“Yeah,” I exhale. “Exactly.”
She sets her cup down, taking on a gentle tone. “It’s notyou, you know.”
“I know, but I still hoped today would go differently.”
“Of course you did.” She pauses. “First real class?”
I nod.
“You’re gonna be fine. Better than fine, actually. Hell, if you made it through your first Monday without crying in the bathroom, you’re already ahead of where I was.”
And hey,” Layla leans in, “Football guys aren’t all bad, y’know? Coach Wesley’s a good guy, and if they keep giving you a hard time, he’ll handle it.”
I ignore the flutter in my chest at the mention of Nate.
“I met him last week,” I say, not exactly the truth, but no one needs to know that. “He seemed nice.”
“Oh, he is.” She smirks, “Good in the sack too.”
I open my mouth and then close it again, trying to find the right words to ask the hundreds of questions suddenly going through my brain at that revelation.
“Are you and Coach Wesley…?”
“God no. Ew.” She holds her hand out, showing me averynice ring. “That’s what the word is around town. I’mhappilymarried.”
I ignore the sudden wave of relief I feel at the knowledge that they’re not dating.
“He seems sweet.”
Layla’s expression turns curious. “You like him?”
I choke on my tea. “What? No! I mean… no. How could I? I just met him.”
“Mhm.” She doesn’t press, but a knowing look that I don’t like stays on her face.
“I’m glad I met you,” I say, hoping to change the subject. “I was starting to wonder if I made a mistake taking this job.”
“You didn’t.” Her voice is firm. “You belong here, Iris. And if anyone makes you feel like you don’t, you send them to me.”
I look at her, surprised by the sincerity in her tone. “Thanks, Layla.”
“That’s what work wives are for,” she says with a giggle, and I can’t help but join in.
Nate
Shoving through the door to the teacher’s lounge, I head straight for the coffee pot after an intense round of dodgeball with my sophomores that somehow ended up with me joining in and kicking all their asses.
My shirt’s still sticking to my back, and I’m hoping the caffeine will get me through the last class of the day.
I stop at the sound of laughter.
I recognize Layla, loud, carefree, but the other one is more hushed.
Like someone who doesn’t laugh out loud very often.
“Talkin’ ‘bout me, ladies?” I ask, strolling toward the coffee pot.
“Oh yeah,” Layla says, without missing a beat. “We were just talking about how good your ass looks in those jeans.”
