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I wish my body didn’t react that way. I wish I could hear a loud engine and not think of Mac. I wish I didn’t still miss him.
I’m not supposed to miss him. I’m supposed to be a strong, independent woman who don’t need no man. I’m supposed to be avoiding dessert for a while. I’m on a no-man diet. Main course only.
Hamish comes into view with Margaret on the back of his bike. She waves at me as they come to a stop in front of the café, and I hike my laptop bag strap higher on my shoulder before giving her a quick hug.
“You look like you belong on that thing, Margaret.” I nod to the bike.
Hamish gives a grunt of approval. “She’s a natural.”
Margaret laughs, smooths down her helmet hair, and gives Hamish a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks for the ride.” She winks, then heads inside the café.
Hamish, still seated on his bike, shakes his head. “That woman makes me feel young again.”
“You guys are good together,” I say, and I mean it. Smiling and inhaling to say my goodbyes, I stop when Hamish speaks first.
“You haven’t been spending any time with Mac.”
It’s not a question, so I wait for a beat, then finally shake my head. “No.”
“He was happier when he was with you.”
Damn it. My heart gives a sharp tug, and it’s hard to hide the pain in my face.
But it’s the same story all over again, isn’t it? He was happier. I should change my life around because it was better for Mac. When is it my turn to be happier? When do my needs start taking priority?
I let out a sigh and give Hamish my best smile. “Maybe, but it wasn’t meant to be. See you later.”
The old man says nothing as I walk away, and I’m grateful.
CHAPTER 31
Mac
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t count the days until the first parent-teacher interview I have with Trina. The first one is a couple of weeks after the soccer ball incident, and I spend the minutes before our scheduled time together combing back my hair, fidgeting with my shirt, pacing my classroom.
I haven’t seen her since the day I hit her in the face with a soccer ball—since the evening she made it clear she saw me as nothing more than a rebound, and might even be getting back with her ex.
Then Trina walks in, and all the breath leaves my lungs.
For weeks since the start of the school year, I’ve thought of the way she felt to kiss, to touch. It’s been one long cycle of torturing myself with thoughts of her, then torturing myself with guilt for it. Weeks and weeks of my dreams offering up visions of Trina naked and splayed for me, waking up with my cock a steel bar begging to be attended to. And after the attending was done, self-flagellation for being weak, for giving in. Two long months of trying to remember the taste of her, wishing I’d had more than two stolen moments with her.
And the past two weeks?
They’ve been even worse, because I know I lost my chance. When it comes down to it, Trina doesn’t want me. She made that abundantly clear last time we saw each other.
She’s wearing painted-on jeans, a tight white top with a lacy neckline, and a deep-blue blazer. I want to peel those clothes off her body, one item at a time, and kiss every inch of creamy skin that I reveal. I want to lock the door and take my time with her. I want to throw out every conviction I’ve ever had about propriety and professionalism.
Even after the soccer ball incident, I can’t help the way my body reacts to her.
But she walked away. First she came to my house, told me our hook-ups were fun, but that she didn’t want to see me again. Then when I was ready to throw all my inhibitions away, she’d already chosen her ex-husband.
I gesture to the two adult-sized chairs I’ve placed near a too-small desk. “Hi, Trina. Come in.”
She smiles at me, and it’s like the sun breaking through the clouds after a long, grey winter. My heart seizes, and I stumble over a wrinkle in the carpet. Catching myself before I fall, I take a seat and shuffle the papers I’ve prepared on Katie.
Trina has sexy, heeled, ankle-high boots on, and she sways those perfect hips over to her chair. She’s all grace and control as she sits down, folding her hands over her lap like she was bred to sit at expensive fundraisers talking to senators and CEOs. She lets out a little huff and shakes her head. “I always get nervous at these things. I feel like I’m in trouble.” She nods to the door and gives me a little smile. “My son’s teacher just told me that he’s ‘extremely bright but struggles with being disruptive.’ Hearing that felt like I was doing something wrong.” She laughs nervously, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Well, I have only good things to say about Katie.”
