"Desiree!" Coach Blake booms from the front of the gym. My eyes slide over him, as I perch on the bleachers, and smile sardonically. His blue eyes are dark, almost onyx as he seethes at me with profound hatred.
"Would you like to share something with the class?" He crosses his muscular arms over his toned chest and quirks a brow at me. A smirk twitches on my lips as I take him in. His black hair is slightly gelled back - with an angular nose, sharp jaw, and plump pink lips- he's angelic.
He towers over most of us at 6'4 and his body is that of an athletic model. Too bad when he opens his mouth he ruins every fantasy.
"No, Sir. We were just discussing your intriguing lecture." I retort - sarcasm leaking from my voice.
"Is that so? Well then maybe you'd like to demonstrate a proper serve."
My smile falters, but I remain nonchalant. I shrug, and glance around the room, watching as everyone's eyes are on me. "I-"
"Get down here. Now."
Claire - my badminton partner, and the girl I've known since middle school - shoots me an apologetic smile. Why can't I just hold my tongue? He makes an effort every gym class to single me out. I clench my jaw and make my way towards the bottom.
He grips a racket tight, and thrusts it towards me. I scramble to grab the racket and glower at him. His eyes twinkle with something - mischief maybe?
"Take the stance, and then serve."
I retrieve the birdie off the ground and stand, with one leg forward and I throw it up and wack it with the racket. It descends about three feet into the air and plummets back to the ground.
"You've done it wrong!" He roars, before yanking the racket out of my hands. "To no surprise of mine." He mutters the last part and demonstrates, perfectly, how to serve.
"Now please disregard Desiree's demonstration. I wouldn't want you all to learn it the wrong way." I roll my eyes. I can't remember a time where he was ever nice in this past year. I thought maybe he'd be cooler because he's younger than most gym teachers - at the age of 24 - but I was mistaken.
"Get in your teams, and exercise!" He shouts, before scowling at me and then observing the rest of the class. Claire bounced over to me, her blonde hair cut in a bob, close to her head, and large brown eyes sparkling.
"That was pretty harsh today. Sorry, girl." She snickers. I shrug.
"Whatever helps him sleep at night - probably alone, with that fucking horrible personality." I mumble. She giggles and we get in form in front of the net in the middle of the gym.
"You serving?" She mocks, and sticks her tongue out at me. The one thing I love about her is how carefree she is.
"Sure," I laugh, waving the Birdie around in the air. "Let me show you all how it's done."
I cock my hip, and shoot a quick glance at Coach Blake. His eyes are hot on my back, almost onyx as he regards me.
I toss the birdie up and smack it with my racket, watching petrified as it leaves my hand and flies across the room.
"Shit!" I squeal, and slap my hands over my mouth.
"Desiree! Here! Now!" Coach hollered. I spun on my heel and saunter over to him, with my arms crossed over my chest.
"Look," he pulls me aside. "Watch your mouth in my class, understand?" I can't ignore his closeness. The smell of peppermint and cologne wafts from him like a thick aphrodisiac, and I find myself admiring how good he smells. What the hell is wrong with me? I shake my head slightly, dispersing my strange thoughts and blink a few times.