very first sexual experience. Sebastian conquered my virginity last night with the finesse of a bull in a china shop. No romance. No promises of more. Nothing special to live up to the hype of sex and definitely no orgasm on my part. He released his seed onto my stomach in under three minutes, giving me a reprieve from the unrelenting pain. So why did I agree to give my v-card to the careless yet gorgeous coitus sprinter?

  I was supposed to just be his chemistry tutor. The hours we spent together eventually turned into harmless flirting, and I reveled in the attention. No guy has really noticed me before—well, at least not the hot ones I’m usually attracted to—and it felt nice to be desired. What use was my virginity if I was lonely and undateable? Maybe if Sebastian and I dated for even a short time, it would prepare me for the next guy—give my popularity a boost.

  I get to see him next period. Will he ask me out? Will he want to sleep with me again? I’m sure the first time sucks for everyone. Although I kind of omitted the fact that it was my first time, I’m sure he didn’t mistake me for being experienced. After all, I did just lay there.

  Loud, boisterous laughter interrupts my internal monologue. As luck would have it, Sebastian and a few of his team members have entered the courtyard with a few familiar cheerleaders flanking them. They’re always hanging around—the kind of girls who flaunt their sexuality and always look so put together. I look down at my own ratty jeans and tank. I did let my hair down today and made an attempt at makeup, but I have nothing on their female entourage—far from it.

  “Well, look who it is,” Jeremy says as he looks my way. He’s our running back and also in our chemistry class. “I hear you’re an excellent tutor. I think I need to acquire your services.”

  “C’mon. Knock it off, Jer,” Sebastian warns.

  “What? Don’t be a selfish man. You’ve already won the bet.”

  “What bet?” I ask, afraid to hear the answer.

  “Nothing for you to worry your pretty little nerdy heart about. It’s guy stuff.”

  “Well, I want to know too,” the blonde speaks up, her manicured talons on her petite, exposed hip. “Sebastian, I know you didn’t have sex with that ragamuffin.”

  I can feel the heat creep up my face from the humiliation. Of course, that had to be it. I was just a bet among his boys. Why else would he choose me when he could have someone who looks like blondie? Foot-to-mouth clouds my immediate judgment, and I explode.

  “Well, if you call three minutes sex, then yeah, he did. In fact, I was going to ask you after class if you wanted to go out on a date this weekend—you know, a do-over. We may even get to five minutes this time or at least long enough for me to actually have an orgasm too.”

  I watch as Sebastian clutches his fist, his face just as red as mine feels. His teammates double over in laughter, but the girls aren’t as impressed.

  “Man, did you pick the wrong virgin. Are you just going to let her put you on blast like that?” Jeremy howls.

  So he did know that I was a virgin. Was that the point? How could I have been so stupid?

  “I would never date her. It was a quick fuck for the sake of the bet. I had to imagine someone else just to get off.” He turns his ice-cold stare to me. “Those were the best three minutes you will ever have. If it weren’t for our little bet, nobody here at this university would have even touched you. It’s our junior year. Why do you think you haven’t even come close before now? I did you a favor. Be grateful for your pity fuck!”

  The silence is deafening. The laughter from the guys muted. I didn’t expect that harsh of a comeback. I just didn’t want to be the only one humiliated. He used me for a stupid bet, so I wanted him to be ashamed. I don’t deserve this. I get up slowly from the bench, the ache taunting me for my stupidity. I grab my leather book bag, careful not to give him or his entourage another glance.

  “Run along now,” I hear one of the girls say.

  And I do just that. I don’t look back, and I refuse to let the tears fall. Why did I ever want to be like those popular jerks? I don’t belong in that world … never did. The only thing left to do is take my wounded pride and sore vagina back to my dorm. There is no way in hell that I can face Sebastian or his stupid entourage in our chemistry class. He’s the most popular guy here at the university, so I’m sure my already non-existent reputation is ruined. I can see it now. The nerdy virgin who was pity fucked for a bet. Ugh! I was better off flying under the radar. Silly me for thinking I could get a taste of how the other
half lives.

