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He held her gaze, causing her body temperature to ratchet up to volcanic levels.
“Interesting,” he finally said. “But I still don’t get the two of you. You’re not his usual type.”
What the hell was that supposed to mean? “Oh? And what do you do that’s so great?”
“I teach fourth grade.”
Right.
Ethan had been easy to find online but wasn’t nearly as showy as Nick. His posts focused solely on his work and revealed a man who was a dedicated elementary teacher and could fashion an impressive variety of balloon animals. Weird flex, but looking at his hands now— broad palms, strong fingers…
Indy snapped her attention back up to his face.
“Hmm.”
That damn hum, combined with a knowing grin, was too much. She turned her back and took a deep breath as a bead of sweat trickled down her spine.
When she turned back, he wore a barely hidden smile. It made her feel like a fly caught in a web, being eyed by a sexy-ass spider who was convincing her that she wanted to be eaten.
Fuck.
She might.
August would smile like that. Mysterious, with a hint of mischief. Riley wouldn’t know what hit her.
“Are you always this rude to Nick’s girlfriends?”
“You’re the one who hasn’t introduced herself, Snoopy.”
The endearment stole the air from her lungs. A lucky guess on his part, but even knowing that didn’t dull the way it lit her up inside. It would help if his voice wasn’t so deep.
“Indy O’Neall,” she said.
A nod. “Nice to finally meet you.”
She didn’t realize her mistake until her hand slid into his, warm and encompassing, sending her mind tripping over itself.
Oh.
Of course she’d noticed his broad palms and long fingers and veins calling out to her. If she didn’t already know his profession, she would have sworn he worked with his hands.
She couldn’t tear her eyes from his lips. When he smiled, a tooth with a jagged edge was revealed. A tiny imperfection.
Like hidden treasure.
Here was a guy who could bench press her without breaking a sweat and who spoke like he knew what she was thinking (and got it right an annoying number of times). He was the wet dream other wet dreams had.
And underneath all of that was one uneven tooth.
She desperately wanted to run her tongue over it.
“What are you doing here, anyway? Shouldn’t you be at school?”
“It’s Saturday,” he answered, amused.
“Oh.” Shoot.
He rubbed his temples, working his jaw without speaking. There was something he wasn’t saying. Honestly, she was still trying to reconcile the man before her with a teacher.
