Page 7 of Working for the Teacher

I’m absolutely fucking hovering.

“Mind if I join you?” His voice carries. Corey, apparently, based on the intro he gives.

“I'd prefer to be alone,” Charlotte says.

“Come on. I came a long way to this town. Could use a friendly face.”

“No, thank you.”

He plants a hand on her table and settles in like she never answered him at all. I feel my temper spike as I watch him lean closer, apparently deciding her rejection was just the beginning of a negotiation.

I know I should stay out of it, but the anger is already climbing. I remember this feeling. I spent half my teenage years letting it make decisions for me. One second I’d be pissed off, the next I’d be throwing a punch, and somewhere in between I’d lose any ability to give a shit about what happened afterward.

I’m not that kid anymore. I haven’t been for a long time. But watching this asshole crowd Charlotte after she already told him no brings him back faster than I’d like to admit.

I take one breath, unclench my fists, and move around the corner.

“She said she wants to be alone.”

He turns, sizing me up in the half second it takes him to decide I'm not worth backing down for.

“Who are you?”

“I'm the man who's about to put your head through this table if you don't get out of here.”

“Ryder.”

Kayla's voice is sharp behind me, and I don't need to look at her to know she's shaking her head. She's right to. This is exactly the kind of moment that used to end badly for me, but the old heat climbs up my spine anyway, daring me to let it.

“No harassing customers,” Kayla says to the guy. “Time to go, or we call the cops.”

He mutters something about small town losers under his breath, but he goes, shoving through the door hard enough to rattle the frame on his way out.

Kayla gives me an exasperated look before she walks back toward the bar and leaves me standing there with my pulse hammering.

I turn, and Charlotte is looking right at me.

“Uh. Thanks for that.” Her voice comes out unsteady, like she's still catching up to what just happened.

“Anytime.”

I let myself look at her properly now that she’s this close. She’s wearing a loose sweater with jeans, nothing that should be doing a damn thing to me, except it is. Up close, her face is even more beautiful than I remember. She pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose, and fuck me, even that’s pretty.

Her eyes stay on mine, then drop to my mouth before flicking back up so fast I almost convince myself I imagined it. But then her fingers curl together in front of her, twisting around each other in that nervous little habit I remember from high school.

She used to do the same thing when I got too close to her locker.

Fuck. I can’t believe I remember that.

Then she seems to catch herself and stands abruptly. “You know what, I should really go.”

I reach out and catch her hand before I can think better of it. She stills. Her breath catches in the sudden quiet between us, and when my fingers settle around her wrist, I feel her pulse jump beneath them.

Her eyes lift to mine. Neither of us moves.

Her lips part.

Fuck.