ABBY
THANKS, MS. MITCHEL. See you tomorrow.”
Stella Greer slings her backpack over her shoulder and follows the rest of the kids from my AP study group out of my room.
I haven’t seen Hank today but I know he’s here. I heard about the delivery trucks showing up, and how “hot Mr. Wagner’s arms are” from the girls who saw him helping unload boxes labeled with HG Technologies, while the guys speculated what he could lift.
I know I’ll talk to him on the phone tonight. I know I’ll get all restless and squirmy hearing my name wrapped in his deep voice and listening to the sound of his breath between words. But I don’t want to see him. Not here. Not again.
Which is why I’m stuffing my papers and files into my bag with little to no regard for neatness, spilling a pile of the pens I prefer for grading in after them, and sweeping my jacket off the hook so I can get out of here.
“Leaving already?”
Too late.
I freeze, back still turned to the door, then take a deep breath, steeling myself against what I know I’m going to find behind me. Hank playing dress-up as a teacher again. Probably another chinos ensemble with rolled sleeves and a sweater.
My throat goes dry, making that clicky noise when I try to swallow.
God, he looked good like that. Better than any teacher I’ve ever seen. I imagine his top button undone at the neck, so I can see—
“Abby?”
Shoot.
Shaking my head, I pinch my lips together and turn toward the door.
Whoa.
My mouth hangs open a bit and the air leaks slowly from my lungs.
Hank is not playing dress-up as a teacher today. He’s dressed down in a Bearings T-shirt I’m about ninety-five percent sure I tried to steal from him eleven years ago. It’s thin and worn and pulling tighter across the muscles of his shoulders, arms, and chest than it ever did in high school. It looks good. Like I’m half tempted to pull out my phone and take a picture, because this is a look I never want to forget.
He clears his throat, crossing his arms over his broad chest, making all those mouth-watering muscles pop and flex even more. Making me stupid as I stand there, staring.
“You okay, Abby?” he asks, not looking too concerned at all.
Forcing my eyes up to his face, I nod. “Are you?”
His brow shoots up from behind the black frames and I feel it deep in my belly.
Wait… what did I ask him? If he was okay? Geeze, I’m pathetic.
Another shake of my head to knock all the dirty thoughts rolling through loose, and I venture another look at his face. “Sorry. Of course you’re okay. You look great—fine, I mean.”
The corner of his mouth ticks higher. “Thanks. You look great—fine—too.”
He steps farther into my classroom and hooks his thumb in the threadbare pocket of his jeans that fit in all the most important ways.
I really need to stop staring.
Dragging my focus upward, I hopscotch over the hard terrain of his abs, the corded muscles of his forearm, one solid packed pec, and the rounded ball of his shoulder. I get a little lost in the stubble of his squared jaw, and fumble around the cocky slant of his mouth, before following the push of one finger up the bridge of his nose to adjust his frames.
I love those frames.
But the eyes behind them are watching me all too closely.
“I should go.” I don’t know why it feels so much safer talking to this man on the phone than seeing him in person, but it does. A call lets me hide behind the distance between us. It lets me pretend the just attached to our friendship has a chance of surviving. It lets me believe that if I continue this balancing act atop my little fence, maybe this time I’ll get to keep him.
“But I just got here.” Two lines pull between his brows and he takes a step closer and then another, his eyes moving over me in a slow, blatant perusal, probably only half as obvious as mine.
I shiver, certain I can actually feel that hot stare as it moves along my body like trailing fingers. “And I-I need to leave.”
He’s standing in front of me now, and I’m hyperaware of how close we are. Of the heat coming off him. The smell of the soap he washed with and the clean sweat he’s worked up outfitting what will be the robotics lab.
So good.
I try to take a step back, but my legs bump my desk and I realize I’m trapped.
Eyes locked with mine, Hank takes a bit of my hair and winds it in a loose spiral, rubbing the coil between his finger and thumb.
I’m breathless, helpless to stop my eyes from dropping to his mouth.
He leans closer, and I catch a glimpse of his tongue running against his bottom lip.
Another deep pulse inside me and I tremble, closing my eyes. Waiting for the kiss I know I ought to resist but have already surrendered to. Waiting…
Waiting?
I peek open one eye and find Hank just where I left him, a breath away, his eyes locked with mine. And a smile so suggestive parked on his perfect lips, I nearly moan.
Hank winks. “Talk to you tonight, Abby.”
HANK
“YOU’VE GOT ZERO game face. You know that, right?”
Abby’s warm laughter filters through the line.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Bullshit. She knows exactly what I’m talking about, but I’m more than happy to remind her. In fact, I couldn’t be happier. “I’m talking about the way you were checking me out back at school today. It was like being mauled by your eyes. I feel dirty.”
