“Hey, Mr. A.”
Lifting my head from the stack of essays on my desk, I do an inward groan. Oh fuck. Standing before me is Sunny Dearing, senior class everything: best dressed, most popular, former prom queen, blah, blah, blah. Sunny is … challenging. Frustrating. And fiercely intent on trying to charm me. Since the first week of school a month ago, she has done nothing but make herself an annoying reminder of why I despise pushy women. Hell … technically she’s not even a woman yet. She has reminded me, repeatedly and with flare, that she turns eighteen in December. Sunny always leaves the words hanging in the air, as if I’m supposed to be doing cartwheels at the idea that she will finally be legal.
I’ve had my share of flirty teenage girls over the years, but it’s never something I’ve gotten used to. For some reason they don’t seem to understand that I’m an adult and no matter what they read in dirty books or see on TV, I would never—ever, ever, ever—breach the trust between a student and her teacher. Plus, there’s also the simple fact that I’m not some nasty pervert destined to deflower little girls for my pleasure. I much prefer an actual woman in my bed, someone well versed in the art of sex.
Schooling my features so I come across polite but unapproachable, I reply, “Sunny. How can I help you?”
Her blue eyes dance and she cocks one jean-clad hip against the desk. “I have a question.”
Returning my attention to the essays, I ask, “What is it?”
There’s a long moment of silence, and I find myself smirking at her brassiness. She’s waiting me out making certain she has my full attention before she responds. I gotta give this girl props; she’s got the playbook down.
Glancing up at her, I shove my glasses higher up on my nose and watch her smile widen before she speaks again. “Me and the girls were wondering something.”
I refrain from rolling my eyes at her less than stellar grammar. “And what was that?”
She leans on the edge of the desk and bends just enough so her loose blouse falls open. Quickly sitting back in my chair to put some distance between us, I attempt to tamp down my anger. I did not get into teaching to become eye candy for a bunch of snot-nosed, horny little girls. I sure as fuck shouldn’t have to put up with this shit on a daily basis simply because I’m younger and better looking than the rest of the male teachers.
“How old are you?”
My saving grace chooses that moment to saunter into the room and it’s all I can do to refrain from shouting for joy. Emmy gives Sunny a dismissive look, bold and confident as ever, then directs her attention to me. “Hi, Mr. Austin.”
“Hello, Emerson.”
Sunny’s eyes narrow. She huffs out a disgusted breath and tosses her long bleached-blonde hair over her shoulder. “You’re interrupting us, Emmy.” Sunny says Emmy’s name with a harsh bite that I find amusing.
Emmy rolls her eyes. “I’ll wait.”
That seems to strip some of Sunny’s confidence from her and with a mumbled goodbye, she strolls out of the room like a model on the catwalk: hips swaying in exaggerated movements, flipping her hair back once more before she disappears from sight.
“Thank you,” I respond softly. It’s probably not the most teacherly to say, but fuck it. Emmy is my niece in every sense of the word, so I have no issue with crossing certain lines with her.
Emmy shakes her head and drops her backpack onto the floor. “Does she come in here often?”
“Daily,” I grumble, stacking the essays and setting them aside. I’m too unfocused to concentrate on them now anyway. Besides, I’ll have plenty of time this weekend to get through them. Not like I have anything else to do.
“Seriously? That’s just wrong.”
“Agreed.” Yanking my glasses off, I prop one foot on the drawer of the desk. “So what’s up, Miss Emmy? You have a good day?”
She shrugs and plops down in the first desk nearest me. “Yeah. I guess. I’ve got college applications to finish and send out, so I’m stressing.”
“I’d be happy to help.” Hell, I’d be glad for the distraction. I’ve been so muddled down with settling in here at school and trying to keep my head above water, focusing on someone else would be a nice change.
Her face lights up. “That would be great. Thank you.”
“No problem. Feel like starting now?”
She extracts her phone from her pocket. “Let me just check with Mom.” She’s dialing as she’s talking to me. “Dad thinks I need to apply to Harvard, but my grades aren’t good enough.” She holds up a finger. “Hey, Mom. I’m fine. It was good.” There’s a brief pause then, “I’m here with Uncle Jace. He’s going to help me with my applications.” Her eyes stray to mine. “Dunno. Let me ask.” I lift my eyebrows in question. “Mom wants to invite you to dinner tomorrow night.” I shrug and nod. Not like I have anything planned. Ever. “He says yes. Yep. I’ll tell him. Yeah. I’ll call you when I’m home.” She rolls her eyes. “Yes, Mom. I promise. Love you too.”
Damn. What I wouldn’t give for parents who showed that much concern and care for me and my brother. Makes me long for our childhood … before everything changed, when Jack and I were just two obnoxious brothers and our parents were chasing us around the house.
