She slowly licks her lips. “And you also saw thatI didn’t act on it. Junie’s number one. I’m number two. Fixing the ranch is number three. And there isnoroom for a number four in my life, and even if there was, it wouldn’t be you.”
I rear back and bang my head on a shelf of bleach. “Ow.It wouldn’t be me? Why not? What the hell’s wrong with me?”
I should not have asked.
As I rub my head and her gaze smolders into mine, she ticks off her fingers, her voice almost completely steady. “One, you took an instant dislike to me, probably because I made you get thrown off a horse, for which I amvery sorry. Two, even if you didn’t dislike me, I amwellaware that you’re still sneaking kids out to work on the ranch when you think I’m not there. Three, you very clearly assumed that I’m nothing more than the personality painted by a TV show run by my ex-husband, whose very mission in life was to squash me so that he could look better. Four,you’re Junie’s teacher and coach. She’s number one. Making her uncomfortable is thelastthing I would do, and me dating you would make her very uncomfortable. And five, I don’t think you’re worth taking my clothes off for.”
Five makes me choke on my own shock. “I am—”
“Arrogant, condescending,trapping me in a broom closetbecause you think you need to tell me to keep my hormones to myself instead of telling yourself that, andugly.”
I rear back again, my jaw hanging. “I amnotugly.”
Her nose wrinkles. “Must be your personality coloring my opinion. Don’t be a dick to my daughter, and let me out of this closet before I show you what I can do with a mop bucket.”
Jesus.
What the hell is wrong with me?
And I don’t mean that in the same sense I just asked Maisey what was wrong with me.
I mean that in aWhat the hell am I doing?way.
I don’t trap women in broom closets.
This isn’t me at all.
I lift my hands. “Sorry. Sorry. I didn’t—shit. Sorry.”
I don’t wait for her to say anything else, and instead, I retreat out the door, leaving it open for her to exit at her leisure.
I stride down the hall, ignoring curious looks from a few more students, and fling myself out the side door to the two picnic benches that the staff sometimes use in nicer weather, and I keep walking toward the football field and beyond, to the stables, where anyone who rides their horse to school can keep it for the day. When I’m sure I’m alone, I grab my phone and dial Kory.
“Late for class?” he drawls when he answers.
I work with teenagers all day long, but I rarely act like one.
Until today, apparently. “Why do I have a stupid crush on Maisey Spencer, and why am I losing my fucking mind over it?”
“Because she’s hot, you thought she was moderately evil for bringingchangeto your life, you found out she’s not unreasonable, and also that she’s emotionally unavailable, and that despite your idiotic assumption that since she looks like an airhead on television, she’s competent with power tools, and that’s hot, even to me, and all of that together basically makes her the first fresh blood in town that’s completely your type in about three years?”
I close my eyes, suck in a big breath through my nose, and tell myself not to hang up on my best friend.
That doesn’t end well for me.
Don’t ask how I know.
“And let’s not forget the part where she’s the closest thing you’ll ever have to Tony again,” Kory adds softer. “You’re fucked up, my friend.”
“This has nothing to do with her being Tony’s niece.”
“You sure? Because I’m pretty sure if any other woman had moved into any other ranch that you’d been using for giving some of your kids an outlet and, let’s be real here, finding an outlet of your own, you wouldn’t have been such an ass. I think you’re afraid she’s too much like Tony and that you’d get hurt if you let yourself be nice to her.”
I grit my teeth.
Kory keeps talking. “And if you think you’re extra immune to women who know they haven’t been doing their best by their kid but are doing everything in their power to make up for it now, before it’s too late, you’re fooling yourself. After the way you grew up? Dude. You arefucked. Maisey Spencer is your catnip.”
“She is not.”
