Chapter Nine

AJ

I juggle my satchel bag, my purse, and my travel coffee mug as I try to slip my key into the knob of my classroom. Inside, the air is cooler than the hallway, but has that stale I-just-sat-here-for-two-days smell. It reminds me that I haven’t bought any of those Glade Plugins yet, which helps keep the smell of teenage hormones and sweat from taking over my classroom. Even after PE, the girls aren’t so bad, but some of the boys reek of sweaty gym socks and deodorant-less adolescence.

Of course, thinking of the way the boys require extra deodorant after gym class reminds me of their teacher, who was the sole reason I tossed and turned half the night and woke up wet. He’d also be the star of the dirty movie my mind conjured up while I was showering and having to take care of that pesky little problem I seem to have woken up with. If I were a guy, I would have had serious morning wood.

And that just gets me thinking of Sawyer’s morning wood. Recalling how hard and thick it was pressed against my stomach, while his mouth devoured me, definitely didn’t help matters much this morning, and it appears to not be helping much now.

Fanning my suddenly flushed face, I turn on the lights and enter my room. Locking my purse in my desk drawer, I pull out my grade book and the papers I took home to work on this past weekend. With the celebration of my grandparents’ anniversary on Saturday, I ended up spending much of my Sunday afternoon sunning on my back porch and grading the papers. Well, until memories of Sawyer’s lips pressed against my forehead and the way his eyes lit up when I said yes to his date offer, crept back into my mind.

And those silly little reminiscences are what keeps my heart fluttering and my cheeks slightly pinked even now, two days later.

“Holy cheese and rice, did you see the way that man fills out those nylon basketball shorts? I think I had an orgasm in the teachers’ lounge,” Brandy coos as she waltzes into my classroom, our coworker Natalie Johnson hot on her heels.

“She practically groaned when he slid in beside her to put something in the fridge,” Natalie says, a wide grin on her pretty face.

“He smells yummy. Like drop-your-panties yummy. We could bottle it up, you know? I’d call it ‘Essence of Delicious PE Teacher’ and would make millions.”

I can’t help but snort at the truth in her statement. The man smells incredible, even when he was outside and in the sun half the day. Can you imagine what would happen to hormones everywhere when you add in sweat? Like after one of his baseball games or something? Panties everywhere would combust. It would be an epidemic, I’m sure.

I make a mental note to Google search his games.

“What happened there? You just whimpered,” Natalie asks, giving me a knowing smile.

“Nothing,” I squeak out over my suddenly parched throat. “How was your weekend?” I ask.

Natalie proceeds to tell me all about their boat trip up the coast, and how her husband, Stuart, caught some of his biggest fish while she read. Natalie and Stuart got married earlier in the year and are definitely still in that honeymoon phase. He often sends her bouquets of her favorite flowers or shows up and surprises her with lunch. Natalie was a year older than me in school, but I’ve known her most of my life. Her brother, Nick, is well-known, also, even though he was a few more years older than me in school. Everyone knows him as Dr. Adams, one of the dentists in town and Meghan’s boss.

“Oh, shoot, AJ, I brought that book you wanted to read. It’s in my classroom,” Natalie says.

Checking my watch, I reply, “We’ve got a few minutes before class starts. Why don’t we run down and get it?”

“I better get back to the front office. Principal Stewart will be wondering where the hell I am. Maybe he’ll even want to punish me,” says Brandy, waggling her eyebrows suggestively, before turning and practically skipping in the opposite direction.

I follow Natalie down to her classroom and retrieve the book. It’s a smutty romance novel about a bad boy prince, who must take over the throne after his father’s death. He leaves behind a trail of broken hearts until he runs into a maid, knocking her on her ass. It’s one of those forbidden, taboo novels that I can’t help but devour. Abby started me on them a few years back after one that she edited released, and I’ve been hooked on sexy romances ever since.

When I step back into my classroom, I instantly notice the change in my room. There’s a familiar scent in the air. Something masculine and woodsy, mixed with a bit of sweet. On my desk, I see a cup. Not just any cup, but a very tall coffee cup with the logo of my favorite corner coffee house on the front. My heart somersaults in my chest as I approach the gift, noting the Post-It attached to the top.

Good morning.

That was all it said, but I knew who it was from. A smile wide enough to back up traffic on the freeway sweeps across my face as I bring the cup to my lips. Warm, rich caramel sends my taste buds soaring, the aroma of rich caffeine perking my slow brain like those cheesy coffee commercials from my childhood.

A caramel latte.

And it’s wonderful.

Well played, Mr. Randall. Very well played.