“Mom says to be there at seven.”
“Got it.”
I’m still mulling over the conversation Emmy had with her mom late the next afternoon. Everything is so effortless between the two of them, a free give and take of emotion and trust that I don’t feel like I’ve ever had with my own parents. Now that they are locked behind all their bigoted walls, it’s becoming harder and harder to imagine that they will ever change.
In my attempt to be the bigger person, I place a call to my childhood home. The phone rings and rings, and eventually the answering machine picks up. I listen to the sound of my dad’s voice, the harsh gruffness that sounds so familiar and sends a spark of longing right into my gut. Leaving a brief message as I always do, I hang up wondering if things between us will ever be any different. Since I have no intention of allowing them to smack-talk my brother, somehow I doubt it.
With a heavy heart, I shove aside the dark thoughts and head into the shower and then dress for dinner. I’m looking forward to spending the evening hanging out with my brother, Roman, and Sabrina. Emmy, as she informed me the day before, has plans with her friends. I’ll miss seeing her, but it will be nice for a change to have an adults-only evening.
By the time I slide behind the wheel of my ancient Jeep Cherokee, bottle of wine in hand to give to my hosts, I’m wondering if Isabella will make an appearance. Somehow I doubt it. Chances are she’s working or otherwise engaged. And there’s always the possibility that she heard I was coming and declined the invitation.
That woman. Damn. Hard to believe I’ve lived here for four months or so and the only time we’ve run into one another was that one evening in the gym. Not that I will forget what she looks like anytime soon: tight little body shining with sweat from her workout, eyes curious and eager as she looked me over, flushed face and wet curls spilling down onto her neck, it’s a wonder I didn’t pounce on her. Sweat never looked so good. So tempting. So intoxicating.
Shaking off the thoughts that are bound to give me wood—again, I crank the stereo and pull out onto the street. The pavement is wet from the rain we received earlier and light dances off the puddles as I make my way. There’s something to be said for a rainy night and Led Zeppelin’s “Stairway to Heaven.” Reminds me of a much simpler time, my own high school days, when my only worry or concern was seeing which easy girl I could get to drop her panties for me.
Flinching at the memory, I start to chuckle. I sure as hell wasn’t smooth back then … or patient. Like most teenage boys, I was fixated on my dick and finding a willing girl to worship it. What a cocky bastard I was. And Jack? He was worse. Except it was other boys worshipping his dick and not the flighty chicks that traipsed in and out of my life.
I sure as hell don’t feel patient or smooth when it comes to Isabella. There’s something about her that’s intriguing and slightly terrifying, which doesn’t make a bit of sense. She is obviously skittish, though I’m not sure if that’s because of me or because of something else. From what I witnessed in the gym, she has this deep longing that she tries very, very hard to deny and ignore. I saw it in her eyes that day at Emmy’s party, saw it more clearly when she eye-fucked me in the gym. It’s as if she’s constantly at war with herself, denying what she wants and running from it each and every time.
Her car isn’t in the driveway when I pull in, which is disappointing, but I’m quick to shake it off as I move toward the front door. This could be a good thing, actually. It will give me an evening free to enjoy myself without fixating on the woman who confuses me every time we meet.
“Hey, man, good to see you,” Roman says when he answers the door, shakes my hand, and gestures for me to enter.
Handing over the wine, I reply, “Good to see you too. Thanks for having me.”
Jack and some young guy I’ve never met are standing in the living room, glasses of red wine in hand, heads close together in conversation. While Roman gets me a beer, I stroll over to my brother and his friend, and exchange a quick hug before Jack introduces us.
“Jace, this is Alex Steinbeck. Alex, my brother Jace.”
I shake hands with the younger dude, the literary nerd in me asking, “Steinbeck. As in James?”
He grins down at me. The guy is freaking huge. And did I mention young? “No relation, dammit.”
We share a laugh, and I shoot my brother a curious glance. It’s not like him to shack up with someone who is a good ten years younger. Not that I’m one to judge, just that Jack tends to never stray from his type. He likes them tall and thirty-ish; someone who is a business professional or lawyer perhaps. This young guy, while he is admittedly handsome, doesn’t exactly seem to me like Jack’s go-to man.
“Alex is a writer,” Jack drawls, answering my question before I can ask it. That’s how it works with twins; our brains tend to work simultaneously and there’s this strange innate knowledge we have of one another that’s been embedded since birth.
“Oh yeah?”
Roman shoves a beer in my hand as I listen to Alex tell me about his latest work: some crime drama, paranormal, erotic mess. Sounds chaotic to me but since I tend to stray toward the classics, I don’t exactly have a clear knowledge of what is considered a best seller.
