“What a coincidence.” The words tumble out. “You’re right next to me.”
His mouth twitches into an almost-smile. “Such a coincidence.”
I fumble with my own keys, nearly dropping them twice before I manage to pop the trunk. Kolya sets the apples inside, then lifts the bag from my shoulder, his fingers grazing mine. Each point of contact sizzles like a jolt of static.
“Thank you.” I linger, rearranging things in my trunk that don’t need rearranging. A pack of construction paper. My emergency sweater. Anything to keep him here a little longer.
He watches with odd stillness and those dark, appraising eyes. I wonder what he sees.
A hot mess in a sundress? A strong, attractive woman? A damsel in distress?
Don’t be absurd, Chloe. He’s probably not thinking anything at all.
Men like him don’t look at women like me in that way. He probably has supermodels on speed dial. Women who sleep in push-up bras and stilettos and don’t sing “The Alphabet Song” to children for a living.
And yet I still want to ask him to dinner or a movie.
Amovie.
As if someone like him would sit through a rom-com with a kindergarten teacher. I bet he spends his weekends racing motorcycles or teaching Krav Maga, not watching actors pretend to fall in love while snacking on overpriced popcorn.
I push hair back from my face, acutely aware of my unkempt appearance. “Well…thanks. I appreciate it. Those guys were trying to steal my purse, and you just…” My voice falters as the memory replays. His elbow connecting with that guy’s throat, the sickening snap of the other one’s arm and kneecap, his predatory grace…
How do you thank someone for unleashing hell on your behalf? For showing you a darkness that should frighten you but instead sends your pulse racing?
I have no words.
“Anyway.” I try to inject myself with brightness. “Maybe I’ll see you at the next open house? With Manny?”
Kolya rests casually against my car. “Actually, I was thinking I might help you get all this into your classroom. Seems like a lot to carry alone.”
My heart stutters into a sprint. “That would be…” I catch the overeager words crowding my tongue. Too much? Hot? Arousing? “…really helpful. Thank you.”
He gives me a slow smile, and the scar across his eyebrow glints in the light.
My stomach flips, then churns.
“I’ll follow you,” he says.
A promise.
Or a threat.
I don’t know which one I prefer.
Half an hour later, unlocking my classroom door proves more difficult than trying to tie shoelaces with mittens on. My tingling fingers fumble the keys again. Kolya, who’s holding the bag from the farmers market, is so close behind me that I swear his breath touches my neck.
Not helping.
Metal scrapes against the lock, once, twice, before finally catching.
The door swings open, and the familiar scents of tempera paint and dry-erase markers roll out like the welcoming committee. I shuffle inside, wildly aware of my own body—heart thundering in my chest, skin prickling everywhere his gaze touches, breath coming short and quick.
“Sorry for the disaster zone.” I nod toward the avalanche of construction paper perched precariously above the cubbies. My voice, too high and airy, sounds strange in my ears.
It’s a classroom. Not a bedroom. There’s no privacy. Calm down.
“I saw it last night.” Kolya’s eyes slide over me, then the room, then return to me. It’s like being undressed and weighed,but in a way that’s less humiliating and more…superhot. I place my bag on the reading table and attempt to steady my breathing.
