Saturday Hater
Asa
“I should have never left. Three and a half years—I could’ve waited to move. This is all my fault.”
I sigh and rub my face roughly as I sit in the parking lot of my kids’ school, trying to convince my ex-wife that for the first time in a long time, I’ve got this. But unlike everything else in my life, when it comes to this I have not one fucking clue what I’m doing.
I try to sound convincing. “It’s not your fault, Danielle. She just turned fifteen and is trying to figure out who she is. You’ll see them in a few weeks. Until then, I’ve got this.”
After being divorced for thirteen years, we’ve found a way to set aside our differences for the kids. She’s been happily married for ten to a decent man who likes my kids. But when he got transferred to Los Angeles a few months back, my kids didn’t want to go. I couldn’t blame them. Levi’s a senior and has already committed to Johns Hopkins to play lacrosse. Emma’s a freshman and just turned fifteen last month. She all but threw a teenage girl fit when her mom told her they were moving across the country.
I’ve done my best over the last three years to spend quality time my adolescent children. Moving back to Virginia to work with Crew gave me the chance to do that.
But the game changed when Danielle’s husband was transferred and the kids didn’t want to go. It was my time to step up and I offered to buy a house in their school district so they could stay in Virginia instead of moving to California. They got to keep their school, friends, and everything they knew. But along with that, they got their dad full-time for the first time in a long while. We’ve been at it for four months.
It’s been interesting.
With Levi, I’ve done okay. Emma’s a different story.
Her grades have dropped, she’s withdrawn from her friends, and has become closed off from everyone. This has all happened since the move, so, of course, Danielle’s blaming herself. That still doesn’t mean Emma wouldn’t have gone through this anyway—I can’t imagine this is all because her mom moved. Right now, all Emma has is me, so we’re going to have to work through this shit together.
“You have to get her to talk, Asa. She can be bullheaded at times—not to mention her teenage hormones—but this behavior isn’t who she is. We have to figure it out sooner than later.” Danielle’s voice is anxious as she goes on, telling me what she’s told me a million times since she left.
I do my best to keep my patience. “I’m meeting with the counselor in a few minutes. If I have to, I’ll meet with every teacher and reach out to her old friends. I’ll let you know what I find, but you need to know I’ve got this. She’s my daughter, too. I’m not going to let her fuck up her life under my watch. I’ve cut my work in half so I’m available when she’s not in school. I’m even monitoring all activity on her phone, but so far, there’s nothing.”
I hear her sigh. “I know you’re trying. Levi tells me you’re there all the time and even trying to cook. I just miss them.”
“Call her tonight. I’ve gotta go or I’ll be late for my meeting.”
“Let me know what the counselor says,” Danielle demands, almost desperate.
I shake my head since I know she means well, but, as patient as I am, it’s starting to grate on my nerves. “I will.”
I hang up, not giving her another chance to vent or make further demands. Climbing out of my truck, I head for the main entrance of the high school and once I get through security, check in at the office.
“Asa Hollingsworth. I’m here to meet with Mrs. Lockhart about my daughter, Emerson.”
The secretary picks up her phone and gestures to the clipboard in front of me. “I’ll let her know you’re here. Please sign in and fill out a visitor’s badge.”
I do as she says and move to the side of the room to wait.
After a few minutes, another door finally opens and I can’t believe my eyes.
It’s Miss I-Hate-Saturdays.
She might be looking down at her file, but I know for a fact it’s her. It’s the same long, strawberry-blonde hair that made me stop when I saw her stranded on the side of the road. I stopped to help her, but ended up changing that loser’s tire since she was desperate to get home.
I had to force her out of my mind, leaving her with a man who doesn’t know how to change a fucking tire.
But just five days later, here she is.
As good as she looked in jeans and heels while standing in a ditch, I might enjoy looking at her now even more. In a skirt that hits her above the knees, I wonder how she moves since it’s molded to every curve.
Every perfect, fucking curve.
Her shirt clings to her tits, and in another pair of sexy heels, she doesn’t stand taller than my shoulders.
I watch her hand come up to tuck her long hair behind her ear. “Mr. Hollingswor—” Her voice catches the second she lays eyes on me.
Seeing her expression go from all business to surprised is a sight to see. Here in the harsh, fluorescent lighting, it’s easier to see the blue of her eyes set against her light, creamy skin. Her features are perfect, just as delicate as the rest of her. I can’t look away from her full pink lips as they part before she gathers herself quickly and glances back down at the file in her hand.
When her eyes dart back, she repeats with a scowl, “Mr. Hollingsworth?”
I don’t move from where I’m leaning against the windowed wall of the office. I do, however, feel myself smile and raise an eyebrow when I respond, “That would be me.”
She looks to her file quickly before back up. “Asa Hollingsworth?”
I raise both brows this time and widen my eyes but don’t move. “Still me.”
