Chapter 7

Charlie

The end of the day at Daisy Oaks was worse than the start in terms of chaos. I’d always figured it would be the opposite until I started working here.

All I wanted now was to get home, take a long, hot bath, and try to erase the doctor from my thoughts.

Kids shrieked and darted left and right, played in the sand pit or on the monkey bars. They fought and were separated, begged for attention, tugged on my skirt—knee length, of course—and asked for snacks or water or juice, and I obliged.

I loved every second of this. I loved the kids, but yeah, it did get tiring, and the end of the day heralded my worst time at Daisy Oaks, without fail.

Parents picking up their children.

I rolled my shoulders to rid them of the tension and scanned the playground. No casualties today, at least. Thank god. If I had to go back to the doctor’s office and see hunky Houston Pope… No, let’s not think about that.

Every time I did, my stomach lurched. I’d lost my virginity to a handsome doctor last night. My virginity.

It wasn’t as if I’d consciously held off with it. It was just something that’d happened. I’d been way too busy the past couple years, dealing with problems at home, to do anything guy-related.

And that was totally fine. And it was OK that I’d lost my virginity, too, even if it was just a one-night stand—cringe. Ugh, OK, maybe it wasn’t OK, but last night was probably the wildest thing I’d ever done, and I wouldn’t take it back for the world.

For one night, I’d been free of my anxiety and nagging thoughts of doubt.

Hands on my waist, lips pressed to my neck, warm flesh, the scent of lemon and leather and—

“Stop it,” I muttered.

“Excuse me?” A woman’s voice, snarled and high-pitched. Oh god, it’s Jenny, isn’t it?

I turned on my practical pumps and swallowed, tried for a smile. “Good afternoon, Jenny.”

“That’s Mrs. Harrington to you,” she snapped. Jenny Harrington’s hair was a universe that obeyed its own rules. Every day, she arrived with auburn locks piled high or hanging loose or curled or frizzy or braided—as changeable as the wind. Strange then, that her shit attitude was pretty much a constant.

“My apologies, Mrs. Harrington,” I said and continued with my half-smile attempt. “I’ll call little Tim, now.”

“There’s no need for that,” Jenny said and twirled a curl of hair around her finger. She let it spring free. “My husband is already out on the playground fetching him.”

Oh, wonderful. This will put the cherry on top of my day—another awkward encounter bordering on inappropriate behavior with Mr. Harrington.

Greg Harrington was likely the reason Jenny’s hair went through all its transformations. He treated her like trash and made a point of ogling all the teachers at the school, right in front of her. Naturally, she blamed the teachers rather than him.

Jenny watched my every move through narrowed eyes. She tapped the heel of her, no doubt, designer shoes. I was a prime target for her displeasure, and had been since I’d arrived at Daisy Oaks.

“Timothy is doing great,” I said, to break the weird tension that grew between us. “Today, he practiced cutting and pasting. We did a collage of flowers for spring, and he did brilliantly.”

“Yes, well, he is a brilliant child,” Jenny said.

All the mommies and daddies of Daisy Oaks’s children expected the best for their darlings and believed that their darlings were simply the best. Which meant a lot of the children were spoiled rotten, and that made my job a lot more difficult.

I folded my arms across my chest and looked out over the playground. Mr. Harrington stood beside the monkey bars, beckoning to Timmy, who ignored his father and swayed back and forth, kicking his legs around.

He was the last child in my class to be fetched. After this, I was off for the afternoon. Here I come, bubble bath, lesson planning, and definitely not thinking about anything related to the sexy doctor man who left this morning.

“You look different,” Jenny said.

I looked over at her. “I do, Mrs. Harrington?” I certainly felt different.

“Yes, you do.” Jenny hesitated, pursed her lips. “I heard you were at the Clear Springs bar, last night. Is that true?”

I struggled for words, and butterflies streaked from my stomach and through my chest—screw the diaphragm, right?

This wasn’t any of her business. It wasn’t. I was allowed to enjoy my time off.

“I—I don’t understand why you’re asking, Mrs. Harrington.”

“Only because I’m very interested in what my son’s teacher does after hours. I want to ensure that he gets the best education possible, and how can he do that if his teacher isn’t prepared?”