* * *

Each morning throughout the week, I return to my classroom with my crappy cup of stale lounge coffee to find some sort of treat alongside my mouthwatering caramel latte. On Tuesday, it was an apple with a note that said For my favorite teacher. Wednesday, I discovered a homemade cinnamon roll, the cream cheese frosting still warm. The note read This smells almost as good as you. I practically swooned as I reached for the fork and took my first bite. On Thursday, I found a raspberry Danish. The butter crust was flaky and melted in my mouth as I took my first bite. Sweet, decadent, and mouthwatering. Just like you. My knees grew a little weak as his words stirred up every desire I had.

Now, as I head back to my classroom, gross cup of nasty coffee in hand, I can’t help but wonder what kind of surprise Sawyer has left today. I know I won’t be drinking this stuff, but it’s part of the song and dance we’ve been doing all week. I leave my room and he leaves a treat and yummy coffee on my desk for when I return.

Only this time, when I return to my classroom, there’s no coffee on my desk. No sweet treat. No note.

Nothing.

Disappointment settles in as I slowly make my way to my desk. Reflexively, I take a drink from the cup in my hand and make a face at the nasty, lukewarm stuff they call coffee. My heart drops in my chest, like my butt does to my chair.

I should have known he was too good to be true. After years of finding nothing but toads, it’s not likely my luck will change soon, right? I mean, Sawyer was great on the outside (really, really great), but everyone knows I only attract the cocky assholes who end up leaving before the sheets start to cool.

‘But Sawyer didn’t feel like an asshole,’ I reason with myself. And that’s true. He felt different from the moment I laid eyes on him.

“You look a little sad.” His voice startles me from the pity party I’m lost in.

“Hey,” I chirp as I glance toward the door. My voice is all pitchy and high.

Sawyer is leaning against the doorframe, a drink holder in one hand and a white paper sack in the other. “Why are you sad?”

“I’m not,” I mumble, my eyes watching as he makes his way to me. From my position in my chair, he towers over me like a giant, all hard muscles and powerful limbs. I can’t help that my eyes feast on the man in front of me. They make their way down his not-too-tight t-shirt and to those fabulous shorts Brandy was talking about. What is it about an athletic man in nylon shorts?

But it’s his legs that now hold my attention. Sprinkled with dark hair, his thighs and calves are thick and…hard. Oh, dear Lord in Heaven, they’re so hard and rippled with waves of taut muscles, and…am I drooling? Ehh, who cares! I have the sudden desire to caress every inch of his thighs and his calves and his…

“Earth to AJ,” he says, pulling me from my fantasy. I was mere seconds away from dropping to my knees and worshipping this man’s thighs.

My face burns with mortification.

Worse, I could hear the humor in his voice, as if he was thoroughly enjoying the fact that I was ogling him. And I’m sure he was. I mean, this man is obviously used to being ogled.

“I’m sorry, what?” I ask, forcing myself to look up and meet his eyes.

Oh, bad idea! They’re sparkling like aquamarines under the sun and full of hilarity. “I asked why you were sad. You said you weren’t. Then you started checking me out and drooling on your chin.”

“I was not!” I declare, unable to stop the bubble of laughter that slips from my lips as I jump to my feet. He smiles back at me, easing away the embarrassment and replacing it with desire.

“I brought you a gift,” he says. Sawyer steps up beside me and sets the white bag down on my desk, along with the coffees.

I turn my head slightly, catching an intoxicating whiff of his soap. He doesn’t move, though, and we remain dangerously close together. It would be nothing for me to reach forward and place my hand on his chest or for him to wrap his arm around my lower back and pull me into his towering body.

“Thank you,” I whisper, caught in the spell of his eyes.

“My pleasure.” Something about the way he says it triggers every dirty memory I have of this man and makes me shiver. They all replay, in glorious bright Technicolor, and it doesn’t take me long to realize I’m practically panting.

But so is he.

“I’m sorry it wasn’t here when you walked in this morning. I decided that I needed to see you before I started my day.” His words are heady and hold a powerful punch to my lady parts.

“I’m glad you waited a few minutes.”

“Yeah?”

I offer a quick nod. We’re still standing way too close to deem appropriate for a school setting, but neither of us seem to care. The room fills with a sexual charge that even I can see. Well, that is if I could see past my Sawyer-induced sex fog.

“So I was thinking about tomorrow night,” he starts, his hand sliding slowly up my arm, leaving a trail of goose bumps in its wake. “Can I pick you up at six?”

“Sex is fine with me.” He smirks and realization sets in. “Six! Six is fine with me! Oh my God,” I mumble, dropping my head into my hands.

