Forbidden Love

Mirella Alvarez snailed her way out of the principal's office toward the SoCal mid-winter clouds. Anger, humiliation, and self-loathing coated every inch of her soul, creating a film of desperation She was desperate to scratch away.

Rock. Meet. Bottom.

She'd just found out All Saints High was not going to renew her contract as a teacher next year unless She pulled her shit together and performed some magic that'd transform her students into attentive human beings. Principal Cavallaro said that She showed zero authority and that the literature classes She was teaching were falling behind. To add fuel to the fire, last week She'd received notice that She was getting kicked out of her apartment at the end of next month. The owner had decided to remodel and move back in.

Also, the sexting partner She'd bagged through a questionable dating site had just fired her a message saying he wouldn't be able to make it to their first in-person date because his mom wouldn't give him her car tonight.

He was twenty-four.

So was She.

Being picky was a luxury a woman who hadn't seen a real-life cock in four years really didn't have.

And, as a matter of fact, other than a few short flings, Mirella had never had a relationship. At all. With anyone. Ballet had always come first. Before men and before her. For a while, She'd actually thought it was enough. Until it wasn't.

When did it all go wrong?

She could tell you when—right after Mirella started college. Eight years ago, She got accepted to Julliard and was about to fulfill her dream to become a professional ballerina. This was what She'd worked for her whole life. Her parents had taken out loans to pay her way through dancing competitions. Boyfriends were deemed an unwelcome distraction, and her only focus was joining a prestigious New York or European ballet company and becoming a prima ballerina.

Dancing was her oxygen.

When Mirella said her goodbyes to her family and waved at them from the security point at the airport, they told her to break a leg. Three weeks into her first semester at Julliard, She literally did. Broke it in a freakish escalator accident on her way down to the subway.

It not only killed her career dreams and lifelong plan, but also sent her packing and back to SoCal. After a year of sulking, feeling sorry for herself and developing a steady relationship with her first (and last) boyfriend—a dude named Jason Daniels—her parents convinced her to pursue a career in teaching. Her mom was a teacher. Her dad was a teacher.Her older brother was a teacher. They loved teaching.

Mirella hated teaching.

This was her third year of teaching, and her first—and judging by her performance, only—year at All Saints High in Saints Santos, California. Principal Cavallaro was one of the most influential women in town. Her polished bitchery was formidable. And she absolutely despised Mirella from the get-go.Her days under her reign were numbered.

As Mirella approached her twelve-year-old Ford Focus parked across the aisle from her Lexus and her son's monstrous Range Rover (Yeah, she'd bought her son, a senior, a fucking luxury SUV. Why would an eighteen-year-old need a car so big? Maybe so it could accommodate his giant-ass ego?), Mirella decided her situation couldn't possibly get any worse.

But She was wrong.

Mirella slid into her car and started backing up into the almost empty parking lot, slipping back toward the two pricey symbols of a small dick. At the exact same moment, Mr. Living With His Mom texted her again. The green bubble flashed with GOT THE CAR. R8DY TO SEX IT UP? accompanied with approximately three thousand question marks.

Mirella got distracted.

She got annoyed.

She bumped straight into Principal Cavallaro's son's SUV.

Choking the steering wheel and gasping in horror, Mirella slapped her hand over her heart to make sure it didn't shoot out of her ribcage.

Shit. Shit. Shit! The thud that filled her ears and shook her car didn't leave any room for doubt.

She'd done to his SUV what Keanu Reeves did to the movie Dracula. She'd fucking ruined it.

Her fight-or-flight adrenalin kicked in, and Mirella briefly contemplated whether She should hit the gas, assume an alias, and flee the country to hide in a cave somewhere in the Afghan mountains.

How was She going to pay for the damage? Mirella had a big deductible and there was that notice at home about her last insurance premium being late. Was She even covered? Principal Cavallaro was going to kill her.

Mustering her courage, Mirella peeled her sorry ass off her seat. Technically speaking, Remo's precious black SUV wasn't supposed to be parked in the teachers' lot. Then again,Remo Cavallaro got away with a lot of shit he wasn't supposed to, thanks to his looks, social status, and powerful parents.

