Sydney: Back to these toes… Holly, will you paint mine? I can’t reach my toes
Brynleigh: Colin won’t paint them for you?
Sydney: I already had to ask for his help shaving… plus… I don’t think he’ll paint them like you guys can
Ava: Hahahahaha
Jane: *snickering emoji with hand covering mouth
Brynleigh: If she won’t paint em, I will
Me: I got you, boo
Sydney: You guys are the best
Jane: So, how did the matchmaking ensue?
I roll my eyes.
Brynleigh: It most definitely was not in vain
Me: *sigh…
Brynleigh: See? She’s painting her toes the color of his eyes!
Chapter 8
Holly
Two Fridays later, I’m tapping my red pen on a stack of spelling tests and staring at the clock. I had to text the girls and tell them that I have to wait until my student gets done with his detention. I was one unhappy camper when the lunch aid came in and said she’d served a detention slip. It’s almost four. Just twenty-five more minutes.
Buzz.
Brynleigh: Hey, where’s your bag at?
Me: Why?
Brynleigh: I’m in your house grabbing your shit to load in the car, lol
Me: Ha, just made yourself at home huh?
Brynleigh: Jane’s coming in for your keys. One of us will swing back by to come get you. What are you wearing?
Me: It’s casual Friday, so jeans, sneakers, and a cute top
Brynleigh: Perfect. Got a jacket packed?
Me: Yes…
Jane peeks in my classroom door and holds out her hand silently. I toss them to her, and she catches them with no problem.
“See you in a bit!” she whisper-shouts, and I wave in acknowledgement.
When the time is up, I’m all but ready to run out the door. I don’t have to wait long for my student to grab his bag and slip quickly outside. Walking down the mostly abandoned hallway, I peer into a classroom and wave goodbye to Summer, one of my favorite junior high math teachers, before reaching the lobby of our school. Pulling out my phone, I look to see if one of the girls messaged to say which one of them was swinging by to grab me. When I put my hip into it and push through the front door, the sight in front of me stops me dead in my tracks.
My eyes travel up the boots, jeans, belt, and semi-loose white tee that snugly hugs a very nice set of biceps. Ink teases underneath the hem of his left side. My eyes continue their trek across the hard planes of a broad chest before they land in the reflection of a pair of aviators. A slow smile creeps across his lips as he casually leans back against his motorcycle, one leg crossed over the other. He is stunning. Then I remember that I don’t fully trust this man yet.Inner me rolls her eyes.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, but in my gut, I already know the answer.