I stiffened. It was one thing to be lectured about my dress and attitude during my day-to-day, interacting with the children, but it was another to be cross-questioned about after-hour activities.

“Mrs. Harrington, it is truly none of your concern how I spend my evenings,” I said, evenly.

God, maybe losing my v-card actually did change me. I’d never spoken this sternly to any of the parents before.

Jenny’s eyes widened. “Well, if you think that I’m going to sit back and allow my child to be educated by—”

“Mommy!” Timothy raced across the grass and crashed into her middle, nearly bowling the woman over. She flailed back two paces, still glaring hot blades at me, then finally, broke into a grin and crouched in front of her son.

“There’s my baby boy,” she said. “How was your day, sweetheart?”

“Good. We did cutting up flowers today. And then we stuck them all over the paper. It was great.” His chubby red cheeks, sweat-streaked, too, added a little joy to the conversation.

“I’m sure Miss Stinson did a great job at keeping you kids busy,” Greg Harrington said, right behind me, so close that his breath was hot on my neck. He had the cracked, raspy voice of a smoker. Or a serial killer. Not that the two are at all related.

I put distance between myself and creeper Greg as fast as possible, turned, pressed my back to the outer wall of the classroom.

Greg grinned that Cheshire cat grin, eyes two hazel pinpricks in his face. Clean shaven, yet dirty to me. Somehow, the guy, who was a stockbroker or something equally lucrative, always seemed greasy when he wasn’t.

“It seems Miss Stinson is keeping you children busy,” he said, the afternoon sun beating down on the drooped shoulders of his polo shirt. He didn’t fit any of his clothes right. They were either too loose or too tight and at different places.

Kind of like he was three people squeezed into the same space.

He made my skin crawl, every day, without fail.

Jenny rose and picked up her five-year-old. He slung his arms around her neck and clung to her. She turned on her heel without another word and walked off, leaving Greg to grab her child’s bag.

“Don’t worry about, Jenny,” Greg said, softly. “She’s just protective.”

“I wasn’t worried, Mr. Harrington. My only concern is the children in my class.”

“Really?” Greg asked and tilted his head to one side, scanning me from head to toe.

Oh, ew, ew, ew. Come on. At least be subtle in your creepiness. Do you have to give off a Jeffrey Dahmer vibe all the damn time?

I clenched my fists at my sides and released them. I didn’t want him thinking he had any effect on me, negative or positive. “Timmy’s backpack is on his hook, Mr. Harrington,” I replied.

“So professional,” Greg replied. “I like that in a woman. I wonder if you’re as strict in every aspect of your life.” Another gag-inducing stare followed that. Finally, Greg walked past me and into the classroom.

Rustling and then a thunk, footsteps, and he reappeared, holding Timmy’s Spiderman backpack. He halted beside me with another creepo grin. “It’s good to see you again, Charlie. You’re looking flush today. Fresh. Whatever you’ve done, it’s working.”

“I—have no idea what you mean, Mr. Harrington, but I appreciate the sentiment,” I said, stiffly. “Have a good afternoon.”

Greg winked at me. “You can count on it.” He tracked off across the playground, at last, and glanced back at least five times before he disappeared into the far hall that led to Daisy Oak’s exit.

I sagged and let out a breath, plucked the front of my blouse and flopped it back and forth to let in some cool air. At least that was over.

I could head home and wash off the sweat and the remnants of Greg’s nasty stare.

But first, I had to make sure the classroom was organized. I clunked up the stairs and entered the room, heading for my desk in the corner. The kids had already packed up all the pencils and their books in a neat pile, but I needed to scoop up the last of my stuff.

I lifted my pencil case and tucked it into my handbag then reached for the punch on the far corner.

Footsteps clattered on the stairs behind me, accompanied by heavy breathing. “Miss Stinson. I believe I forgot Timmy’s water bottle.”

I froze and winced. Greg was back. He was back. And I was sprawled out over the desk in what he likely thought was a prone position.

I snapped upright and spun on my heel.

Timmy’s father crossed the classroom in three broad strides and entered my space. He stopped inches from me, almost nose to nose. “His water bottle, Miss Stinson. Hurry now, Timmy’s waiting.”

