Chapter Five

AJ

“My God, that man is smokin’ hot,” Brandy Kohl says, fanning her face as she dramatically falls back against the chalkboard in my classroom.

“Oh, Brandy, not you too. That’s all I heard from Laney and Phyllis as I left the meeting earlier,” I reply, abandoning the label maker and giving my friend my full attention.

“He’s freaking tall and sexy and gorgeous and sexy. I’m going to look for every excuse possible to get him down to the principal’s office on a regular basis,” she adds, a mischievous grin on her pretty face.

Brandy and I met my first day on the job. She works in the office and directly under Principal Stewart. Not under him under him, though I don’t think it’s not from lack of want. If it weren’t in the employee handbook that relationships between the principal and staff is strictly forbidden, Brandy would have been all over him like he was catnip and her kitty was ready to play.

“He’s all right,” I mumble, turning my attention back to the folders I was labeling for my new filing system so she can’t see the lie written all over my face.

“All right?” she exclaims loudly, walking toward my desk. “Are you blind or just plain mad? Maybe the fact that you haven’t gotten laid in months has your hot guy radar off a bit?” she asks, reaching over and placing her hand on my forehead. “You don’t appear to have a fever.”

“Knock it off,” I grumble, pushing her hand away.

“He sat by you. Does he smell as good as he looks?” Her eyes twinkle with excitement as she awaits my answer.

Yes, Brandy, he smells incredible. He smells so good I wanted to climb him like a tree in the middle of the teachers’ lounge, coworkers and boss be damned.

Instead, I go with, “I didn’t notice.”

“Didn’t notice?” Again, she reaches for my forehead.

“Stop!”

“I’m starting to get a little worried about you.”

“I’m fine, Brandy. Just trying to get my room ready to go for Tuesday. It’s difficult, though, having an interruption bothering me.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know I’m keeping you from your color coding files and your fancy schmancy label maker, but aren’t you at least a little bit interested in the hot new teacher?”

Oh, I’m interested, all right.

“Whatever, Brandy. He’s decent looking, sure, but he’s no Channing Tatum.”

No, Channing Tatum has nothing on Sawyer.

“You’re nuts.”

“What’s the big deal, anyway? Why does everyone have their panties in a tizzy?” I ask.

“You mean, besides the fact that he’s hotter than Mount St. Helens after its eruption in nineteen eighty?”

I can’t help but crack a smile. “Yeah, besides that.”

“I hear he played baseball or something. Not sure. No ring on his finger, though, I definitely noticed that.” Me too. “And besides, my panties aren’t in a tizzy, they’re soaked.” Brandy gives me a wide wolfish grin, her blonde hair framing her heart-shaped face.

“I don’t need to know anything about the state of your panties.”

“Anyway, at least we’ll have a little more eye candy to help get us through the school year, right?”

Understatement of the year.

“He’s definitely an improvement over Mr. Burton and his coffee-stained ties,” I smirk.

“God! How does one man miss his mouth so much?” she laughs, shaking her head. “All right, I’m going to head back down to the office and stare at Mr. Stewart’s ass.”

“Enjoy,” I holler as she throws me a wave over her shoulder and exits my classroom.

The girl is crazy, but I love the hell out of her. We’ve become good friends over the last six years, and she definitely makes my time at school a little more entertaining.

Chuckling, I shake my head and get back to my color coded labels, but it doesn’t hold my attention. Instead, I find myself booting up my computer and bringing up the Google search engine.

Sawyer Randall.

Enter.

It takes only a second to start bringing up stories and articles and pictures. I stare, awestruck, at the headline of the first article. With shaky fingers, I click on the link and start to read. My eyes devour the feature, my mind spinning as I try to process this shocking new data.

This can’t be right.

Can it?

“Holy shit.”

* * *

“Do you follow baseball?” I ask as I approach the counter at my sister’s floral shop.

“Grandpa stole third base earlier this afternoon, if you know what I mean,” my grandma says, a dirty smirk crossing her face.

“I think I just threw up in my mouth,” I grumble, turning to find a mirrored disgusted look on my oldest sister Payton’s face.

“Oh, there was nothing gross about it,” Grandma adds. “He does this thing with his tongue and it–”

“Stop talking!” I proclaim before sticking my fingers in my ears.

