Page 14 of My Single Dad Biker

Someone is watching.

I finish the phrase and turn around.

Holt is standing in my doorway.

He's wearing jeans and boots and a dark grey t-shirt that makes it very clear he has broad shoulders and a solid chest and arms that could probably lift me without effort. His hair is slightly damp like he just showered. He's holding Louis's backpack in one hand.

I stand up from the bench and my heart is suddenly racing. "Hi."

"Hi."

"Is Louis okay?"

"He's fine. He left his backpack in my truck last night. Thought I'd bring it before he gets here."

"Oh. That's thoughtful."

"Also wanted to see you."

The honesty of it catches me off guard. "Oh."

We look at each other. He's in the doorway. I'm by the piano. There's maybe fifteen feet between us but it feels like less.

"You're here early," he says.

"I couldn't sleep."

"Neither could I."

The way he says it makes it clear we couldn't sleep for the same reason. The air in the room changes.

His gaze moves over me and I feel it like a touch, the way his eyes drop to my hips before coming back to my face.

"You play well," he says.

"I'm rusty."

"Didn't sound rusty."

He steps into the classroom and sets Louis's backpack on a desk. Then he walks toward me and I hold very still.

He stops three feet away, close enough that I can see the scar through his eyebrow and the fact that his jaw is tight like he's deciding something.

"I've been thinking about you," he says.

My throat is dry. "I've been thinking about you too."

"This is complicated."

"I know."

"You're Louis's teacher."

"I know."

"And I can't promise being near me is safe."

"I know that too."