Page 29 of Can’t Say No

By third period, I’ve worked myself up enough that I’m about to send a string of nasty texts to my entire management team when Connor bursts through the choir room door.

His blue dress shirt, crisp and clean when he picked me up this morning, is rumpled and rolled up past his elbows. There’s a soft sheen of sweat across his forehead and a smudge of dirt streaked across his cheek. Instead of his loafers, the tips of his work boots peek out beneath his brown slacks.

Teacher Connor is undeniably hot.

But this version of Connor? Fresh off the orchard from doing manual labor?

Holy shit.

I make my way across the room towards him.

His rough hand wraps around my bare upper arm as he pulls me into the hallway. The point of contact sends a shiver through me.

“What’s wrong?”

I blink up at him, throat suddenly going dry as I take in the concern etched across his features. His brown eyes are wide and that smudge of dirt is even more manly up close. His body language screams protector, and I find it far more attractive than I care to admit.

He gives my arm a squeeze, trying again.

“Delaney, what’s so urgent that you triple-texted me? I was in the middle of fixing our freakin’ ancient forklift.”

The irritation in his voice snaps me out of my stupor.

“Oh.” I shrug like I wasn’t being a pain in the ass via text a few hours earlier. “We need to take some selfies to post. Matty was bugging me about this morning. And you went MIA when I needed you.”

I cross my arms, shaking free of his grasp, and do my best to pin him with my glare.

Now it’s his turn to blink in silence. Aggravation, worry, and exhaustion battle it out in his eyes. After a beat, he huffs out a sigh, concern winning.

“Okay yeah. Of course.” He softens “Whatever you need.”

His willingness to help me does something funny to my already racing heart, but I shove those feelings to the side, the words contractually obligated flashing in my mind.

The bell rings and the still hallway thunders to life with students scurrying to their next class.

“I gotta go relieve my sub, but come down to my office at the next bell. We’ll take whatever pictures you need.”

Connor turns to go, but I catch his arm, holding him in place.

Wordlessly, I swipe my thumb across the spot of dirt on his cheek.

His eyes track mine as I slowly clean it away. His skin is rough, stubble threatening to make an appearance, but warm and inviting in a way that makes me want to linger.

His gaze drops to my lips and the slight change in pressure against my hand tells me he’s not ready for this moment to end either.

“Lanie,” he grinds out, voice low and heated, leaning just a little more into my touch.

“Ahem.” Mrs. Crane clears her throat loudly from the doorway and we both jerk away from each other. “Miss James, Mr. Majors, this is not the time for canoodling.”

Teenage laugher ripples around us as we both mumble an apology, suddenly aware of our audience. Connor gives me a nod before disappearing into the bustling hallway.

Mrs. Crane continues her scolding as I dutifully follow her back into the choir room, but my brain doesn’t process a single word. I’m too focused on whatever the hell just happened between me and Connor.

There’s years of hurt simmering below the surface, but there’s also years of history there too. And for the first time, I can almost picture years to come.

That possibility scares me senseless.

“I need to really hear the altos during this movement!”