I twist the new bead bracelet on my wrist as I walk around the room, examining the landscapes being created from the soft pastel watercolors.

Once again, I’m amazed by the talent of these kids, and also excited. Their futures are endless, if they don’t get lost along the way.

It's a sad reality life happens for a lot of people, and the cost is dreams. But some of them will make it, I know. Some will go on to do great things. Some will be artists in their own way, whether that means working off easels or giving this world a brighter coat of polish.

My eyes wander across the room to Nat.

I probably shouldn’t have accepted the bracelet, but nothing shy of an apocalypse would have stopped me. Not after she pulled it out of her pocket, a nervous smile on her face.

The hope in her familiar green eyes was heavy. So was the respect. I'm not used to being anybody's hero, but isn't that what I signed up for? To change lives? To make these kids live, bigger and better and more beautifully than I do.

I'd watched her briefly on the sidelines again today. She sat on a bench next to a landscaped saguaro cactus behind a fence, reading a book during recess today.

The empathy I’d had compounded ten times over.

This girl needs friends, and though I may not be the answer, I can help. Have to help.

I’d like to blame it all on her father, and his overprotectiveness, but that's hardly it. I can even empathize with him being a single parent.

That's never easy. I watched my own mom struggle after dad's sudden death. Not just financially, but physically and emotionally.

That doesn't mean I like Brent Eden any more than I did last week. He might be swoon-worthy, but he’s also a colossal asshole.

A handsome, demanding, straight up imposing jackass.

Assuming I wanted him to keep playing my boyfriend, my fiancé. Dick.

I’d gone to his house to explain that was the last thing I wanted. Or needed, for that matter.

The soft ding coming from my desk tells me I forgot to turn off my phone. I normally wouldn’t consider looking at it, but class is almost over. These kids are engrossed in their projects and don’t need anything from me right now. They're busy putting their unique twists on the simple landscape I'd painted last night as an example.

Sitting down, I pull the phone out of my bag and swipe the screen. After turning the volume all the way down, I click on the text icon.

Mother. Ugh.

We're still on for the zoo this weekend, aren’t we? I’m so looking forward to it, Isabella. One o'clock sharp! Meet you at the front gate.

I nibble my cheek, scrolling through about a billion animal emojis stacked in a messy line after the first text.

Oh yeah! And please PLEASE ask your new man friend and his little girl to join us. I'm dying to meet them.

Nope.

I push the phone to the edge of the desk, having no intention of responding, and press a hand to my forehead. I try like hell to stop Brent's face from forming.

Epic fail. I'm daydreaming muscle, ink, and emerald green a second later. Red-faced as ever.

This has gotten out of hand.

No matter what I say, Clara twists it around. Tells mom what a happy couple we are, and how she just absolutely knows he's the one for me.

How she's never seen me this happy.

How it's just a matter of time until wedding bells are ring-a-ding-dinging.

Actually, I think that's the new bead bracelet clicking softly on my wrist as I fight the urge to strangle her.

Brent would be beyond pissed if he discovers how far along my mother believes our ‘romance’ has become.

The swoosh of a door opening has me glancing up. Sure enough, it’s him.

Mr. Eden, in all six foot something of his paradise flesh.

I was hoping he’d stay in his truck for once.

Maybe let me walk Natalie outside later. Without ever having to interact with him.

Without having to feel stripped bare by his piercing looks.

Silly idea.

We still don’t have to interact, though. There’s nothing that says I have to.

Except my eyes won’t behave. Try as I might, I can’t pull them off him.

His arms are like tree trunks. His chest could hold the world. His beard could send my body places I don't dare imagine.

Hate, frustration, and shame are no match for this man's insane gravity.

Worse, he’s walking forward. Straight to my desk. Never breaking the gaze that loudly, boldly tells me he'd like me up against the nearest wall.

Crap!

My heart thuds somewhere near my chin. My toes curl, tingling. So do my knees, my thighs, my –

No, no, and no. Time to focus. Keep it together.

I wish. Hell, even my hands, which I squeeze together, burn. His eyes are so flipping mesmerizing. Penetrating.

Like he can see straight into my head and know, without a doubt, I’ve been thinking about him. Nonstop.

Losing my mind. For days. Weeks.

Without saying a word, he slaps a hand on the desk and pushes a slip of paper towards me.

“What –”

He turns crisply before I can get out a single word, so I reach for the paper and jump to my feet. A total mistake because my Jell-O knees make my legs buckle.