He’s still waning on about it when the doorbell rings. Over Jack’s shoulder, I can see Isabella step inside the house, smile up at her brother, and immediately embrace him. Risking a glance in her direction, I take in the simple wardrobe. No one wears denim like she does. The material hugs her tight little ass and skims down her long legs to where it’s rolled at the ankle. The simple gray tank molds to her breasts then curves in at her waist. It’s nothing to compare to the skimpy workout gear I last saw her in, but damn if I don’t feel a stirring in my groin. Even from across the room, she can coax a response from me. And I don’t like it. Not one damn bit.
Her eyes meet mine when she pulls away from Roman, and I see the smile fade, quickly replaced with a hard tick of her jaw and a narrow-eyed glare.
Fucking wonderful.
Turning away from the hostile woman across the room, I concentrate on responding appropriately to Jack’s young friend. Whether it’s the long week I’ve had at work or the constant intrusions by the over-eager teenage girl who stalks me, I have little patience for Isabella’s games tonight. If she doesn’t like me so be it. I’ve got enough shit on my plate right now without wasting time on some chick who has no interest. Besides, if I do pursue any women, it’s going to be whatever easy lay I can find. I don’t have time for anything else.
Determined to have a good a time, I do all the right things; I laugh a lot, join in on the conversation, and completely ignore the silent woman sitting across from me at the dinner table. I’m sure we’re raising a few eyebrows, but I couldn’t give two shits. This is her issue, not mine. Regardless of how hot she is, I am not a masochist.
And damn … she is very, very hot.
Deciding that I need more alcohol to get through this evening, I accept Roman’s after dinner shot of tequila and chase it with another beer. The music is pumping from the stereo and our group has moved from the dining table to the living room. Jack and Alex are seated on a small love seat, hands entwined, while Sabrina is sprawled across Roman’s lap in one of the oversized easy chairs. Isabella sits as far from me as she can, tucked into the corner of the couch we’re sharing, tense and upright like she has a stick up her ass. Which I’m beginning to believe she does. She’s managed to go from ice queen to bitch in one short evening. I’m gritting my teeth in anger, wishing I knew why the fuck she was so damn hostile toward me.
When she leaves the room to use the restroom, I react without thinking and spring to my feet following her down the long hallway. Propping myself up against the wall, I shove my hands in my front pockets and wait patiently for her to reappear.
Her eyes widen and her footsteps halt the moment she opens the bathroom door and sees me lurking there waiting for her. “Uh, there are other bathrooms.”
I shrug. “Don’t need the bathroom. I want to talk to you.”
Taking a small step away from me, she stammers, “Wh-what? Why?’
Pulling my arms across my chest, I stand upright. “I want to know what I’ve done.”
Frowning, she dips her head and says softly, “What do you mean?”
“What the fuck have I done to piss you off?” My voice comes out harder, angrier than I’d like, but I’m past the point of caring.
Her eyes flash to mine. “You haven’t done anything.”
My sardonic laugh must shock her, because she takes yet another small step away. “Well, if that’s the case, then why does it feel like you hate my guts?”
Her head cocks to the side. “It’s impossible to hate someone’s guts. Guts don’t have feelings.”
While I admire her snark, I’m a little tired of this game. “What the hell is your issue with me, Isabella?”
The color fades from her face and the sassiness subsides and is replaced with … wait, is that fear? Her eyes are wide and cautious as she slowly steps away from me backing further down the hall. And when I dare to move in her direction, her entire body reacts. Shoulders tremble and one hand grasps at the wall like it’s her lifeline.
Jesus, what the fuck?
Holding up my hands, I start to back away from her. “Hey, it’s okay.” But my words have zero effect on the terrified woman standing warily in the dimly lit hallway. I have no idea what the hell just happened between us, but evidently something about me inspires fear in her. Ironically, I’ve had a variety of reactions from women over the years but never once have any of them ever been afraid of me. “Do you want me to get Roman for you?”
She slowly shakes her head back and forth. “No. Please don’t do that.”
I start to move toward her again, and this time there’s an audible whimper that stops me in my tracks. Whatever has happened to her previously, she’s reliving it right here, right now with me. While I can imagine numerous awful things that can happen to women, I’m not about to go there with this one. Worrying about what happened to her will not resolve the issue at hand.
“Isabella,” I whisper, dropping to my haunches to remove the size and height issue between us. “Babe, take a breath.” She does as I request, though she’s still looking at me like she expects me to pounce. “Good girl. Now take another breath.” She nods and inhales deeply, exhales shakily. “There you go. Take your time. Breathe in, breathe out.”
Slowly the panic starts to fade as does the haunted look on her face. When I drop to my ass and lean against the wall, she does the same. We’re a good six feet from one another, but I can smell her fear. It’s paralyzing for both of us, and I hate myself for letting my anger push her over like this.