She looks over at the desk where the three secretaries are watching us with a huge amount of curiosity.
“Of course.” Her voice changes, back to business, when she puts one sexy-heeled foot in front of the other to offer me her hand for the second time. “Ms. Lockhart, Emerson’s counselor.”
I give her small hand a squeeze and enjoy her touch for the second time. “Ms. Lockhart. Good to see you again.”
She doesn’t let go of my hand, but when the bell rings through the building, she finally releases me and gives her head a little shake. “If you’ll follow me to my office, we can speak there.”
I hold my hand out low. “Lead the way.”
She turns and I follow, reaching for the door. Once it’s open, the hustle and chatter of hundreds of students heading to their next classes fills the air. I follow through the hallway as teenagers greet her.
“Hi, Miss Lockhart.”
“Hiya, Mrs. Lockhart.”
“Miz Lockhart, what-up?”
She greets them all with warm smiles. At least she did when I wasn’t staring at her ass as I followed her through the crowded halls. I don’t remember the last time anyone has held my attention like this.
I shouldn’t say that. The last time was Saturday night when I was changing a tire on the side of the road. But before then—I can’t remember.
When we make it to the Counseling Center, she reaches for the door and I hold it as she passes. Walking through another reception area with a few students waiting around, she leads me to an office tucked off to the side.
“Please, have a seat.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I nod, following her in, taking a seat across from her desk. When I hear the door close behind me, I find myself alone with Mrs, Ms, Miss, or Miz Lockhart.
*****
Keelie
What are the fucking odds? It’s him, Mister I’m So Hot—I Don’t Need Hummus as an Accessory.
Or, Mister I’m So Hot—I Can Change a Tire in Two Point Five Seconds Flat.
Or, Mister I’m So Hot—My Smile Lines Make Me Hotter.
But at least now I have a real name. Mister I’m So Hot—My Name is Interesting … Asa Hollingsworth.
Fuck, Keelie. Pull it together.
I take a breath but don’t get a word in when he starts, “How’s your head?”
I stop, surprised by his question. Bringing my hand up to my temple, the memory of hitting my head Saturday night returns. My bump is gone and even the bruise is starting to fade—nothing a little concealer can’t hide. “I’m all good. The swelling is gone and I don’t think I lost too many brain cells.”
“Did your Saturday improve or are you still a Saturday-hater?”
So much for simply discussing Emerson and being done with it.
When I sit at my desk across from him, those hazel eyes I found so intriguing the other night do funny things to my insides as he intently watches me lower to my seat. I ignore his question, and instead offer him my gratitude again. “Thanks again for your help with the tire.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
I narrow my eyes and pause.
“You still a Saturday-hater?”
“I don’t hate Saturdays,” I lie. “That came out all wrong during a frustrating moment after a few exasperating hours. No one hates Saturdays.”
He raises a brow. “You mean no one but you?”
“Mr. Hollingsworth—”
“It’s Asa,” he corrects me. “Should I call you Miss, Mrs, or Ms?”
I shake my head. “Mr. Hollingsworth. I’m your children’s counselor and we’re here to discuss Emerson—”
But he corrects me again, “Emma.”
I sit back in my chair, surprised. “I didn’t know she preferred Emma. She hasn’t been very open with me, but I’ll remember that.”
“Yeah,” he sighs, also leaning back in his chair. He relaxes like he’s settling in, resting an ankle on his knee. “She hasn’t opened up with anyone lately.”
A perfect time to focus on the subject at hand. “Emma’s mother emailed a few months back and I understand your children are adjusting to a new living arrangement. That can be difficult for anyone, especially a fifteen-year-old girl. I’ve pulled all of Emma’s grades, and while they aren’t the lowest I’ve seen, after studying her history and middle school records, I can see she’s struggling.”
“I know,” he agrees. “She’s struggling with more than just her grades.”
“If you want to tell me more, I’d like to help.” I know better than most how changes at home can affect kids.
“She’s not hanging with her friends anymore. I know she’s only lived with me for four months, but she wasn’t this quiet in the beginning. She’s withdrawn, she looks like she’s losing weight, and even though she does nothing but lay around, she’s always tired.”
“Has she been to the doctor?” I ask, thinking Emma’s issue could stem from a million different things.
“The one time I mentioned taking her to the doctor, Emma flat out refused to go. I’ll drag her in if I have to, but as you can imagine, I need to gain her trust.”
I nod, thinking it’s odd Emma was so adamant, but we are talking about a fifteen-year-old girl here. Their behavior can be odd in general without looming issues. I change the subject to something I can help with. “Who did she used to spend time with?”
“Maggie Stockton and Beth Thorton. She also used to hang in bigger groups, but that’s who she was with the most.”
Neither of those students are mine. I have the middle of the alphabet. Maggie and Beth are assigned to my coworker. It still makes me curious, so I go to my computer to pull up their records for a glance.