I feel fucking fantastic.
She coughs, making a bunch of indignant noises that have me grinning ear to ear. I black the windows in my office and walk over to the couch with plans to stretch out for the next hour while we talk. I’d rather be in a bed like she is, but there’s still a shit-ton left to do tonight, and late hours are the tradeoff for missing the early ones… So the couch in my office is as good as it’s going to get.
“I was surprised, is all. That BHS T-shirt was like a time warp. Only with your cover-boy body still in play.”
I close my eyes, laughing.
“My cover-boy body? Jesus, you did not just say that.”
She says my name and I groan hearing it. And then because I’m not thinking, I say, “Let me come back to your place.”
“Don’t.”
I shake my head, feeling that buoyant sense of elation from this afternoon draining away. “What are you so afraid of?”
“Nothing,” she answers quietly. “I just don’t want more than this.”
And now, because I am thinking and I don’t want the rest of our call to have this sullen, sorry feel, I say, “Pretty sure you wanted more than this when you were checking out my junk back at school.”
“Hank!”
And we’re back on track. Just not the one I hoped.
“MR. WAGNER, JACK Hastings is in the lobby. He said you’d see him?” There’s a smirk on Sheila’s face because she knows I’ll see Jack. But I’m going to groan about it first… and inevitably after too.
I’m overbooked and already behind on my day, but I tell her to send him in. Unnecessary, as the asshole is already maneuvering past her.
“Jack, you ever hear of a phone?” I come up from my desk to greet him with a clap on his shoulder.
He rolls his eyes. “So you can blow me off. No thanks.”
Says the one guy I make it a rule not to blow off. The drama. “What’s up?”
“I heard this insane rumor that you, the head of one of the world’s largest tech conglomerates, who barely has time to breathe, who keeps a complete wardrobe in your office because going home takes too long, and who hasn’t taken a full day off work since sophomore year of college… have just picked up a new hobby playing teacher at BHS. Something you’d like to share with the class, Mr. Mogul?”
Ah yeah. That.
“Didn’t I tell you?” I know I didn’t. I haven’t seen him since the pizza night when Greg gave me the idea to give Abby what she wanted. “Yeah, so I’m excited about this.” I tell him about the robotics program, since the press hasn’t gotten more than rumors so far. “You wouldn’t believe all the kids who stopped by when I was getting set up yesterday. They’re amped about the program and even though it doesn’t actually start until January, they’re already asking if they can help with the setup.”
Jack raises a brow. “How many moms have contacted you offering the same thing?”
I don’t tell him too many because all I need is to give this guy any more ammunition. “You should get in on it, Jack. We need as many mentors as we can get, and it’s not all tech. There’s fundraising, marketing, business—”
“Yeah, that’s great, Hank. I’m glad you’re into it.” He walks over to where Sheila keeps a pitcher of water and pours himself a glass. “But how long do you think you’re actually going to be able to stick with this before having to pass it off to someone else?”
It’s the question everyone is asking—almost everyone. The question that’s got them all pissing themselves when they hear the answer.
“The season goes through spring. It’s a few hours, a few days a week out at BHS. I’m committed to this year, but obviously we’ll have to see how it goes before I commit to next. The biggest thing, though, is getting the program up and running, so whether I’m the head coach or someone else is, the kids won’t have to worry about whether they’ll have a team. I’m not going to leave these kids high and dry, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
He shakes his head. “Not worried about anything. Just making sure you’ve thought it through. When kids are involved, it changes things. Know what I mean?”
“I do.” But I’m surprised to hear that Jack does. He’s a good guy, sure, but sensitivity isn’t always his thing.
“Good. And since I’m sure you’ll be hitting me up for a donation any time, you can repay the favor now. My mother’s involved with another benefit.” He tosses the heavy cardstock invitation on my desk. “Read it if you want to know what it’s for, but either way, I’m going to need you to buy a table.”
“Just a table?” I ask him, jotting a note to Sheila to get it done. “No surprise speech? I’m not listed on the program, right?”
He shoots me a look over his shoulder, cocky smile at the ready, and I scowl.
“I’m serious, Jack. You’re not screwing me like that again.”
He kicks back on my couch, stacking his hands behind his head. “Any headway with Abby? You could ask her to go. Make it about the cause so her conscience won’t let her say no.”
“Jesus, you’re a piece of work.”
He laughs. “Like you hadn’t already thought it.”
“Please.” I rub my hands together and look out over the city, strung with holiday lights. What I thought of is infinitely better.