“I don’t know you well enough to feel obligations or responsibilities to you.”
Those wide blue eyes telegraphif that was true, you wouldn’t be here.
It’s like she knows I agreed to take in my neighbor’s dog despite the fact that the dog hates me. That I make an effort to have dinner with even my most annoying teammates regularly in the offseason to make sure they’re doing okay physically and financially. That the schools hand out my address for every fundraiser since I can’t tell random kids no when they come to my door.
Or possibly those wide blue eyes are telegraphingthat was an asshole thing to say.
Shit.
I’m usually good at this.
I shift on the pavement. It’s so hot the soles of my shoes are heating up. “I mean, I know I can’t stop shitty people from doing shitty things every minute of every event I work, but it’s human and natural to feel bad when you could’ve made a situation better instead of worse.”
Do I sound like a blabbering idiot, or am I being extra hard on myself because I want to impress this woman and I want her to like me even if I never see her again?
Both.
Definitely both.
And I’m making her uncomfortable.
The wary is back in her eyes.
As it probably should be. A guy smaller than me cornered her and made her feel uncomfortable and then called her names when she wasn’t interested, and now here I am, bumbling through offering to help her.
She probably thinks I’m here to ask her to get involved in my protein powder pyramid scheme.
“You didn’t make it worse,” she says. “What happened was…inevitable. And had nothing to do with what you did or didn’t do.”
“It was inevitable that a guy would corner you like that?”
“No. It’s not—actually, yes.” She sucks a breath through her nose and squints up at the sky. “Yes. Let’s go with yes.”
I know women get the shitty end of the stick when it comes to dealing with some guys. That’s a big reason my offseason job exists—to handle what happened last night because it happens too frequently.
But I get the impression there’s more to Ziggy’s story thanwhen you work with the public, it’s inevitable that a guy will push boundaries he shouldn’t.
And the regrets at how I handled last night are getting heavier. “Sorry. Again. That I didn’t get there quicker.”
She shakes her head. “It’s fine. It ended fine.”
“You got fired.”
“Probably shouldn’t be working events right now anyway.”
“So you know, I quit.”
She presses her hands to her cheeks. “Oh mygod.”
“Not because of you.”
If I hadn’t met her while she was shoving a whole roasted chicken in her face, the dead-eyedget to the pointlook she’s giving me now would probably intimidate at least some small part of me. Maybe an eyelid or one of my pinky fingernails.
I’d enjoy it too.
Not immune to teacher-librarian fantasies.
Fuck, it’s hot out here. “Last night was already scheduled to be my last night.”
