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“These go on the non-allergen-free, non-special diet table.” She pulls me toward a table on the far side of the auditorium.
“How about we call it the real desserts-slash-I don’t give a fuck table,” I mutter.
“Oh my god, have I told you lately that I love…your sense of humor. I mean, allergies are real, Vince. I have a mini fridge full of EpiPens for my students to prove it.”
“I wasn’t being funny, but OK.” She sets my plate of cookies down on the newly christened IDGAF table and displays it like it’s the Crown Jewels.
I shrug. “Not a big deal.”
She puts a hand on my shoulder again and shakes her head. I have to control the frustrated rumble at the back of my throat; I want to rip off these clothes and feel the warmth of her hand against my bare chest. “No, you’re a genius. These are amazing. And you tried. And you’re here. That’s all that matters. I appreciate you coming, so much, you have no idea. I need…we…er, Greenbridge…needs more parents like you.”
Goddamn. When she looks at me like that, my heart revs hard like a drag racer at a red light. Usually my heart does very little other than warn me to go easy on the chips.
And is she … is she wearing glitter around her eyes? And … in her hair? I can’t believe this fussy school lets her walk around like that. She’s adorable and it’s all I can do to keep from laughing. But I don’t want her to think I’m laughing at her. I feel twenty pounds lighter when she’s around.
She claps her hands together idly. “Well, take a look around and see if anything tickles your fancy. I know you have a sweet tooth, so…”
I can only think of one response to that, but now is not the time to tell her she’s got the only fancy I want to tickle.
When I look around, I see one table piled high with some pretty amazing shit. Baking competition-level shit, like a three-tiered cake shaped like a slightly haphazard stack of books and topped with the Greenbridge logo in gold.
“Nobody told me it was going to be this hoity-toity.”
Jewel shakes her head as she grasps me by the arm and drags me over to the ornate table. “No, this is Mallory’s table. She is the Bake Sale Queen. She’s our juggernaut. Trained at Le Cordon Bleu, has her own bakery in town. Let’s go look; she’s amazing.”
It’s all nice to look at but doesn’t look like anything I’d want to eat. An impossibly shiny layer cake with marbled designs might look impressive, but I don’t want to eat anything covered in icing that reminds me of a brand new bowling ball. Small, square cakes appear to be topped in real gold, which couldn’t possibly be edible. Wafer-thin cookies shaped like Pringles look interesting.
I nod at Mallory and hand over more money than I would like to for some square pastel mini-cakes that Jewel is drooling over. She holds it up to me. “Oh thank you. You didn’t have to…oh, but thank you. Smell that. Madagascar vanilla. And just look at it. Isn’t it gorgeous?”
The dainty cake in her hand does smell pretty good, not that I know the difference between one kind of vanilla and another. The one and only tasty treat in this auditorium that I’m interested in sampling is Jewel and those tempting, full lips of hers.
“Pales in comparison,” I say quietly, yet not giving a fuck who hears me.
Her eyes flutter open. “In comparison to what…the mirror glaze?”
There she goes, pushing me to use more words. I’m going to have to take drastic measures.
So I pull a dirty trick.
“I need to talk to you about Max.”
Finally, I have her attention.
It’s a very dirty trick.
I know. And I truly do not care.
“Oh! OK. Let’s go to my classroom, then.”
She grabs my hand to lead me as if I don’t know the way.
As if I could not find it by her scent and trail of glitter alone.
15
Jewel
I let Vince walk in ahead of me before closing my classroom door and locking it.