Warm fingers wrap around my wrists and gently pull them away from my face. “Sex just so happens to be fine with me too, but not yet. I will show you a proper first date, AJ.” Before I can reply, he places a kiss on my forehead, causing my body to involuntarily sway toward him.

“Bagel and cream cheese today,” he says as he grabs the second coffee and walks towards the doorway.

Glancing down, I take in the white bag on my desk. There’s a note written on it, but before I can read it, he speaks again. “Oh, and AJ? All bets are off following the second date.”

With that, he winks and strolls out the door like he didn’t just render me absolutely speechless and completely turned on with that one statement. I’m so out of whack by his bluntness that I completely miss the view of watching him walk away.

Dammit.

I take a drink of coffee before grabbing the bag. In his now-familiar handwriting, I see his message written across the front of the bag. To the best first date ever.

Smiling like a loon, I reach into the bag and pull out the still-warm, fresh cinnamon swirl bagel and container of strawberry cream cheese. Oh, this man is dangerous. He’s quickly worming his way into the deep, dark recesses of my heart. A place no man has ever gone before.

And I think I like it.

* * *

“Hello?”

“What do I wear on a first date when I don’t want to appear easy?” I ask in one big rushed breath of air.

“As opposed to all of your other first dates where you wanted to appear easy?” my sister Meghan quips through the phone line.

“Yes.”

“Well, where are you going?” she asks logically.

“I don’t know.”

“What do you know?”

“I know he’ll be here in like two hours,” I groan, taking in the mess. My bedroom looks like my closet exploded, raining every article of clothing I own all over the room.

“Okay, well, this one’s a little tricky since you have two wardrobes. School teacher AJ and party AJ.”

“Exactly.” I feel so defeated. “I have my clothes that I wear to work, which doesn’t scream sophisticated with a touch of fun and flirty. Or I have my weekend attire, which is all belly shirts and shorty shorts. I’m so screwed.”

“Well, not yet, but if you play your cards right I’m willing to bet that stallion baseball player is more than willing to do the job for you.”

“Not tonight,” I tell her. “He said no sex on the first date.”

Silence follows my statement. “Did you say no sex?” she whispers as if saying the words out loud is a huge sin.

“Yeah, he said he wanted to do this right. Maybe a goodnight kiss at the end of the night, but no nookie.”

“Ohhhh, you are so in trouble with this one, AJ.”

“Tell me about it. Now what the hell am I supposed to wear? Three quarters of my clothes are too school-teacher-y so those are out. I want to wear something worthy of a date with a former pro ball player, who, according to Google, was married to a freaking Victoria’s Secret model.”

“You didn’t know that?”

“I didn’t read the articles, Meg. I was too busy staring at the pictures.”

She snorts a laugh. “You sound like Grandma. Does it bother you that he was married?”

“Married? No, because it’s over. And I’m not talking over like it was with that Joe guy. This guy is at least divorced, which makes him already several steps ahead of Joe the Schmoe.”

Just thinking about my brief time with Joe Crabtree raises my blood pressure. Joe lived a few towns over and was often in Jupiter Bay for “work.” And apparently, work meant “affair.” We met pumping gas and before I knew it, I found myself back at his hotel room, tangled up in his sheets. We stayed up all night talking, him telling me all about leaving his wife and filing for divorce.

After a few weeks of him driving over and meeting up at my place, I got the call. From his wife. Who was five months pregnant with their third child.

There was no work in Jupiter Bay, no leaving his wife, no divorce.

He was a cheater, a user, and a liar.

And I had fallen for it, hook, line, and sinker.

That was the last time I had ever invited a man to my house. There have been a few following the Joe mess, but we’d never meet at my place. It was always his, which might be why the thought of Sawyer picking me up tonight for a real date makes me so anxious. Normally, I’d meet the guy at the restaurant or bar.

Just another reason why Mr. Randall is different.

“So how about a dress?” Meghan asks, pulling my attention back to the present.

“I do have that green one that I borrowed from Abby,” I agree, glancing at the piles of clothes spread across my bed.

“You borrowed it from me, but who’s keeping track,” Meghan replies dryly.

“Oh, sorry. I’ll get it back to you.”

“Ehh, it’s been like two years, AJ. It’s not like I’m beating down your door to get it back now.” My heart stops beating as realization sets in. When Meghan lost her fiancé Josh, she lost a piece of her soul. Until she’s ready to put herself out there again, she doesn’t have a reason to dress up for dates. Maybe someday, but she’s not ready.

Not that I blame her at all.

“Yeah, well, maybe someday you’ll have a reason to wear it.” I swallow over the lump in my throat.

