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Chapter Four
Sawyer
She’s here.
The woman from the bar. She’s sitting next to me in the teachers’ lounge on the first day of my new career. That can only mean one thing. I almost slept with a coworker.
Of course, at the time, she wasn’t a coworker. I was here merely for the interview–for a job I thankfully received.
Leaving her in my bed that morning was the hardest thing I had ever done. She looked like a goddess, brown hair fanned out on the pillow, and pert little mouth slightly agape. Okay, so maybe it was more like wide open, with a soft snore slipping from her throat, but whatever. She was cute as hell, and it did a number on me.
Unfortunately, when I returned from my interview, she was gone. The damn thing took longer than anticipated as the principal took me on an extended tour of the school and wanted to talk baseball. When I finally got free and could get back to my hotel room, I was disappointed to find the bedding slightly rumpled and the room empty.
She was gone without so much as a trace left behind.
And now here she is. Sitting right next to me, cute little reading glasses perched on her nose. She looks just as gorgeous as I remember. Her hair hangs loose around her shoulders, free and begging for my fingers. Her green eyes are the color of emeralds, sparkling and bright. Her mouth gapes open, plump and ripe for my own lips. She’s a wet dream, and for the past month, she’s been mine.
“AJ.” Just saying her name, even after a month, is already causing all of my blood to rush south.
“Sawyer.” My name on her lips comes out a croak. It also makes my dick twitch in my pants.
“Welcome back, everyone. We have a lot to cover today, including the introduction of a couple new teachers. Let’s go around the room and introduce ourselves. Name and what subject you teach,” Mr. Stewart directs, filling up his own coffee cup.
I listen as we go around the room, each new coworker sharing a name that I won’t remember today. Finally, we get to the woman sitting next to me. It should be embarrassing how quickly my heart rate escalates in anticipation. I also hold my breath.
“AJ Summer, eighth grade math.”
That’s all she says, but the words go straight to my cock. I glance her way, unprepared for the reaction my body has to hearing her voice. She stares straight ahead so I take the opportunity to study her features, refreshing my memory of how delicate each curve and feature of her face is while she sleeps. She has no idea that I stayed up for hours that night watching her sleep.
Creepy? Probably.
But I don’t give a shit. I felt something the moment my eyes connected with hers back in July. The moment she feels my eyes on her now, she turns my way. Electricity sparks between us, alive and powerful. Her hypnotic green eyes search mine, for what, I’m not sure. But I can tell the moment she seems to recall our previous meeting.
“Sawyer Randall, PE,” I state without removing my eyes from my neighbor.
AJ blushes a pretty shade of pink that spreads from her neck down and disappears into the collar of her flowy purple tank top. My own flashbacks assault me, one right after the other. The connection. The invitation. The car ride.
The kiss.
My God, I relived that fucking kiss like some lovesick loser for weeks. Hell, I’m still enjoying the instant replays. Her lips were soft and urgent, her taste as sweet as sin. I was instantly hooked, craving more.
But then she turned that weird shade of green. I had a split second to move her to the bushes before she puked all over the place, including my shoes. Thank God I’ve always had a strong stomach because as soon as she was done, the fight and every ounce of energy she possessed just seeped from her small body.
Carrying her up to my room felt a little too good. Almost like I was carrying her over the threshold.
Wait.
What?
No. No threshold. No romance or relationship.
Sex. That’s what that was.
Well, almost sex…
And now here she is, sitting beside me and trying to pretend like I didn’t watch her vomit alcohol like a college co-ed after her first kegger. Well, too bad, AJ Summer, eighth grade math teacher. I don’t forget. I’m not going to forget. Not the way she felt in my arms and definitely not the way her lips tasted.
The problem is…what do I do about it?