I try to keep myself from falling by grabbing the edge of the desk, and manage to knock over the tin can pencil holder, which topples and hits the floor with all the grace of a cannonball.

So does the stapler, tape dispenser, and my cellphone.

Bravo, Ms. Derby. Every kid in this academy will be laughing behind your back tomorrow, guaranteed.

Sighing and slightly frantic, I scramble around the desk and drop to my knees to pick everything up, ignoring the baffled looks several students throw my way.

He’s bent down, too. His royal highness. Already has the can upright, pencils clattering back inside as he drops them in one-by-one. “Were you born clumsy? Or is it just that kind of day?”

His husky whisper sends heat through my veins, my cheeks, and another throbbing part of me I won't acknowledge. Which just pisses me off more than his tactless question.

“No!” I hiss.

“Could have fooled me.” He shrugs. Like nothing happened.

Bastard.

I grab the pencil holder in one hand and the stapler in the other, lowering my voice to a mouse whisper. “Were you born an asshole? Or is it just that kind of day?”

“Some say I was.” He's smirking now. Awesome.

“Well, they're absolutely right.” I put the can and stapler neatly on the desk. I'll check it over later to see if anything's broken or missing before Mrs. Wayne returns.

He replaces the tape dispenser and my phone, and with a wink that nearly knocks me back down on my knees, turns and walks to the back of the room.

I stand there, trying to disguise just how hard my legs are wobbling. My eyes flick to the clock.

At least tonight's torture is almost over. Shame to think it started so well.

Taking a deep breath, I say, “Ten more minutes, everybody.”

Forcing myself not to look at him, I sit back down. In the chaos, the slip of paper had gotten flipped over.

It's a number. A phone number. I glance up.

He gives a single head nod.

I shake my head, having no idea what he expects.

Every second we're in the same room is pure agony. Now, he wants to do it over the phone, too?

“Ms. Derby, can you come here please?”

I stand, making my way over to Ester, and answer her question about dry-blending two colors.

Then I address the class. “Your pictures need a few minutes to dry before you take them off your easels. Does anyone have any last minute questions that weren’t covered earlier, or came up while you were painting?”

Tad asks about brush sizes. As soon as I answer him, Rosa wants to know about canvas versus paper. That leads to a conversation lasting until it’s time to leave.

“Great job, guys and gals! I’ll pass out feedback for each of you about the dog drawings you handed in soon. If you have watercolors at home, you can certainly continue working on your landscapes. Bring them by next week and I’ll review them.”

“What medium will we be using next time?”

I smile at Natalie, knowing she’ll like the answer to her question. “Oil pastels.”

A soft mumble of excitement ripples through the room as the students collect their things and dart for the door.

“Daddy, can we wait and walk Ms. Derby to her car?”

I freeze for a millisecond, then shake my head. “That’s not necessary, Natalie, but thank you.”

“Sure we can, baby girl.” Brent's voice is as soft as it is defiant.

Somebody shoot me.

There are still a few students filing out of the room, so I'm careful. Reserved.

Well aware what could very easily slip out of my mouth. Like telling him there's a special underground place to go, with plenty of fire and pitchforks.

I ignore Brent walking up behind me and head for my desk. The piece of paper is there and I snatch it up. Whatever he’s playing at won’t work with me.

Spinning around, I hold the note in the air. “Did your phone number change from the one on file with the school?”

I might be imagining things or having a moment of wishful thinking, but the skin behind his soft scruff seems to turn slightly red.

“No.” He steps forward. Closer.

“You want this one added to her file as an emergency number then? I’ll need a name.”

A narrowed glare says he’s not impressed. “That’s my cell.”

“Okay. Noted.”

He leans in to whisper-growl. “The school already has that number. It's not for them. I want you to have it, Blue.”

Holy hell. How can one sentence be so tantalizing and maddening all at once?

I circle around my desk and drop the paper in the trash can. “Sorry. Already have all I'll need on my class roster.”

He’s right behind me and plucks it out. Glancing over his shoulder at Natalie filling her backpack, he whispers, “Come on. I want you to have it personally.”

A jolt of heat shoots through me that isn’t entirely anger, but I pretend it is and quietly snap, “Personally, I don't need it.”

“You might.”

“Nah.” Shaking my head, I slide the attendance sheets, my classroom notes, and my phone into my bag. “We're good.”

