Dana roll her eyes; my badass Navy SEAL persona doesn’t scare her, but it has the desired effect on the boys in the back.
“This is Mr. Norton, Dana’s father.” Brooke tries to smile brightly. “He’s our parent helper for the camp.”
I keep my gaze fixed on the boy with the speaker. “No rap music.”
Blondie drops the speaker into his bag. “Okay, Dana’s dad.”
I like the kid. Terrible taste in music, but he’s got spunk. He could do well in special forces. But I’m not here to be liked. I want to make sure none of these teenage boys are going to go anywhere near my daughter or her teacher.
“You can call me sir.”
There’s a stunned silence, and I wonder if I’ve gone too far.
I sit back in my seat. The bus is eerily quiet, and I feel Dana’s eyes boring into the back of my head.
The bus starts up, and the driver gives a talk about seat belts and emergency exits. Brooke turns to face forward and eases into her seat.
“You may want to, um, be a little less harsh with them.”
I glance at her, surprised. “Harsh? That was me being friendly.”
She laughs, and I chuckle with her. I’m aware of how I came across, but what’s the good of being the parent helper if you can’t fuck with the kids a little? It will make those boys think twice before sneaking into Dana’s cabin in the middle of the night.
“If you were the father of a teenage girl, you’d want the boys to be a bit scared of you too.”
She nods slowly. “I see where you’re coming from. Good tactic, sir.”
She raises her eyebrows as she says it, teasing. But damn, I like that word on her lips. Brooke can call me sir, anytime.
7
BROOKE
The mini-bus pulls out of the school parking lot, and I’m aware of Joel’s thigh bumping up against mine as we turn the corner into the street.
He’s wearing casual jeans and a t-shirt, and I’ve been trying hard all morning not to stare at the biceps bulging out of the top. The man takes care of himself. There’s no round paunch that a lot of the other dads have by the time their kids reach high school. Judging by the silver in his hair and the crinkles around his eyes, he’s got to be close to forty, but he’s in better physical shape than a lot of men my age.
“Excuse me, miss.” I turn to find Justin out of his seat and holding out his phone. “Can I pair to the Bluetooth?”
“Not if you’re going to play rap.” Joel turns in his seat and fixes Justin with his steely gaze.
“No, sir.”
I hide my surprise at Justin’s use of the word sir. He’s outspoken in class and isn’t always good at following orders, but Joel seems to have earned his respect.
“Then go ahead,” says Joel.
I pair Justin’s phone to the Bluetooth speakers, and he heads back to his seat. A moment later, a guitar screeches and an indie rock band comes over the speakers.
Joel winces, and I lean forward to turn down the speakers in the front. “This okay with you?”
“It’s better than rap.”
The mini-bus takes the road out of town, and we skirt around the base of Wild Heart Mountain.
“You handle the kids well,” Joel says. “They respect you.”
I like the praise coming from him. “It wasn’t always that way. At my first school camp, I cried in the bathrooms at the roadside lunch stop.”