  Chapter One

  Finleigh

  I fasten my seat belt securely across my lap as the stewardess begins to give safety instructions before takeoff. This is my first time on a plane, yet I’m only a little nervous. Okay, that’s a lie. I’m beyond nervous, but I’m equal parts excited. So rather than being consumed with thoughts of plunging to my death or disappearing for five years like the show Manifest, I’m going to embrace all seven hours toward my new beginning. And what better place to start my new beginning than London? As the plane begins to taxi down the tarmac, I can barely contain the butterflies fluttering in my stomach. I watch out the window as we begin to pick up speed, and then finally lift into the air. My parents won’t be thrilled when they learn I’m not spending the summer taking classes here in New York, but I’m an adult, and I can make my own decisions. When this internship practically fell into my lap, I saw it as a sign that I was destined for bigger things. I’m blessed to be able to follow my dreams. Now that we’re in the air, I remove the internship invitation from my pocket to read over it again. I welcome the distraction.

  The letter of acceptance is from the Department of Graphic Design, but I think my program advisor, Pam, had some input. She’d undoubtedly heard about what happened between Sebastian and me since the gossip was flying rampant around campus and offered to talk if I needed it. She didn’t have to go into specifics for me to understand what she was offering, but I just couldn’t open up about that to anyone. My best friend, Valerie, took the spring semester off due to a death in the family, so I didn’t want to bother her with my own self-imposed issues. Either way, the opportunity couldn’t have come at a better time. Luckily, the semester had been nearly over, so now that I’ve finished my classes, I can focus on this summer internship. Blaine Beasley is the photographer I will be working with for the next two and a half months. He works with models who appear on book covers, magazines, and even do runway work. This is perfect since I’m majoring in photography with a minor in graphic design. My goal is to be able to capture the image and then create a masterpiece from beginning to end. The letter further explains that I will be expected to report to an advisor at their Syracuse London Center every two weeks for updates on my progress and for debriefing. I will receive three credit hours for the experience and a substantial scholarship to cover my expenses. When I get off the plane, a driver will be waiting for me to take me to where I’ll be staying for the summer. After reading the invitation a couple more times to solidify that I was, in fact, on my way to London and not dreaming, I put it away. The late evening takeoff ensures that I’ll arrive in London first thing in the morning their time. The stewardesses are beginning to serve dinner, so I’ll watch one of the offered movies with my meal, then try to get some sleep. I want to be well rested and ready to start my adventure.

  * * *

  As I follow the signs to the baggage claim, my phone buzzes in my jeans pocket. I forgot to turn my roaming and international service off. I answer without checking the caller ID, thinking it was the person assigned to pick me up.

  “Where are you?” Valerie asks as soon as I answer the call. “I just drove two hours to surprise my best friend, and you’re not here. Some girl from your dorm just told me you were in London …”

  “Val.” I try to explain, but she just continues to ramble.

  “I’m like, surely, she was mistaken. You wouldn’t keep something that big from me. What would you be doing in London? Your parents would have a coronary …”

  “Val!”

  “What?” She finally pauses to let me get a word in.

  “I am in London. Just arrived actually. Sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, but I was going to FaceTime you as soon as I got settled.”

  “Are you serious? I can’t believe you left without telling me first. First, you hide the Sebastian thing from me, and now this?”

  I have to double back because I miss my turn toward baggage claim. I know I need to wrap this call up quickly to avoid an obscene bill, but crap, how did she find out about that?

  “What about Sebastian?” I’m hoping she only heard I was tutoring him and not the whole virgin pity fuck gossip.

  “Don’t do that! Don’t shut me out. You forget Trish and I got sort of close last semester after I helped her pass history. She called me and told me about the rumors. She was concerned about you. Is it true?”

  Valerie and I were two social outcast peas in a pod. I grew up on a small farm in the boondocks of Rhinebeck, New York, and she grew up in an equally small town, and we were both homeschooled. Trish was your typical sorority girl—popular, beautiful, and rich. She had hit the trifecta in life. Valerie, being the history buff that she is, agreed to tutor her so she didn’t bring down her sorority house GPA. She and Valerie didn’t travel in the same circles, but they did form a mutual respect.

