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Standing, I swing my backpack over my shoulder and walk toward her. She doesn’t look up; her laptop is open along with other notebooks. She’s typing and glancing at papers to her left.
Clearing my throat, I stop at her desk and tap my finger on her stack of papers.
“Hey,” I say softly.
She taps on the keyboard, then picks up one of the papers from the pile. More tapping as she keeps working instead of acknowledging me.
I cough loudly and knock on her desk.
“Blaire,” I whisper.
Her eyes glare at me when she lifts her head.
“Jaden, this is your only warning. Please don’t do what you did in class again. It’s highly inappropriate.”
“But Blaire?—”
Her fist pounds the desk.
“No, Jaden.” She stands tall.
“It’s Miss Turner.” She picks up the papers and straightens them.
“We’re over. End of story. Now please go on to your next class.” She closes her laptop and walks to the far side of the classroom, away from me.
Hanging my head, I trudge toward the door. Glancing back before I exit, I open my mouth to say something, but my words catch on the lump in my throat. I raise my hand to try to give myself time to figure out what, if anything, I can say to her.
Blaire turns and walks to the back of the classroom without saying a word.
My eyes trail after her.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“I’m never giving up on us.” I turn and walk out of the door, nearly bumping into Candace.
9
BLAIRE
Needing to let out some stress after two months of trying my best to avoid Jaden’s touches during class, I make a date with Rae. My baby girl won’t be back until Sunday afternoon, so I take advantage of my free time.
When it’s my week to have Britney, I stay home every night. Our every other week arrangement works well for me and Preston. Thankfully, he lives in the neighborhood a mile from mine and there’s a nice family park in between.
I meet up with Rae at the local coffee shop, the Coffee Palace. It’s our favorite after-work relaxing spot. She’s sitting at our table when I arrive.
I plop my tired body in the cushioned chair next to her and drop my purse and bag on the floor.
“Hey, Blaire. You look exhausted. Talk to me.” She waves at Curt, the owner of the Coffee Palace, and he walks over to us.
“Good evening, ladies. Your usuals?” he asks.
We both answer, “Yes, please.”
Curt turns and walks toward the counter.
Rae grabs my hand and asks, “So how are classes going?”
I huff out a breath and fall back against the chair.