“What if you breakdown on the side of the road or something?”

I zip my bag shut, tilting my head. Jesus. Why does he look like the building just started on fire behind me?

“I have road-side assistance for that like a normal person.”

“Bull. What if they don’t respond, Blue?”

Flipping the bag’s strap over my shoulder, I glance over to make sure Natalie stays preoccupied.

Then I shift slightly to step around him. “I sure as hell won’t call you, Brent.”

He grabs my arm. “This isn't a game. You need help, you'll call.”

Although he’s taller, broader, and probably three times stronger than Preston, he doesn’t unnerve me. The badass persona he wears is only for show. I’ve seen him melt on sight in front of his daughter.

That may not mean a lot to some, but, oddly, it tells me I have nothing to fear. With him, I know I'll get the teddy bear. Not the grizzly.

“No. I'm a grown woman.” I lock eyes with him, a fierce smile pulling at my lips. “Seriously, what's this all about? You sound ridiculous. Like you're my chaperone, or something.”

“Are you two ready?”

Crap. We both turn to Nat, who's standing near her chair with a grin stretching ear-to-ear.

It's not too late. I could refuse to walk out with them, but that would hurt her far more than him. She doesn’t deserve that. “Coming, Natalie. I just have to get my sketchpad.”

“I’ll get it,” Brent says. His voice is ice.

He still has a hold of my arm. I stiffen every muscle I can, so ready to shake him off.

Sure, I’m a lot weaker. He could drag me across the room without breaking a sweat if he chose, but I want him to know I’m not into these hands. Not like this.

Not even if I've imagined them doing devilish things to my body.

With a final glance I can’t quite read, he lets go, walking around the desk to collect my sketchpad off the easel.

I walk toward Natalie. “Sooo, how'd you like painting with watercolors?”

“Loved it!” she answers brightly. “I have some at home, but I was never sure how to get it right. Now that I know how to use them, I have a dozen things floating around in my head just begging to be painted.”

“Dozens? Busy girl!” I stay next to her and we start for the door. “Tell me a few of your ideas.”

“An Arizona sunset, for one.” She sighs heavily. “For all we put up with here, the views are incredible. You've seen our house? Well, I can see the desert out the windows for miles some nights. Camelback mountain in the other direction, too. So pretty. I just want to keep it forever.” Her face reddens. “That sounds silly, I guess. Right?”

“Not at all,” I assure her. I mean it, too. “Spoken like a true artist.”

She beams as we walk out the door. Big Daddy's right behind us, making my spine quiver. Regardless, I keep going. “You did a wonderful job on your landscape tonight. I know you’ll paint a spectacular sunset.”

She and I chat all the way down the hall, pausing only long enough to bid Oscar goodnight as we exit the building. He's a lot more active tonight, redeeming himself after the Preston intruder incident.

At my car, I unlock the driver’s door, toss my bag in, and turn to take my sketchpad from him.

He hits a button, unlocking his truck, and then another to start it. “Go climb in, baby girl. Need one more word with Ms. Derby.”

Great. Because I have two very choice words for him: fuck off.

Natalie gives me a quick hug and then spins around to open the pickup door. I hold out my hand, but he keeps the pad at his side.

He lays a hand on the hood of my car. “How often do you have this thing serviced?”

Taken aback, I shake my head. “I know how to handle my car. Why?”

“It’s old. Could breakdown any time.”

He sounds like Clara, and mother. I'm fuming.

“Surely, they pay you enough that you can afford a new one?”

What next? Is he going to ask me what I'm wearing to bed?

I reach over the open car door separating us to grab my pad. “I'm fine. Don't want or need a newer one, thank you very much. Are we done?”

For the record, I don’t make enough, but he doesn’t need to hear it.

He steps back, just out of my reach. “I could get you a good deal on one over at Rooster's. I’ve bought a lot of vehicles there. They’re good. Affordable. Solid warranties. Stand behind everything they sell.”

He’s acting so sincere, so genuine, that my anger slowly melts away.

Now, I'm just confused. If he isn't trying to get under my skin or into my pants, what's going on?

“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind when the time comes for a different car.” I pat the top of the car door. “This one needs to last a bit longer though. And I really need to get going.”

Mainly because I could go soft on his nosy ass, and that can’t happen.

He steps around the door, and me, laying the sketchpad in my back seat.

There’s a tingle in the air and up my spine. My only escape is to climb in the car and shut the door.

