“Yes. How about you? We could leave your car here tonight, and I’ll just be grading papers and working on the play to get the timing down before rehearsals begin. Which reminds me, and I know you already said not to worry, but are you sure your brother is okay with playing Santa? He has only two brief scenes, and I could even cut a line or?—”
“No worries, Zoe. His word is his bond, or whatever that saying is. He’ll do it. He may grumble, but he won’t dare disappoint his nephew or you. And Baz loves a challenge.”
“Are you telling me I’m hard to deal with?”
“Nope. You’re easy to deal with. Unless you happen to be a man who wants your attention.” Astrid said dryly.
I mean, she’s not wrong. My type has always been more long-distance than the guy down the block. It just made things easier when the relationship eventually played out. I wasn’t looking for forever, just right now when it came to the opposite sex and sex for that matter. But I hadn’t explained any of this to Astrid since I’ve been back in Pineville.
How was I going to convince her that I didn’t need her help to find a man?
CHAPTER THREE
BAZ
If I didn’t know my sister better, I’d swear she was playing matchmaker. Three days after meeting Zoe, for all of five minutes and spending the rest of the time trying to stop thinking about her, Astrid was back at it.
“All I need you to do is pick Josh up from school. How hard is that? I mean, it’s not like I’m asking you to go to his parent-teacher conference.”
And there it was. The subtle, not-so-subtle reference to Zoe.
“I know you don’t have a lot of other people to rely on, but I’m in the middle of finishing up this piece for the Triple R. Don’t you have a friend or someone else that owes you a favor?” From the tone of her sigh, I knew I’d lost. Most of her friends worked well past five, and since Josh’s dad had moved several states away, help from him was nonexistent. Not that he’d ever been involved when they were married. Good riddance as far as I was concerned.
Even my nephew’s paternal grandparents were continually absent, simply sending birthday and Christmas cards with checks and calling it good. Poor kid deserved better from that side of the family.
“You know I don’t. Besides, I’m your favorite sister, and you owe me for all leftovers I send home with you.”
“Just keep layering it on, Astrid. I know it’s hard being both parents. And you’re my only sister. What time?” Whenever she’s feeling stressed, she tries to lighten the mood. Maybe this wasn’t about setting me up with the curvy teacher. Besides, Astrid works hard to provide for Josh as a single mom, and I tried to help out whenever I could. Just because I was picking him up at school didn’t mean I’d even see Zoe.
“Thank you, Baz. The bell rings at three fifteen. You just have to wait for him in the pickup line. But if you don’t get there early enough, you’ll probably need to park in the back lot. And then you’ll have to wait on the sidewalk on the north side of the school so he can see you when he comes out. Simple.”
Simple. Right. And how early is early enough to get in the pickup line?
After a brief back and forth on how early was early enough to show up at Josh’s school, I ended the call but not before I got her to agree to make my favorite casserole and a batch of peanut butter brownies the next time I had dinner at their place. A man had to eat after all. And when your sister was an excellent cook, and I wasn’t even close, I took every opportunity to negotiate a meal.
Less than an hour later, I showed up early at Pineville Elementary but not early enough to snag a spot in the pickup line. So, I parked my restored ’66 Bronco and hoofed it to the sidewalk and waited for the bell. Unfortunately, I wasn’t the only one waiting.
I was used to people staring at me. There weren’t many six five individuals in northern Idaho, and even fewer who dressed in a beat-up black leather jacket, wearing motorcycle boots and sporting a full grey beard that, the older I got, made me look more like a Santa wannabe with a rockstar vibe.
But shaving was a chore I loathed, so I dealt with the Santa references. And my beard hid the burn scars I’d received in Iraq. Being teased about my resemblance to Santa was preferable to people feeling sorry for me if I went around clean-shaven.
I caught a couple of the moms giving me the side-eye, but I let it go. Astrid once told me she overheard some of the single moms talking and laughed as she repeated them. The one that made me feel every one of my forty-one years, “He’s a total snack. I don’t care if he is an unc, I would totally smash him."
I ended up spending over an hour on the internet trying to decipher all the slang used in that one sentence. It was reason enough to beg off playing Santa in my nephew’s class play. I was working on a few more before I broke the news to him.
And should I run into his unexpectedly intriguing and beautiful teacher before then, I’d do my best not to let my dick overrule my good sense and agree to take the part.
As I ignored the whispers and stares, I imagined some fun ways curvy Ms. Riordan could try to convince me. I spent an enjoyable five minutes using my imagination and thinking of all the ways I’d worship all those luscious curves.
Letting the fantasy out, it didn’t take me long to talk her out of her clothes so I could suck each of her nipples until she was moaning in pleasure, grinding her damp curls and slippery feminine lips against my thigh as I pressed it against the apex of her long legs.
Then, I imagined the sound of my name on her lips as she hit her first release and how it would sing in my ears. My breath quickened at the thought. And then the damn bell rang. My body jerked at the interruption as I was rudely pulled from the sensual daydream.
Rubbing a hand down the back of my neck, I scanned the crowd as bodies of various heights and sizes rushed by me. Noone was paying attention to me or the state my body. That is until my gaze landed on the woman I’d just been objectifying.
Leaning against the doorjamb, which had just released a horde of fifth graders through the rear of her classroom outside, was the female who’d unknowingly made my blood pressure soar and my dick harder than a steel rod.
Hell, we’d only met once, and yet I’d somehow memorized every freckle on her creamy face, the way her one wayward curl refused to stay in place, and the outline of her silhouette. It had been three days, but I swore I could still smell her scent—a toxic mixture of woman with notes of lavender and something earthy; something once I identified I’d buy her a lifetime supply.
