Page 36 of XOXO, Yours

Oh.

Fuck.

No.

He glances at the laminated sign beside my door, then back at me, and his grin goes positively wicked.

"Morning, Miss Long.”

I stop dead in the middle of the hallway.

Six weeks. Six weeks of that man in my bed, in just about every position possible, and he just learned my last name from a sign the PTA made with a Cricut.

Payton Blankenship smiles at me.

My booty call is wearing a lanyard. He’s holding an attendance clipboard. And he is standing outside of Luna’s fifth-grade classroom.

This cannot be happening.

I walk directly toward him.

"What are you doing here?" I hiss.

His eyebrows lift. "Good morning to you too."

"Payton."

"Jules."

I look around quickly.

There are children everywhere. Teachers. A couple of room parents. A custodian pushing a trash can.

This is not the appropriate environment for the conversation I need to have.

I grab his sleeve. "Come with me."

His grin gets bigger. "That usually ends well for me."

"Do not make this sexual in an elementary school."

"I didn't. You did."

I drag him into my art room and shut the door.

Then I turn on him.

"What are you doing here?"

He frowns. “Substitute teaching."

"I can see that."

"Then I'm confused by the question."

I narrow my eyes.

He smiles.