Pretty Hot (The Pretty Trilogy Book 1) Read Online Free

the classroom, I love a man in French cuffed shirts. I suppose he could be their principal though he looks a bit on the young side, and surely a principal wouldn’t flirt with staff? Yeah, like that’s never happened. Maybe he’s a parent here for a teacher conference. Eww , I hope not. There’s nothing worse than a pervy dad.
    Strange, though it is after hours, so there are no cultural issues to address; a lone man wandering around the campus should be okay. Men arriving at Al Mishael during school hours are announced over the P.A. system before they’re allowed into the building, giving staff practicing the dress code of hijab the opportunity to cover. I’ve learnt a lot this week, things I’d never considered before. Like how some Muslim women cover, in varying degrees, their hair and their bodies when outside the home. At first it seemed odd but I suppose early Christian women did it, and to a certain extent, nuns still do.
    Still, the first time “men on campus” was announced over the air, I had to swallow the bubbling urge to shout woot! The announcement was so surreal, it seemed like a valid response. Somehow, I don’t think my colleagues would’ve seen the funny side.
    I’m learning fast, but this was the first real conversation I’ve had with a man since arriving in Dubai, if I discount the frequentlyodd conversations I’ve had during my daily taxi rides. This morning’s was a classic, culminating in me very firmly informing the driver—Ronald, let’s call him, in honour of his bright orange hair—that my very good self was indeed having a boyfriend and not interested in attending the parties and the discos on his arm.
    I’ve never been into gingers, especially not the badly hennaed ones.
    But maybe I’m reading way too much into my conversation with this gorgeous man. Had I imagined the stranger’s innuendo? I certainly enjoyed it, despite my best attempts, but I think I read the nuances just fine. Maybe he’s like that with all the girls. But all the girls in a conservative school?
    Ridiculous. I’m behaving like a schoolgirl myself, having been dazzled by a man so hot he’d melt the undies right off any girl’s butt.
    Enough! I need to remember why I’ve taken this job, maybe even re-read a few chapters of that awful self-help book. Look for the chapter on getting your head and cooch to achieve some kind of simpatico. I’d best reacquaint myself.
    Grabbing my bag, I head to the exit.
    There was definitely something about him, though, something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.
    Oh, but I think you’d like to, sings a small voice in my head.
     

Chapter Three
    ‘I know a guy who lives in this building.’
    Niamh pushes oversized sunglasses onto her head as we step into the foyer, resplendent with cream tiles and gold accents, but more importantly, fabulously cool after the oppressive heat outside.
    ‘Lives with his roommate in a two bedder.’ Her toes are dangerously close to my unruly trolley-case as she holds the door open, moving adroitly to one side.
    ‘Is he a teacher?’ I ask, pocketing my own sunnies.
    ‘Nah, building surveyor or something like that. Quite fit, mind, and I saw him first.’ As we enter the elevator, she brings out her phone, tapping the screen.
    ‘Niamh, pay attention.’ I say this like I’m talking to a grade two kid. ‘I’m off men and I really can’t be arsed to keep repeating myself. Not interested, not looking and not at my best, see?’ I hold an index finger in the direction of my hair, the humidity giving it twice its usual volume, and not in a good way. It’s an affliction I avoid acknowledging in the elevators mirrored walls.
    ‘Erm, hello? Babetown,’ Niamh replies, grabbing the waistband of my Capri pants. ‘Population: You.’
    An apartment is part of my employment package, and I’ve been housed in a building a few blocks from a mall so large it even has a ski slope inside. Skiing and shopping in the desert does seem just a little