After I check in, I walk down the hall toward the room it’s being held in. With my hand on the knob, I hesitate for a moment, my nerves threatening to get the best of me. When I finally swallow my stubborn nature and step inside the room, my eyes scan the setup and the many people here for the class. It’s crowded, and I already regret this idea. My skin crawls and my stomach clenches, but just as I’m about to walk right back out, I spot a familiar face across the room.
What the hell?
There ain’t no fucking way.
An icy chill races down my spine that has goosebumps settling over my flesh. I blink a few times to make sure I’m seeing him correctly. It’d be just my luck that, in addition to my hands not wanting to work these days, my vision would be going out too.
But nope, it’s definitely him.
Remington fucking Buchanan.
And based on the way his mouth curves, slow and unmistakably pleased, I’d say he spotted me. That much isconfirmed when he wipes his hands on his apron and saunters in my direction.
“Well, well, well, look who it is,” he drawls, his tone sickly sweet and full of amusement. “You’re just about the last person I expected to walk in here tonight, Daddy Moore.”
I grit my teeth, fighting the urge to tell Remington, yet again, to stop calling me that. It’s pointless. Besides, my utter confusion outweighs the annoyance at thehighly inappropriatenickname. “Could say the same thing about you,” I mutter. “What the hell are you doin’ here?”
“I’m the instructor.” Remington’s grin widens as he gestures to the room. “What areyoudoin’ here?”
“I thought this class was taught by someone named”—grabbing my phone from my pocket, I pull up the confirmation email and check the details—“James.”
“Yeah, that’s me.” He nods, his gaze brimming with mirth. “James is my middle name.”
“Why on earth would you use your middle name?”
“For this exact reaction,” he offers, and the corner of his mouth twitches with a grin he’s clearly holding back. “It’s always fun watchin’ people realize who their instructor is. Apparently, being lieutenant of the fire department doesn’t also scream pottery instructor.” Remington shrugs. “Who knew?”
I exhale a heavy breath through my nose.Un-fucking-believable.
“Does Hollis know you’re spendin’ your free time lurin’ grown men into studios with lies and clay?”
Remington chuckles, deep and warm. “Only the ones who look like they’d rather wrestle a steer than touch a wheel.”
“I would,” I huff.
“Well, lucky for you…” Stepping back, Remington gestures to the wheels behind us. “This is a hell of a lot less grueling than anafternoon on the ranch. Worst thing that’ll happen to you is your hands get a little dirty.”
His gaze drops briefly, yet deliberately, to my hands. My mouth dries.
The urge to take my ass home is strong, but as if on cue, an ache settles in my right hand, reminding me why I’m entertaining this little idea in the first place.
Clearing my throat, I say, “You gonna keep talkin’, or are ya gonna tell me where to sit before I walk out?”
Remington holds my gaze, clearly enjoying this more than he should. “Right there.” He tips his chin toward the only open spot in the room. “Front row.”
My stomach dips, and I grit my teeth, ignoring the dryness in my mouth and the lump in my throat. “Figures,” I mutter.
Walking over to the available spot, I lower myself onto the stool, my pulse roaring in my ears as I beg for the next ninety minutes to fly by quickly. Just as I’m about situated, Remington comes up behind me and leans in, bringing his mouth to the shell of my ear.
“Sure hope you’re good at followin’ directions, Daddy Moore.” His breath is hot against my skin, and his deep, gruff voice rumbles through me. “And before you even think of tryin’ to leave, remember what you told me… Can’t let fear stand in the way of you tryin’ somethin’ new.”
Unease fills me as I grind down on my molars. I hate having my words thrown back at me.
When I don’t respond, Remington finds his place at the front of the class. His amused gaze holds mine for a moment before he addresses the class as a whole.
“Good evenin’, y’all. Full class tonight… I love it! I’m goin’ to run through a few things before we get started, just to make sure we’re all on the same page. Whether you’re a pro and have donethis a hundred times, or this is your very first time sitting at the wheel, I want everyone to feel comfortable tonight.”
He claps his hands together, a wide smile overtaking his face that accentuates the dimples on either side of his mouth. Remington then explains the basics—the purpose of the class, what everything is, how it’s used, etcetera, etcetera. Luckily, I’m already pretty familiar with everything he’s explaining since I watched a couple of videos on pottery before deciding to come here.