Thank God and all that’s Holy, the engine starts right away. Last summer, it tested me by not engaging on the first try. Or the second. I'll have to get that looked at.

He’s still standing there. I wave, push in the clutch and shift into reverse.

Though a part of me wants to shift through the gears as fast as possible, I don’t. I’ve learned my lesson there. Driving fast doesn’t make for an easier escape, and it costs money if something goes wrong. Captain Dawson had no mercy when the time came to dole out my ticket.

There’s always traffic, and I have to wait for an opening to pull out of the parking lot. I force myself not to check my mirror, to see if he made it onto the road as well.

It’s pitch black by the time I get off the highway and onto the roads leading into Tempe, and then to my building. Even though the headlights behind me aren’t all the same, there’s no way to tell if one set is from his truck or not.

A sense of disappointment washes over me. Which is silly.

No, beyond silly.

It’s fucking stupid.

I'm being stupid.

He’s the father of one of my students. Having any sort of feelings towards him would be the fastest route to getting fired. And if I want to find out how fast I can pulverize my own heart, a reckless night with Eden is the swiftest way to do it.

I pull into the apartment complex, driving around the first building to the back, where my assigned parking spot sits next to the dumpsters. I never know what my car will smell like in the morning. Whoever invented air fresheners needs a medal.

There’s a small man made hill with palm trees around it on the other side of the garbage, and a well-used street at the top of it. I swear people toss stuff out as they drive by, trying to hit the dumpsters, but never do.

When I first moved in, I picked up the trash daily. Now, after discovering that was being taken advantage of, I leave it to the maintenance crew.

Unless something lands on my car, which has happened a time or two.

With my bag over one shoulder, I open the door and climb out. As I’m reaching in to grab the sketchpad, I get the sense I’m being watched. I take it and turn around.

Third floor up the adjacent building, I spy someone on the balcony.

“Good evening, Mrs. Butler,” I say with a wave.

She waves back from her chair next to the metal railing. “Hello, dear. How was your day?”

“Good. How was yours?”

“Oh, I’m a bit under the weather.” A glowing red tip moves in the darkness, and she lets out a cough. Tobacco smoke rolls up my nose. “It’s hard as blazes to breathe in this heat.”

I think the two packs she works through each day have more to do with that.

“It’ll be October soon,” I say hopefully. “And cooler!”

“That’ll be nice.”

I wave again. “Have a nice night.”

“You, too, dear.”

At the door, I use the fob on my key chain to let me in, and then climb the three flights of stairs. The air is stifling hot. It's an old building, prone to retaining the daytime heat.

I shift the keychain in my hand, positioning the apartment key, anxious to unlock the door as quickly as possible and step into my air-conditioned cave.

The rush of cool air feels heavenly. I enter, close the door behind me, and embrace the sweet relief.

Letting out a long sigh, I turn on the light, dropping the keys in the dish on the counter and kick off my shoes. “Home sweet home.”

I laugh at my own words. It’s not much.

A tiny kitchen, separated from the living room, with a counter that's barely big enough for three appliances. One of the doors off the living room leads to the bathroom, and the other, my one and only bedroom.

I can’t help but think about Brent’s spacious house as I step forward.

Another sigh escapes. This one, longing.

“Make it a goal, Izzy. Not just a dream.” I smile. Those words hold weight.

I have no idea when mom first said them to me. Sometime in the chaos after 9/11, and war, and dad dying, probably. They’ve become my mantra ever since.

As annoying as she is, like any good mother, she's left some golden nuggets.

I drop my bag and sketchpad on the coffee table, then plop down on the couch. Someday, I'll have a house like Brent does. All my own. Without any worries about a subversive, sexy, brooding beast inside.

My eyes settle on the sketchpad and the piece of paper taped to the front of it.

Wait. That wasn't there before...was it?

I carefully remove it, wrinkling my nose.

His phone number. For personal reasons.

Asshole. Sneak. He only let me think I'd won a small skirmish.

I don't even know why I'm smiling. If I do, I definitely don't want to admit it.

I let it drop and grab my phone, finally finding the courage to respond to mom's text.

Yes, of course I’ll be at the zoo this weekend.

And yes, Brent and Natalie will be joining us. I barely stop myself from typing it out.

“And come Monday, you’ll be fired,” I tell myself.

Disgusted, I wad the paper into a ball and toss it on the table.

The only thing worse than bad ideas is making them reality.