  “Look, I’m sorry I kept the whole ordeal from you. I just knew you had your own issues you were dealing with, and I didn’t want to weigh you down with mine. I promise to tell you everything, but right now, I’m navigating this huge airport and trying to find baggage claim. My parents will kill me if they get an astronomical international bill. Let me FaceTime you once I get situated with free WiFi.”

  “You know I’ll always make time for you. I’ll let you go for now but call me soon. I need to know everything. I’m going to get back on the road and try to make it home before dark.”

  “Be safe, and I promise to call soon.”

  I feel horrible that she made a wasted trip to surprise me. She dropped everything to come check on me, and here I was on the other side of the pond. I finally find the baggage claim. I see my two large suitcases immediately, but I don’t reach the carousel in time, so I have to wait until they circle back around. Positioning my carry-on luggage behind me, I leave my path free so I’m ready to snag them this time. I grab the first one and then the second one in rapid succession. Success. I’m ready to pull out my internship invitation again to reread the instructions on my pickup when I see a young Mediterranean woman holding a sign with my name on it. She doesn’t look like any driver I’d expect. She’s the epitome of gorgeous with hazel eyes, olive skin, and thick brunette hair. Upon closer inspection, her clothes look like she’s heading to the gym.

  “Hi. I’m Finleigh. Are you here for me?”

  The Mediterranean goddess looks me up and down, but she hides her first impression of me. Her face doesn’t distort in snobbery, so that’s a plus.

  “I’m guessing you’re the American intern coming to work with Blaine, yeah?”

  Her accent is lovely and mesmerizes me for a second. “Um … yes. That’s me.”

  “I’m Lydia. Blaine sent me to get you. I’ll be the one getting you settled and laying out the rules.” Lydia grabs one of my bags, so I grab the remaining one and my carry-on and follow her out to a parked Range Rover.

  “Are you an intern too?” I ask as we load my luggage.

  “Oh gosh, no. I’m one of the models. You’ll be the only intern. The first one, actually.”

  “What do you mean by the first one?”

  “Blaine has never taken on an intern before you. He’s broadening his brand. He’s focusing on three models to launch his own stock photos and custom galleries to reach new clients. He’s also working on getting us published in magazines and on book covers. While doing so, he wants to give back by giving an aspiring student an inside look at what’s involved.”

  We get into the SUV, and my nerves pick this time to return. I knew I’d be working around models, but I guess I never really gave it too much thought. I was just excited about the opportunity. Now, doubt just extinguished it all. If I was such an outcast with the people at my university, how did I expect things to be any different with these model types? I don’t want to spend the whole summer miserable. Lydia seems nice enough so far, but how long will that last?

  “So where will I be staying?” I ask, attempting not to be pessimistic.

  “With us, of c
ourse.”

  “Us?”

  “Hunter, Avery, and myself. We’re all staying in Blaine’s mansion for the summer while we work on our portfolios.”

  “Mansion?”

  “Yes.” Lydia chuckles. “Didn’t your uni tell you what to expect?”

  “Uni as in university?” Lydia nods. “Other than Blaine’s expertise, how many credit hours to expect, and reporting to the campus here, no.”

  “Well, Blaine’s father owns one of the top magazines in the country. And even though he has enough money to never work a day in his life, he decided to pursue photography and build a brand of his own. He’s well known here.”

  “I’m looking forward to working with him. Is he nice?”

  “Nice enough. Just don’t get on his bad side. He hates laziness and tardiness. Whatever instruction he gives you, follow them to the letter.”

  “Thanks.”

  “No problem. It’ll be nice to have another female in the house. I can tell that you’re kind of different, but I like that.”

  “Different how?” As if I have to ask. I’ve been labeled different since the day I left my small town.

  “You’re not self-absorbed. You have kind eyes and a genuine spirit.”

  “Oh, I thought you meant my appearance. I’m far from the model type.”

  “There’s no model type. We’re all people. Some people are nice, and some are bitches. It has nothing to do with being a model. It’s a character flaw. Modeling is what we do … not who we are. You’d be surprised at the stereotypical bullocks we have to deal with.”