“What’d you—” I stop my question when he holds up a finger.
“Done. What was that?” He looks up at me, and for a second, without all the bitterness and anger in his eyes, I catch a glimpse of those shining hazel orbs that once held glimpses of laughter and a whole lot of cockiness.
The memory of the first time we ever spoke snakes its way into my memory. Tenth-grade biology class.
“This seat taken, gorgeous?” he asks while slinking up to the only available seat directly next to me.
“No.”
“It is now. I’m Mark,” he introduces as if I didn’t know.
“Jackie.”
“Hinkerson,” he finishes. “Cheerleader extraordinaire.”
“Is that what I’m called amongst you wrestlers?” I’m a cheerleader, sure, but outside of the football and basketball team, I didn’t think other jocks pay attention to us.
“Nah, just me. Do you know anything about biology?”
“Uh, I think it’s the study of life. It said that in the introduction letter Mr. Markles sent out to us.”
He snorts. “You read those?” he asks, sounding affronted.
I dip my head. “Yeah.” My father, through my mother, always made sure my teachers gave me their rules, instructions, and any materials list, at least a week before classes start. I had to memorize them all.
“Good. It looks like I found the person I’m going to be copying all my assignments from for the year.”
The twinkle in his eye and the gorgeous smile on his face gave away the joke.
It didn’t take long for me to fall hard for Mark O’Brien after that initial meeting.
“What were you asking?” His tone is impatient, as if this isn’t the first time he’s asked the question since I’d been in my little trip down memory lane.
“Oh, uh, the report Nolan sent you. Did you get it?”
“I said yes the first time you asked me.”
“And?”
“What?”
I push out a frustrated breath. For a week, this is how any conversation between us has gone. I swore at times I searched the walls for my accreditation in dentistry because this was like pulling teeth.
“Are you ever going to drop the attitude?”
He gave a derisive snort. “Not likely.”
I roll my eyes, feeling sick of just about all of the men in my life, dead and alive. “What did you think of the suggestions in the report? Regarding the design additions to Cypress?”
He drops the pen, perching his elbows on the side of his chair, and stares at me. “About the ramps and making the building more accessible?”
I nod.
“Why’d you add it in?”
“Because it’s needed. Cypress’ building is older, out of date, and as much as it needs the technological update, it also needs an inclusivity update. More and more clients seeking mental health services and rehab are presenting with disabilities.”
“Yeah, I read that statistic from last week.” He runs his hand through his hair, the same way he did back then whenever he got frustrated.