I stopped in after school to see how Payton was doing at the shop, needing maybe a little advice from my oldest sister. Just my luck that she has a shop full of people. Linkin’s mom, Karen, is here, making up a small bouquet of yellow and white daisies for the display case. She started working here full time earlier in the summer and seems to be enjoying it.

And of course, Grandma is here. It’s like the woman can sniff out the potential for gossip and latches on to even the smallest thread like a pit bull to a bone.

My grandparents, Orval and Emma, are, well, different. Okay, fine. They’re batshit crazy, but I mean that lovingly. At almost eighty-two, they bring new meaning to the phrase public displays of affection. They’re constantly groping each other, are caught in compromising positions, and are the givers of the world’s most inappropriate gifts.

But even with their own brand of sexually charged crazy, I love them to death.

They were there for us when our mother died.

I was just about to turn thirteen when our mom lost her fight with ovarian cancer. She left behind her husband and their six daughters, ranging from ten to eighteen. Dad is a pilot and used to fly commercial jets back then. When Mom passed, he took a step back from the large airlines that took him to all corners of the world, and started flying small charter planes for the rich and fancy out of a smaller airstrip not too far away.

His trips were shorter and he was home most nights, but it was still hard.

Enter Grandma and Grandpa.

They moved in with the seven of us and quickly became a strong tie that kept the family together. It wasn’t easy, especially with six hormonal girls, but we managed because we had each other. I honestly believe we’re a closer family because of that bond we formed, which started with our Mom. Trish Summer was an amazing woman.

I miss her so much.

“Why do you ask about baseball, Alison Jane?” Grandma asks, not even bothering to hide the fact that she’s nosing around at the papers on the counter.

I contemplate on how much to tell them, but it’s not like it’s not going to get out sooner or later. I mean it’s not every day a former professional baseball player starts teaching physical education in Jupiter Bay. Once school is back in session, everyone and their brother will know, even those who don’t follow baseball.

“The new teacher is a former ball player,” I decide to tell, casually.

“I once dated a professional baseball player, you know,” Grandma says, a far-off look on her face.

After several seconds, Payton finally speaks. “You did?”

“Yes, yes. Joe. What a young stud that man was.”

“What happened?” Karen asks, stopping what she’s doing and listening to the conversation.

“It ran its course. He ended up marrying Marilyn.” She goes back to straightening up the rosebuds that don’t need straightening.

“Marilyn? As in Marilyn Monroe?” I ask, completely dumbfounded.

“You dated Joe DiMaggio?” Payton whispers, her shock as plain as the look on her face.

“Anyway,” Grandma says, waving her hand as if it’s no big deal. “You’re working with one? What’s his name?”

“Sawyer Randall.” Just saying the name makes my heart start to beat a wee bit faster.

Grandma pulls out her phone and starts to type. I glance over at Payton, curious as to what she’s doing. Did we bore her enough that she decided to check her email?

“There,” she says with a victorious smile.

“What did you do?” Payton asks, stepping up beside Grandma and glancing down at her phone.

“I went to that Twitterbook. He has a stellar ass, AJ. I made sure to tell him,” she says, clicking around on her phone.

“You told him?”

“She did,” Payton confirms, reading the screen. “What a magnificent ass on that @sawyerrandall. I’ve seen plenty in my day and can’t wait to get my hands on it. #SexySawyer #BestAssEver,” Payton glances my way, fighting laughter.

“You’re incorrigible.”

Grandma continues to click through her phone. “Have you seen the Sports Illustrated spread he did wearing only his cleats and a backward ball cap? His glove is in the way of the goods, but I can tell he’s packing. I have a nose for these things,” she says, turning the phone to show me the picture she found.

And there it is.

Sawyer Randall standing at third base, his legs spread wide, as he crouches down to catch a ball. And yes, that glove is positioned just right. I can’t imagine how many takes it took to capture this shot.

Lucky photographer.

“That’s hot,” Payton chimes in, a wide smile on her face.

“Knock that off. You’re married now.”

“Married, yes. Dead, no. There are no rules against looking, AJ.”

“Truth,” Grandma adds with a decisive head nod.

