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“Oh, yeah. A little over the top, right?” I comment with an uncomfortable chuckle, dropping the note into my top desk drawer.
“It depends if you like that sort of thing,” he says as he approaches me. It’s the first time I notice he’s carrying a paper coffee cup and a bag. A white bag. “I stopped at that place you were raving about, and thought I’d grab you one of those fancy coffee drinks and a poppy seed muffin,” he adds, extending his hand to me.
My mind instantly recalls Sawyer asking me if there was anything I didn’t like. Bran and poppy seed muffins. He was considerate like that.
Pushing thoughts of Sawyer far from my mind, I reach for the bag. “Oh, thank you.”
“I see you already have a coffee though. Now you have two,” he says with his own uncomfortable chuckle. “And those,” he adds, pointing to the vase. “Are they from…Sawyer?”
Shaking my head, I reply, “Oh, no. They’re from–” thinking, thinking, I should tell him who they’re from, but instead I say quickly, “a friend.”
Stupid, right? Now I look like I’m the conductor of the whore train heading straight to Slutsville. One guy warming my bed on the weekend and another apparently sending me flowers just a few short days later.
“Oh, I just assumed. I heard you went to the game with him Friday night.”
“He just met me there. He’s still meeting people and I offered to introduce him around. What better way to get to know the town than at a Friday night game, right?”
“True.” He seems to be really considering his next words carefully. “So, I was hoping I could steal a bit of your time for some help.”
“What kinda help?”
“Well, I’m still getting used to all these new regulations on lesson plans, and I really think it would be beneficial to both of us if we worked together. You know, since we teach the same subjects and students go from my class to yours, I think we should make sure our plans match.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“Maybe we can meet at that little Mexican joint uptown? They have great tacos and it’s usually pretty quiet. We could probably go over quite a bit,” he says with eager and hopeful eyes.
I mean it makes sense. Mrs. Cornell, who retired at the end of last year, and I had a great working relationship and often bounced ideas and new techniques off each other. We even would meet for coffee at the café in the evenings. The fact that Bryce is suggesting the same shouldn’t surprise me.
Yet, it feels different. Personal. Intimate.
And I can’t have that.
“Actually, what if we met at the café right after school? I have plans for dinner with my grandparents.” The little white lie flows easily from my mouth. I should feel guilty, but at this moment, I just can’t muster it. I know the uncomfortable conversation with him about a date is coming, but I’m just not in the mood to deal with it right now.
“That would be great,” he replies eagerly.
Before he can offer to pick me up or drive me there from school, I add, “I can meet you there, if that works. Say four? That gives me a little time to help any students who stop by after school.”
“Good idea,” he says, nodding quickly. “Four o’clock.”
“Great.”
“What happens at four o’clock?” The sound of his voice makes my entire body shiver. Dammit.
“We’re going to the café,” Bryce boasts proudly before I can reply.
When I turn around, I swear this man takes my breath away every single time I see him. And why would it be any different now? Just because I want to not feel a damn thing for him doesn’t mean my traitorous body doesn’t respond anyway. Stupid almost-thirty-year-old body. Here I thought my biggest issue would be saggy boobs and extra weight to my ass when I look at cheese fries.
“To go over our lesson plans,” I quickly add when it was left hanging after Bryce’s answer. Now, the tension is so thick it feels like a swinging battle-ax wouldn’t even slice through the choking haze.
“Ahh,” Sawyer says, stepping into my classroom.
He’s hypnotizing as he walks toward me. When he’s within touching distance, his scent wraps around me like a warm blanket, comforting and familiar. Beautiful blue eyes hold my gaze as he sets something on my desk. Glancing down, I can’t help but chuckle.
“I grabbed you a latte on my way in, but I didn’t realize you’d already be covered,” Sawyer says, nodding at not one, but two coffee cups on my desk. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes as he sets the white paper bag on my desk. “Cherry Danish,” he answers my unspoken question.
And because my body is traitorous (we’ve been over this, remember?), my stomach growls. Loudly.