Hmm. Without delving into their history, I have no idea if their grades have changed, but they each have quite a few absences, and unexcused, at that.
“That good, huh?” When I look up, Asa has his head tipped, studying me.
I give him a small smile. “I can’t discuss other students with you, Mr. Hollingsworth.”
He frowns and demands, “Call me Asa.”
Even though I would very much like to call him Asa, I straighten in my chair to keep to the topic of his daughter. “Let me look into things. I’ll speak with each of Emma’s teachers and see if they can shed any light as to why her grades have suffered. I’ll also check with another counselor since her friends aren’t under my watch. It’s a first step, then we can come up with a plan for Emma. She isn’t herself—we need to remedy that.”
“You’ll call me?” he asks, concerned for his daughter.
“Of course. Today’s Thursday, so I’ll reach out before the weekend and at least give you an update from her teachers. I’ll let you know if we need to set up conferences. Would you like me to call her in and talk to her?”
He brings his hand up, rubbing the back of his neck as he shakes his head. “I have no idea. See what her teachers say and we’ll go from there.”
I give him a smile. “I’ll do everything I can. Is Levi doing okay? He’s been with me since he was a Freshman, I know him better.”
Asa sort of nods and tips his head. “He’s busy—gone a lot with lacrosse starting up. He’s also almost eighteen, so being a new full-time parent to an adult is a balancing act. I think he’s good, though.”
“Good.” I push away from my desk to stand. “If that changes, you know where to find me.”
A smirk appears and he raises a brow, but doesn’t move from his seat. “I do now.”
I fold my arms across my chest and finally address the elephant in the room. “It is a weird coincidence, isn’t it?”
He doesn’t agree, but blatantly asks, “Who’s Stan?”
I stand up straighter and put my hands on my hips. “You’re awfully direct, aren’t you?”
“I’m raising two teenagers by myself for the first time ever and most of the time I have no idea what I’m doing. I don’t have time to be anything but direct.” He still hasn’t moved, sitting across from me, relaxed in his chair. “Who’s Stan?”
I shake my head and give in. What does it matter anyway? “Stan is someone I had dinner with.”
He immediately states the obvious. “Stan doesn’t know how to change a tire.”
I try to hide my smile. “I figured that out while I was standing in the ditch. Apparently, those of us who don’t know how to change a tire still need to eat.”
“You shouldn’t be going to dinner with people who don’t know how to change a tire.”
I roll my eyes, smiling, and shake my head before I look back. “After Saturday night, I have to agree with you. The ability to change a tire will be a must before I agree to sharing a meal with anyone in the future.”
“Then it’s a done deal. I’m taking you to dinner.”
Wait.
I lose my smile. “Sorry. I’ve decided I’m not going to dinner with anyone else for a long while.”
His smirk returns. “But you’ve seen me change a tire. I’ve basically interviewed for the position.”
This is true. Even so, I’m not going to dinner with anyone—whether they can change a tire or not—so I go for the big guns. “I have children.”
“So do I.”
His responses come so quickly, it’s like he’s in my head.
“Yes,” I agree. I obviously know he has children. “But mine are young. I can’t leave them home alone and just go out whenever I feel like it.”
His eyes widen with shock. “But you went out with Stan?”
“Yes,” I repeat, but this time I’m frustrated. “Stan was a blind date. He works with my sister’s husband. After Saturday night, both my sister and brother-in-law were dead to me for like,” I shake my head at the memory of me banging around my kitchen while I berated Stephie for setting me up, “an hour because of it. I don’t have a ton of sitters hanging around to watch my kids.”
He shrugs like it’s no big thing. “Bring them. Everyone needs to eat. I don’t want to leave Emma home by herself—I’ll force her to come, too.”
I shake my head. “I can’t go out with you. I’m your children’s counselor. There has to be some rule about that.”
Asa stands and puts his hands on the desk to lean in close. I do my best to hold my ground and not step back or cross my arms again, but it’s hard. Eye-to-eye, he lowers his voice. “I don’t play by the rules, Ms. Lockhart. I never have. If there’s a rule I can’t have dinner with my kids’ counselor, then I plan on breaking it.”
I exhale quickly, speechless.
He stands up straight and holds out his hand. When I give him mine, hoping he’ll finally leave since I have no idea what else to say, he grips my hand with his big warm one. His grasp is firm, yet weirdly comforting. “Keelie.”
I give his hand a squeeze and my voice comes out in a whisper. “Asa.”
“I look forward to hearing from you,” he adds. “Now that I know where to find you, we’ll discuss dinner soon.”
“But—” I start when he interrupts, and when he does, his face turns genuine and meaningful.
“I appreciate your help with Emma. I’m worried about her.”
I exhale and release him. “Of course.”
With that, he gives me another nod and leaves my office. When the door shuts behind him, I collapse into my chair, wondering what the fuck just happened.