Mirella circled around to find her cheap car's ass that was kissing his Range Rover's back quarter panel, leaving a dent the size of Africa.

Suffice it to say, now things couldn't get any worse.

But She was wrong. Again.

Bending down, Mirella squinted at the destruction, not giving a damn about the fact that her brown knee-length dress danced in the air, exposing her new lace panties. There wasn't anyone else in the parking lot to see them, and it wasn't as if She was going to be flaunting them in front of Mr. Living With His Mom tonight.

"Oh, no, no, no..." Mirella chanted breathlessly.

She heard a guttural growl. "Next time you bend over like this, Ms.A, make sure I'm not behind you, or it'll end up on National Geographic: When Predators Strike."

Mirella slowly straightened, pushing her reading glasses up the bridge of her nose and scowling at Remo Cavallaro as She took him in.

Sandy-black hair tied into a low, messy bun, indigo eyes, and the body of a male stripper. Seriously, the kid was so ripped, his guns were the size of fucking bowling balls. He was a walking, talking cliché of the prom king in a 90s movie. A baller who had every girl's attention at All Saints High...

And his eyes were now on her as he strode closer to his very smashed ride.

He wore a tight gray Henley shirt that made his biceps and pecs stand out, slim dark denim, and high-top shoes that looked so expensive and tasteless you just knew P Diddy had to be behind that design. He had a few bruises on his arms and a fading black eye. Mirella knew where he'd gotten them. Rumor was he and his stupid friends beat the shit out of each other on the weekends in a fight-club game they called Defy.

Guess Pretty Boy wasn't too rich to be pushed around. Mirella wondered if his mother knew about Defy.

Wait, did he ask her a question about her hamster? Or was it her hamstrings?

"Well, fuck me to the moon and back." He stopped a few inches from their cars, releasing a wicked grin. It looked like the two cars had melded together. Like his SUV was giving birth to her ugly car through its rear end, and now the SUV's significant other (Principal Cavallaro's Lexus) was demanding a paternity test.

Mirella taught Remo , and he was one of the few kids that She could count on not to yell/scream/throw crap at people in English Lit. He wasn't a good student by any stretch of the imagination, but he was too busy with his cell phone to make trouble in her class.

"Sorry." Mirella released a pained breath,her shoulders sagging in defeat.

He lifted the hem of his shirt and rubbed his perfect eight-packs, stretching lazily and yawning at the same time. "Seems to me like I fucked your car up, Ms. Alvarez."

Wait...what?

"You..." Mirella cleared her throat, looking around to make sure it wasn't a prank. "You fuck—I mean, you damaged my car?"

"Yeah. Bumped right into your ass. Pun intended, obvs." He kneeled down, frowning at the spot where our two vehicles met. He brushed his tan palm over the shiny paint of his SUV.

Remo made it sound like he was the one who'd crashed his car into her. Mirella had no idea why. He wasn't even in his car. He'd just walked up. Maybe he wanted to blackmail her?

Mirella considered herself a respectable teacher with a moral compass. But She also considered herself someone who would prefer not to bathe in the ocean and sleep in her car. That was exactly what Mirella would need to do to survive the financial blow if She admitted to being at blame for hitting his expensive car.

"Remo..." She sighed, clutching onto the gold anchor necklace hanging around her neck.

He shook his head and raised his hand in the air. "So I screwed up your ride. Shit happens. Let me make it up to you."

What. The. Heck?

Mirella didn't know what game he was playing. She just knew that he was probably better at it than she was. So, in true Mirella Alvarez fashion, She turned around and walked straight back to her car, essentially running away from the situation like the little pussy that She was.

"Whoa, not so fast." He chuckled as he grabbed her by the elbow and spun her around.

Mirella's eyes darted to his palm on her flesh. He lowered his hand, but it was too late. Butterflies somersaulted in her stomach, and her skin prickled with need. She was hot and bothered by one of her pupils.

Only Remo Cavallaro wasn't just any pupil. He was also a sex god.

There was gossip in the hallways of All Saints High to prove it, enough stories to compete with the length of the fucking Complete Works of Shakespeare. And that wasn't the only things that were long and impressive about the guy if the rumors were true.