“I’m so sorry,” I say softly. “I never meant to frighten you.”
Her eyes immediately fill with tears, and she looks away blinking furiously, remaining silent and pulling her knees against her chest. She’s like a young child sitting there, drawn up into a ball, protecting herself the only way she can. The need to reach for her, to physically comfort her clamors down on me, but that’s the last thing she needs. She needs my understanding, my silence perhaps, and more than anything she needs for me to keep my distance.
“Tell me how I can help you.” I’m back to whispering again, partly for her, mostly for me.
“You can’t,” she replies.
“I can try. If you’ll let me.”
Her eyes meet mine briefly and while the tears have subsided, the wariness remains. “I can’t do that.”
Trying to assist someone who doesn’t want help is nothing but a hard lesson in frustration. I sure as hell don’t want to give up on her without making it clear she can rely on me if needed. Sadly, I have to assume since I’m the one who pushed her to break like this, I’ll be the last person she’ll ever want to turn to.
I start to get to my feet. “I’ll just leave you alone.”
“Jace, please wait.” Her plea sends me flat on my ass again. “Don’t leave. Not … not yet.”
What the hell do I do now? Think, Austin. This is a no-brainer. You’re a teacher for crying out loud. Pull from some of what you know and bring her back from whatever hell she’s residing in. This woman needs a few moments of space to get her shit back together and put on that blank mask she wears so well. The least I can do is try to help her regain a sense of calmness. Stick to what she knows and is comfortable with.
“One of my students is stalking me.” That gets her attention. Her head lifts and her eyes widen. “Yep. She’s a senior. Name is Sunny. Shows up in my room every day after school trying to make conversation.”
“Does she flirt with you?”
The fact that she’s talking to me is enough of a win any old day. “Christ, does she! It’s really gross.” I shoot her a grin and shove my glasses up higher on my nose. “Since when did girls get so ballsy?”
She chuckles, the last of the fear fading away. “I have no idea.”
“Were you like that in high school?”
She laughs again and shakes her head. “Good lord no. I was a nerd in high school. I preferred books over boys, which didn’t exactly make me popular.” The smile fades and fear skirts through her eyes once more, but this time she blinks repeatedly and stiffens her shoulders, fighting silently to maintain composure.
Her strength and resolve are something to be admired. I wonder if she’s always been like this, so cautious and careful. I have a hard time believing this beauty was ever a nerd, but I do like the idea that she spent more time reading than getting hit on.
Really? Where the fuck did that thought come from?
My inner rambling aside, I continue. “Yesterday she strolled in, leaned over my desk, and tried to let me see down her shirt. Thank God Emmy saved me.”
“Maybe you should talk to the principal.”
I shrug. “Yeah, I should do something. It’s getting out of hand.” My eyes roll over her, taking a quick assessment. “You okay now?”
Isabella’s face flushes, and she looks away. “Yeah, I am. Sorry about that.”
“Don’t apologize. Tell me what’s wrong. Tell me what it is I’ve done.” Fuck. I hate the pleading sound in my voice. I don’t do begging but for this woman, I find myself behaving in ways that are completely unexpected.
“It’s not you, Jace. It’s me.”
My eyes narrow and I feel the anger rolling up my spine once more. “Really? You’re going to throw the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ line at me? I don’t think so. Try again.”
Her head bumps against the wall as she sighs deeply. “It’s true, though. It’s not a line. I promise.”
What she doesn’t say, speaks loudly. It tells me that whatever deep, dark secret she’s hiding is something she’s carried for a long, long time. It’s sure as hell something I’m not going to fix with one conversation in a dark hallway. And frankly, I have to ask myself if it’s something I want to help her fix at all. I don’t do complicated relationships. Hell, I don’t really do relationships at all. Sure, I’ve dated my fair share of women. Had plenty of one-nighters too. And a time or two, I actually invested my heart. But I’ve always been so fixated on my career that my personal life is something that’s always taken a back seat to everything else. Pathetic, I know.
“I’d like to get to know you, Bella. Maybe be your friend.” With a shrug I force casualness, even though it’s the last thing I feel. “We’re bound to spend time together at more family functions. We might as well learn to like one another.” I see the wariness return, a bit of the fear too. “Just friends. That’s all.”
She nods slowly. “Yeah, okay.”
Chuckling, I say sarcastically, “Wow. Your enthusiasm is going to knock me over.”
Isabella rolls her eyes and snickers. “Stop it.”
Getting to my feet, I hold a hand out for her. “Come on. Your brother is probably wondering if I’ve abducted you or something.” Tugging her upright, I make certain to keep a healthy distance between us and release her hand immediately.
“Jace? Thank you,” she whispers.
With my back to her, I let out a shaky breath and close my eyes. “You’re welcome.”