Yes, I could not teach Heath, but where does that leave me? He’s in my classroom, and I don’t want to move him because I selfishly want to screw his dad’s brains out.
“You know…” I can’t get the words out.
I don’t wish to.
The more I say it out loud, the more real and depressing it becomes.
“Yeah, I know,” he says before his heated gaze falls to my lips. “I know what you feel like, what you fucking taste like between your legs. I’m hard just thinking about it.”
A lump forms in my throat; it’s been there for days, and now I feel as though I’m going to melt into a puddle over lewd words and dreams of more.
Not being able to talk to him is like torture. Knowing that he’s out and about for someone else to snatch him up drives me insane. I have no right to feel that way. I told him that I couldn’t date him, and I’m sticking to it.
However, I’m really not going to enjoy another parent-teacher conference if he brings up his girlfriend picking up Heath, or his son talking about the new woman in his life.
“You want me to take you to work?”
“Could you?”
“It’s gonna cost you.” He folds his arms across his broad chest, mocking my actions, and all red flags wave frantically in my head. “You owe me a date.”
“I can’t?—”
“Wear a hat. A wig. A fat suit, I don’t care. Wear anything your little heart desires, and I’ll make sure it’s out of town where all the Karens can’t spy on you.”
Why didn’t you think of that?
Because I play by the regulations of society.
I don’t usually take huge risks that could be life-altering for me. I’ve never gambled a day in my life.
“Micah,” I manage to get out. “You’re playing a dangerous game?—”
“I know,” he admits immediately with another step forward. “But, when you’ve spent one night with the woman of your dreams…you tend to throw all caution to the wind and gladly burn alive for another.”
His words steal the breath from my lungs because…that couldn’t be possible. We’ve known each other for a week, and I couldn’t have had that much effect on him.
Like he does you?
“You can’t mean?—”
The approach of tires on gravel has me glancing past Micah to see a red pickup truck approach with an arm and head sticking out the window.
“Hey, folks,” I hear the male voice greet chipperly. “Need some help?”
I see Micah sigh before turning on his heels to meet the man head-on. “Mornin’, Horace. Nah, we’re good here.”
Horace stops his truck alongside my car and stares down at the flat tire. “Ah, bad break.”
“Happens to the best of us.”
“Not if you have a spare.” Horace glances up at me, opens his mouth, then immediately closes it. “You’re in good hands, Miss Vesper. You’ll be gettin’ to school in no time.”
I’d ask how he knows my name, but this has happened to me over a dozen times, alluding that this town truly does know everyone and everything going on in this town.
Which fully supports my notion tonotcontinue things with Micah.
“How ’bout you get this truck outta here,” Micah suggests. “You’re gonna kick up dirt and?—”