Cavallaro made her almost as uncomfortable as his mother did. Only difference was his mom inspired fear in her, while he poked at her most sensitive spot. He made her feel embarrassed.

That could be because Mirella's eyes always drifted his way while She taught his Lit class. Like a moth to a flame, Mirella always noticed him, even when She didn't want to. She was worried he knew that too. That She was looking at him in a way She shouldn't be when he was dicking around, messing with his phone.

Not like a teacher.

But like a woman.

"I said I dented your car." His blue eyes shimmered with intensity.

Why was he doing this? And why the fuck did She care? This kid received more pocket money than Mirella had in all her savings combined. If he wanted to shoulder this, She should just accept.

Was it a better grade he was after? Doubted it. Remo was a senior on his way out the door. Mirella'd heard his rich ass had landed a spot at an excellent Texas university (see: Mommy Dearest), where he'd play football and probably fuck his way into some kind of a man-whore Guinness World Record.

"You did," She said, swallowing. "And right now, I'm running late. Please step out of my way."

They mentally shook hands on that lie, their eyes hard on one another. Mirelle had a feeling She was digging a hole. A hole in which She was about to dump a ton of dark shit that'd land her in hot trouble. Mirella was striking a deal with the devil's spawn. Even though She had a good eight years on him, She knew who he was.

One of the Four HotHoles.

A self-centered, privileged princeling who ruled this town.

Remo took another step her way, his body flush with her. His breath skated over her face. Mint gum, aftershave, and musky male sweat that made her oddly heady. Mirella was so unprepared for this that her face twitched.

She took a step back.

He took a step forward.

Bending his head down, he moved his lips close to hers. To her horror, her knees buckled, and Mirella knew exactly why.

"I owe you," he murmured darkly. "And I'll make sure you get to cash in on that debt. Soon. Very soon."

"I don't need your money," Mirella sputtered, her womb tingling with fuzzy warmth.

His mesmerizing eyes widened, and he flashed her a dimpled smirk. "It's not money I'm going to give you."

How could someone so young be so arrogant and self-assured? Mirella felt his thumb stroking her stomach, barely touching, teasing, making her quiver through the thin fabric of her dress. It was like he'd shoved his whole fist into her and attacked her mouth with his.

Mirella licked her lips and blinked, astonished.

Holy shit.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

Remo Cavallaro was hitting on her. Blatantly. In the parking lot. In plain sight.

Mirella wasn't a troll. She still had a dancer's body after all, blue eyes, a nice California tan, and Black hair with bangs. But Mirella didn't exactly give the cheerleading crowd a run for their money.

Tripping backward, Mirella swallowed a groan, feeling her pulse everywhere, eyelids included. "That's enough, Remo. Drive safely, and please be sure to do your homework for tomorrow," She had the audacity to say.

Mirella tucked herself back into her Ford, and then accidentally bumped her car into the Range Rover one more time before She fled the scene, smearing the ugly dent into a long, wide scratch. From the rearview mirror, She watched as he cocked his eyebrows at her in a challenge.

Mirella drove so fast She swore her hair transformed into a dramatic blow-out by the time She parked under her building.

At home, Mirella slouched on her couch in front of her phone and waited for Principal Cavallaro to call and tell her she was firing her ass and suing her for every single penny that She had. Or in Mirella case didn't have.

Long hours passed, but the call never came. Mirella crawled into bed and closed her eyes at ten p.m. but couldn't sleep to save her life. All She thought about was that gorgeous asshole, Remo Cavallaro.

How he smelled like the hottest guy She'd ever been near.

How he looked like the most delicious thing in the world when he rubbed his tan eight-packs.

How he helped her out of a shitty situation without flinching, knowing that his mother would probably crush her for this, and now...he wanted something back.

On paper, he was still a kid, but every other part of him felt like a man this afternoon.

It so defied logic, it was unnerving, almost infuriating when Mirella thought about it.

This morning, She'd woken up with the impression that She hated the Cavallaros.

But after this afternoon, there was no denying it—there was at least one Cavallaro She wanted to get very friendly with.