A/N: Thanks again for all the lovely reviews!!! You guys are fantastic, and I'm really trying to take into account what ya'll want to see happen next. I had a hard time moving along the plot with this chapter, so I'm not sure how often I'll being doing E POVs from here on out. And yes, you are noticing correctly, there is another new chapter after this one :D Please enjoy!

Disclaimer: All of these awesome characters belong to Charlaine Harris.

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Eric POV

As I prepared for my final class of the day, I reflected on how everything had gone so far. Most of the students seemed prepared to work once I made my expectations clear. Unfortunately, the girls' reactions to my appearance were obvious and predictable. I may come across as cocky or arrogant, but I've never felt the need to apologize for my good looks or act like they don't exist. As a result of my upbringing, I've always had a strong work ethic and I don't rely on my appearance to succeed in life, or even allow it to determine the direction of my life. I had chosen teaching as a career because I genuinely believed that education was invaluable, something no person could take from another. For me, it was the most fundamental means by which an individual could vastly improve the quality of their life.

And more importantly, the empty flattery and shallow opinions of these girls didn't really matter- they were based on something so completely and utterly superficial.

However, I did have an interesting encounter after I'd first entered the school. I'd sensed several pairs of eyes following me- nothing unusual there- but for some reason I'd felt compelled to look to my left. I caught a vivacious blonde girl staring at my ass. She was tan and gorgeous, and despite my disdain for judging someone based on appearances, I instinctively wanted her to see that I had noticed her blatant eye-fuck. As if she had read my mind, her blue-green eyes met mine. I couldn't help but smirk at her (okay, so maybe calling me arrogant isn't that far from the truth).

It came as a surprise, though, when she responded by blushing and averting her gaze.

Huh, I thought. In my experience, most women would attempt a sexy wink (they thought it was sexy, I always thought it looked cheesy as hell) or at least a smile- but not this girl. She studied the seat next to her as if it held the answer to the meaning of life, and was careful not to look up again. For some reason or another, she reminded me of that song, "Suzie Q." She just looked so...all-American and wholesome. She also seemed to have a sense of modesty, or at least the decency to feel embarrassed after I had caught her, which, after the last few months and everything that happened with Vivienne, was a refreshing change.

My conscience annoyingly made its presence known, reminding me that she was a student, that it was entirely unethical and wrong to feel even remotely attracted to her. I knew that even the smallest hint of impropriety could disrupt my entire career and future, and I resolved to forget about her.

Fortunately, Miss Suzie Q hadn't shown up in any of my classes and, since the school was so large, I assumed it was highly unlikely that she would be in my last class.

The bell rang and shook me out of my reverie. I headed to the faculty lounge to grab some papers from the copy machine and made it back just as the late bell sounded.

Almost immediately I spotted Suzie Q sitting practically in the front row. With her high blonde ponytail, pale yellow cardigan, and voluminous yellow and white floral-print skirt, she looked out of place without a string of pearls or maybe an apple pie. I saw her eyes widen once she noticed me, and I realized uncomfortably that I was becoming increasingly attracted to this gorgeous young woman. I distracted myself by writing my name on the chalkboard.

As I made my introduction to the class, I couldn't resist another tiny smirk at her. It made more sense to keep her at a disadvantage, I told myself, so she wouldn't realize that I was entertaining some very illicit thoughts about her. After grabbing the attendance sheet, I briefly scrolled through it when one name in particular popped out: Susannah Stackhouse. No way, I thought incredulously, there is no way that Suzie Q might actually have that name.

But of course there was. My surprise at her unusual nickname quickly turned to amusement at her cinnamon-roll revelation. My half-hearted plan to disarm her fell to the wayside. I was struck by a desire, a need to know more about this unconventional girl who looked like she had just walked out of an episode of Mad Men, who blushed at the slightest provocation and who, God forbid, actually enjoyed carbs and sweets. I didn't mean to startle her with my response, or to stare at her for so long, but by the time I called on the next person, she was blushing furiously and biting her lower lip.

I was so tempted to offer to do that for her, but instead I gave myself a mini-pep talk that went something like: for chrissake, Northman, get your shit together.

Eventually, the period ended and I was saved from having to explain exactly why I was in Bon Temps, Louisiana. Thank God, because there really wasn't any appropriate way to say, "Well, after I walked in on my wife fucking our mailman, I divorced her and left town. With only two weeks of summer left, Bon Temps was the only school district hiring, so here I am. Okay, and don't forget to go over that Chapter One vocabulary!"

Not only would it fan the flames of gossip in a town where I wanted to start fresh, but it was all so very clichéd. (Much like a high school teacher finding one of his students attractive, and considering risking everything for one chance to bend her over his desk and take her from behind...Jesus, I had to stop thinking about her like that.)

I noticed quite a few of the girls hanging around and I thought that I might help them move along if I left the room and visited with the teacher next door for a moment. I chuckled to myself as a veritable stampede followed me out. After speaking briefly with Ms. Pam Ravenscroft, who I was quickly discovering to be quite the character, I went back to my room.

Shit.

Sookie was still there, squatting down with her knees bent to the side in a surprisingly ladylike pose. She seemed to be picking up some papers on the floor. I instinctively moved to help her but froze once I saw that she had drawn our initials together in a heart on a scrap of paper.

To add in salt to the injury (or whatever they say), after she grabbed it from me, she appeared to be staring at something on my hand. Fuck, fuck, fuckity-fuck. My wedding ring. Why I was still wearing the damn thing was beyond me. Damn Vivienne for fucking everything up even when she wasn't here. I was certain that Sookie thought I should be up for the Asshole of the Year Award- not only did I flirt with her as a teacher, but (in her mind) as a married man.

She rose and moved so quickly that I barely had time to stand and no time at all to get out of her way. As her hip brushed against me on her way out, I felt my dick harden instantly and I stiffened the rest of my body, praying to every deity I knew that she hadn't felt my body's response to her proximity. She mumbled something as she passed, but I couldn't concentrate on anything except for the delicious scent of her soft hair (was that vanilla? lavender?). God, I was so close to reaching out for her. Instead, I let her leave and watched for a moment as she subtly and unconsciously sashayed her hips down the hallway.

This was going to be a long year.

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So what do you think? Does it sound like Eric- or rather, "Mr. Northman?"

Coming up: Deliciously tart citrus- in the school!! Zoinkees :D