“Wait a minute,” Payton says, grabbing the phone from Grandma’s hand. My stomach starts to tighten as she studies the photo. It’s only a matter of time now, and fortunately, I don’t have to wait long before my torture begins. “That’s him!” she proclaims.

I turn my attention to Karen beside me, helping her clean up small scraps of greenery and baby’s breath from the large stainless steel workstation.

“Holy shit! You slept with Sawyer Randall?” She just couldn’t keep this shit to herself, could she? Now she opens her big mouth in front of Grandma, who won’t let this thing slide on a cold day in Hell.

“AJ! You were feeding the kitty with this gorgeous ball player? How? When? Why didn’t you share the deets?”

“Thanks a lot,” I grumble at my traitorous sister. She gives me an apologetic look as she shrugs her shoulders. “There’s nothing to tell.”

“Liar,” Payton smirks. “I saw the way you were eye-fucking him at Lucky’s that night.” She turns and glances at Grandma. “It was so hot, even I needed a cigarette.”

Rolling my eyes, I keep my attention on the little clippings of waste. “It wasn’t what you think.” I can feel their eyes on me as I pretend to dust off the remains of nonexistent leaves. “We didn’t actually sleep together, though we might have slept together.”

“Wait, what?” Karen asks, glancing to Payton to see if she understood.

“Can you explain?” Payton asks, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning back against the counter.

“Fine,” I grumble, tossing the towel onto the clean table and turning their way, mimicking Payton’s stance. “We left together. I’m pretty sure we both had every intention of…you know.”

“The sex,” Grandma chimes in with a grin.

“Yes. Anyway, I started to feel ill. I had been drinking a lot and, well, I ended up getting a little sick and passing out in his bed,” I say in one quick breath.

“So, you slept in the same bed but didn’t have the sex?” Payton fights the smile that threatens to take over.

“I had been mixing alcohol and there were shots involved, Dr. Watson,” I defend.

“Oh, I remember,” Payton says, snickering. “I can’t wait to tell everyone,” my double-crossing sister says, grabbing her own cell phone from her pocket and firing off messages to each of our sisters. Hell, she’s probably making the announcement in the group text.

“No sex? You had that hunk of man-meat in bed with you and you didn’t once dip the corndog in the batter? Have I not taught you anything, AJ?” Grandma gives me a total I’m disappointed in you and can’t even believe we’re related look.

“So, you slept in the same bed, but didn’t actually sleep together. That must make working together a little awkward,” Karen chimes in, slapping me upside the head with her reminder of the huge mess I’ve created.

“Slightly.” I can’t help my sarcastic tone.

“Well, you’re just going to have to sleep with him then. That’s the only way.” Grandma gazes up at me with a proud smirk, kinda like she just solved the world hunger problem.

“Yes, because sleeping with a coworker now wouldn’t cause any issues, I’m sure. At least back in July he wasn’t technically a coworker yet. At least, I don’t think he was.” At this point, I’m not sure I trust my instincts when it comes to the opposite sex. In fact, I’m sure I don’t. Not when you look at the long line of frogs I kissed that turned out to be total toads.

My phone starts to chime, letting me know the Summer sisters have seen whatever messages my big sister sent and are now responding. Awesome. Conversation seems to happen around me as I grab my phone. Yep, group text. And Grandma was included.

Jaime: Holy shitballs! Sawyer Randall?! I just Googled him. *flame emoji*

Lexi: Did you get a glance at the goods at least? A hand on it? What size bat is he swinging for the fences with???????????? MUST. KNOW. SIZE. OF. BAT.

Abby: I’m sorry you got sick. *sad face emoji*

Meghan: I Googled too. Yowzers, AJ! *insert gif of ovaries exploding*

Grandma: He just responded to my Tweeterbook post. I’m inviting him to dinner. Tagged you too, AJ!

I glance up to see Grandma’s nose in her phone and what could possibly be pure evil radiating from her pores. Don’t let the sweet old lady charm fool you, folks. This woman is a mixture of crazy, wicked, and disobedient, all wrapped up in a Viagra-laced bow.

The Twitter notification appears on my screen as she grins victoriously at her device before slipping it into her pocket.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, is this really my family?