Panic screeched through me at a million miles a minute. This was not OK.

I looked past him to the hooks by the door. The water bottle lay on its side there, yellow minions grinning up at me.

“It’s right there,” I said and rested a palm on the desk, tried leaning away from him.

Skin crawling wasn’t the term for the creeps that traveled along my skin.

Greg didn’t turn around to get it or even look to where I’d nodded. His grin was practically maniacal, and his gaze scraped across my face and down to my breasts that were covered, of course—modestly.

“You know what I’m really looking for, Miss Stinson,” he said, and the way he said my name was a bastardization. He hissed it out, swirled it on his tongue, tasted it. “I think you’ve known for a long time what I want.”

“Can you please move back?” I asked. “You’re crowding me and making me uncomfortable.”

Greg raised a finger and trailed it down the front of my throat. “Am I? Or are you just saying that because you have to? Are you just—?”

Steps thundered across the wooden floor. “Hey!” A voice so familiar my stomach jolted, lashed at Greg’s back. A tan hand closed on the creeper’s arm, and he was wrenched backward, spun on the spot to meet…

“Houston,” I breathed.

The doctor’s entire face had gone crimson. A vein bulged at his temple, and he gritted his teeth at Greg. “What the fuck are you doing?” He half-raised a fist.

“No!” I yelped. God, if he hit Greg, I was toast. As much as the “daddy” deserved a good right hook to the chin, I couldn’t allow it. “Please, stop.”

Greg had already wilted under Houston’s gaze.

“Didn’t you hear what she said? You were crowding her. Why?”

“I just—came to—f-fetch my son’s water bottle,” Greg stammered back.

“You think you’d find it in her cleavage? Because that’s where you were looking, jack ass.”

“Stop it,” I said. “Stop, please. Let him go.”

Houston dropped his fist to his side and threw me a look. “Are you kidding?”

“No,” I replied. “Greg, your son’s water bottle is on the floor.” I swept over to it, picked it up, then handed it over. “Do you need anything else?”

Greg took it from me, white around the lips. He shook his head. A beat, and then he scuttled off, out of the classroom and across the courtyard.

My shoulders ached from the tension of the episode. He won’t tell his wife, will he? He won’t tell anyone?

But what if he did? What if he told everyone, and I lost my place here?

Working at Daisy Oaks was one inch closer to my ultimate goal. I scrubbed my fingers through my hair, snagged my thumb on a knot, then withdrew my hand.

Houston breathed behind me. He huffed and puffed. “You shouldn’t have let him go,” he said.

My brow wrinkled, the skin pulling downward. I turned to him and held my breath.

Tha-thump, tha-thump. Why is he so gorgeous? And wait, what is he even doing here? “You said you were leaving.” My lips moved faster than my brain, and I slurred the words.

“Fuck that. Fuck—is this what you have to deal with here? That guy and others like him?” Houston’s lips curled back over his teeth. “What a scumbag. I should’ve beaten the living shit out of him.”

“It’s not normally like that. Mostly, it’s women telling me how to dress and behave,” I said and laughed at the irony of it all. I’d chosen my most modest blouse today, and it hadn’t made one whit of difference.

Greg was like a dog in heat. He’d hump my leg given half the chance.

“Christ,” Houston said and balled up his fist. “I don’t like this. I don’t like losing control of—” He cut off, sniffed. “Are you ready?”

“Huh?”

“We’re leaving.”

“I—what? What are you talking about? Leaving to go where?” That wasn’t even close to the question I’d wanted to ask, but the handsome doctor stole all my thoughts, crumpled them up, and tossed them right out the window.

“Anywhere but here,” he said and brushed his hands down the front of his tight white T-shirt. It tugged at the hard planes of his muscles, still tensed as if he’d jog right out the door and after scummy Greg. “Hurry.”

That word kicked my brain into motion. I fetched my purse, shoved the stuff I needed into it, then slung it over my shoulder. “Wait, how did you even get in here without someone stopping you?” I asked. “Security’s not exactly lax around here.”

“Place is empty. Kids are gone, and someone left the front gate open,” he grunted.

Probably Greg, in his haste to harass me.

Houston caught my fingers with his and gave a light tug. “Let’s go.”