“Maybe,” she says sadly. “I think the green dress is a great choice. It’s simple and classy, yet sexy, and if you pair it with those cute gold flats or those lace-up sandals, I think it’s casual enough for just about anything he suggests.”

She’s right. The dress is all of that and fits the bill. It’s the perfect outfit to wear tonight for my date.

“I’ve never seen you like this. You’re all worked up,” Meghan prods, waiting me out.

“Maybe I am. He’s just… I don’t know, Meggy. He’s the first guy who makes my heart flutter with excitement. I turn into a babbling idiot half the time, but he doesn’t seem to mind.”

“Then he’s a keeper for sure,” she giggles.

“We’ll see,” I deflect, trying to keep it light, breezy, and not get my hopes up. “How are things going with you?” I ask, pushing aside a pile of jeans to make room for my butt on the bed.

“Fine, I guess. Dad still comes over a couple nights a week just to say hi and make sure I’m still a functioning member of society.”

That damn lump in my throat returns, making it hard to breathe. “Dad understands, better than anyone.” My voice drops to a whisper with each word I speak.

“I know.”

We all know. Dad has been single since Mom passed away from ovarian cancer when I was twelve. I don’t recall him ever dating, nor has he indicated that he has. Instantly, I wonder if he’s ever gone out with someone. I know how much he loved Mom–I grew up watching them giggle and steal kisses whenever they could–so it begs the question: Was he able to move on with his life or has he been stuck in some sort of foreign land of loss and loneliness?

“Meggy, can I ask you something?”

“Always,” my sister replies instantly.

“Has Dad ever dated?” I feel silly asking the question and immediately want to retract it.

Meghan is quiet for so long, I glance down at my cell phone to make sure we’re still connected. “You know, I don’t think he has,” she says softly.

“Do you think he should?” I ask.

“Should? Probably. Will he? Doubt it. I think he feels guilty, you know? Like he’s moving on and leaving her behind.”

Suddenly feeling braver than I was before, I say, “It’s okay to move on. Eventually, when the time is right, there’s nothing wrong with dating.”

Again, I’m greeted with silence. “I agree. Maybe he will. When he’s ready.”

“When he’s ready,” I mimic.

“The green dress, right?” she asks, changing the subject away from the sticky topic of dating after losing your soul mate. Plus, I think she caught on to the fact I was talking to her with my statement more than I was talking hypothetically about our dad.

“The green one,” I confirm.

“I don’t want it back if you have sex in it, though.”

That makes me laugh. “I’ll make sure to take it off before we commence with the sex.”

“Please do. Anyway, I should go. I told Nick I would meet him uptown to help him pick out a couch and chair.”

“Redecorating, is he?” I ask.

“He still hasn’t bought anything since he and Collette split. She took everything they bought together, which is funny considering he paid for it to begin with.” You can hear the slight annoyance and disdain in her voice as she speaks of her boss’s ex-girlfriend.

“What a twatwaffle,” I offer, feeling the need to defend Dr. Nick.

“That she is. Anyway, I’ll let you get ready. Good luck tonight,” Meghan says warmly.

“Thanks. I just hope I don’t make a complete idiot of myself.”

“You probably will,” Meghan instigates in true little sister fashion, which makes me laugh again.

“Bye, brat.”

“Love you,” she answers with a smile.

“Love you, too.”

After hanging up, I set out to get ready for my date. Even though Sawyer took sex off the table, I still jump in the shower and wash and shave all of my bits and pieces, making sure everything from my armpits to my legs (and even my bikini area) is completely hairless and velvety smooth.

I spend extra time on my hair, adding some loose curls to my long, brown mane. Deciding to go a little sexier on my eyes, I opt for the smoky look with charcoal shadows and slate liner. When it’s flawless, I declare myself done with hair and makeup and slip back into my room to get my dress.

The hem of the sleeveless green satin dress hits right at my knee and molds seductively to the subtle curves of my waist. I’m fortunate enough to get my figure from my mom, complete with larger chest and understated hourglass figure.

I slip my feet into my gold ballet flats and grab my black wristlet, making sure it has my house key, identification, and cash secured inside. After a quick spritz of perfume on my neck and wrists, I head to the living room to wait for my date. My nerves are at an all-time high as I watch the clock slowly drag its way to six o’clock.

Two minutes before, I hear a car pull into my driveway. My pacing stalls as realization sets in. I’m about to go on a date with Sawyer Randall. The Sawyer Randall. My hands tremble a little, a combination of anxiety and excitement.

A knock sounds on my door, and I head in that direction.

This is it.

Taking several deep breaths to calm myself, I grip the doorknob and give it a turn.

It’s go time.