Another hand. “Do you like Miss Sparks?”
I choke on air. “That’s enough!” I squeak, flapping my hands as if I can wave the question away.
“Do you drive the fire truck really fast?” one boy yells.
Drake grins. “Only when I have the sirens on.”
“Do you get to keep kittens when you rescue them?” another girl asks.
He chuckles, throwing me a glance that makes my stomach somersault. “Not usually. Though sometimes they end up in the care of very kind teachers.”
My cheeks flame.
Sienna’s hand shoots up. “My daddy said he rescued a kitten from your roof.”
Twenty pairs of eyes swing to me, wide and curious. I want the floor to swallow me whole. “All right, class,” I say too brightly. “Time for thank-yous.”
But the questions keep coming.
“Can you spray the hose on the playground?”
“Do you have a girlfriend?”
“Do firefighters wear capes?”
Drake answers each with the same effortless charm, convincing the kids he’s part superhero and part dragon.
Phoenix leans against the wall, chuckling under his breath as the chaos unfolds. “Mate,” he mutters to Drake, “you’ve got ‘em eating out of your hand. Even the teacher.”
I shoot him a glare over the kids’ heads, but it only makes him laugh more.
I shout over the kids all talking at once. “Please, questions about fire safety only.” But the kids are merciless, grinning, whispering. Drake just smirks at me, the devil himself in navy blue.
“Fire safety,” he drawls in his British accent, eyes locked on mine. “Very important.”
I press a hand to my desk to steady myself. He’s trouble. He’s too young. Too hot. And no matter how much I want to believe in sparks, I know how this ends.
Because men want families, children, futures I can’tgive. And I’ve already learned the hard way what happens when I love someone enough to confess that truth.
I get left behind.
The bell clangs overhead, and the kids erupt, chairs scraping, voices high and squeaky as they stampede for the door. Sienna hangs back to give her dad a hug before following Phoenix out the door.
I wave them out with a sigh of relief, clutching at my dignity as tightly as I do my lesson planner.
In seconds, the classroom is quiet. Just him and me.
He leans against the desk, casual as anything, rolling his sleeves up his forearms. The dragon ink twists with the movement, coiling down his muscle. He’s not even doing anything, and my heart is trying to pound its way out of my ribcage.
“Guess that went well,” he says, his accent smooth, smug, entirely too aware of the chaos he just caused.
“Well?” I scoff, though it comes out more breathless than I intend. “My class is convinced you’re a dragon who eats chilli and flies a fire truck like the Batmobile.”
“Sounds about right.” He flashes that smile again, and my insides flip.
I busy myself stacking a pile of spelling books so I don’t have to look at him. “You didn’t have to answer their… personal questions.”
He shrugs, unbothered. “They asked. I answered. Besides—” His eyes lock on mine, wicked and amused. “Didn’t seem like you minded too much when I said I was single. I’m sure I saw a smile tugging at your lips.”
