I haven't met either of Clover's parents or whoever picks her up, and they haven't complained about anything I've said to her that might not be age-appropriate. Which means she mustn't be a nark—another reason she's cooler than most kids.
There aretwenty minutes left of class, which means friends and family members have started showing up for the presentations. Not everyone invited a guest, but those who did waited out in the hallway to greet them before bringing them inside to show off their paintings. Of course,everyone is gushing over the work, even though most of it looks like a child could have painted it.
Speaking of children, Clover's guest still hasn't shown up, so I should probably go check on her. Right now, she's staring at the door and checking her phone every five seconds. God, I'll feel so bad if no one comes. I know she's been so excited about her work, as she should be. She's obnoxiously talented for her age, and she knows it.
"Hey girl!" How do I word this in a way that won't make her cry if no one comes? "Who's picking you up today?"
Her phone buzzes, and she jumps off her stool so fast that I reach my arms out to catch her in case she stumbles.
"Whoa! Careful there."
"He's here!" She runs out of my hands to the door, letting her phone crash onto the floor behind her without her even noticing.
I bend down to pick it up and follow her out into the hallway.
"Hey, goofball, you dropped this."
She stands just outside the classroom door. Her little body is buzzing with so much excitement she can't even stand still. She's shifting her weight from one leg to the other like she's going to pee her pants. I slip the phone into the pocket of her overalls, where she usually stashes it. Only then does she look up and acknowledge my presence.
"Thanks."
A few seconds pass before I hear a set of heavy boots clicking against the tiled hallway. Clover bolts before the person even rounds the corner. I hope that's her parent and not some pedophile that's about to kidnap her.
Clover squeals, and my heart stops for a moment until I hear her start laughing and a deep voice mumbling something I can't quite make out. It must be her dad.
As they round the corner, my heart stops again, but for anentirelydifferent reason this time.
WHAT.THE. ACTUAL. FUCK.
I clench my jaw shut,fighting the urge to let it hang to the ground and give away the fact that I'm shocked beyond belief.
Standing before me is the man who fucked my brains out two weeks ago. The one I've been ignoring ever since because I don't know how to process my feelings like a normal adult.
My heart flutters. I never used to get what people meant when they said that. I thought they just felt joyous or excited. No. I actually feel the muscles that span across my chest contract in an unfamiliar pattern. It makes me panic, thinking I'm having a heart attack at the ripe age of 24.
Clover wiggles out of his arms, and he sets her down on the floor. He's been too focused on hisdaughterthat he hasn't noticed me yet. I mean, he could just be her uncle.
"Dad! This is my teacher. Now her name is kind of silly, so don't laugh. It's?—"
"Blake." His eyes meet mine, and his face goes slack, jaw hanging open slightly.
"Is that your name? I thought it was just B."
I have to fight to pull my eyes away from him and look down at Clover. Her face is scrunched in confusion.
"Blake is my last name. B is what people aresupposedto call me."
My heart is pounding out of my chest, and my brain isflooded with a million thoughts that I'm struggling to process.
He has akid?
Is he going to tell her we know each other?
I have to spend the next twenty minutes pretending this man didn't have his beautiful cock shoved down my throat the last time we saw each other.
Is he freaking out as much as I am right now? I can't tell.
Holy fucking shit.Holy fucking shit.
