25
A Little Pep in My Step
There’s something special about the first day of school. Maybe it’s the smell of freshly-sharpened pencils, the high shine of the hall floors from the summer clean, or maybe it’s the excitement of seeing the kids’ and my colleagues’ smiles as we greet each other again after the two-month break. Whatever it is, I’m excited to be back.
Until I acknowledge that McCoy will be here, too.
Making my way into the school office, I keep my head down a little lower than usual as I make quick work of saying good morning to Bev and checking my mailbox, sorting through piles of junk mail and sorting it from the other important September start-up information that’s been handed out. All of which I’m attempting to do without allowing my eyes to veer towards the door marked “Principal’s Office”, as I have no desire to see McCoy so soon after the Sniff and We-Vibe adventure I allowed myself to partake in last night. Feeling my cheeks go all aflame at the mere thought of how I got so carried away, I make quick work of the mail and attempt to get the hell out of the office before he spots me.
“He’s not in yet, so you can relax,” Bev says, smiling, her voice a little too all-knowing for my taste.
“I’m not sure what you mean. I—I wasn’t looking for him. I mean it’s fine if he’s here. I—I don’t care. I mean, I’d say hello, obviously. I wasn’t looking…” I stammer, cutting off my motormouth before I say more.
“Whatever you say, Eastlyn. I just thought maybe your chin was getting sore from being tucked into the back of your neck like that,” she laughs at my expense, and I can’t even refute her comment. She’s totally busted me. “I watched you come in from the parking lot like that. Actually, I’m a little surprised you’re not hiding your whole head in your shirt,” she says, laughing. “He is quite handsome. I’ll admit it if you do.” She cocks her head to the side, her tone sticky-sweet.
But I give her nothing. I neither confirm nor deny whether I share her opinion of our new principal, at least not out loud. The last thing I need is to become the centre of the gossip around here.
“I’m not sure what you mean?” I reply, as if she can’t read right through me. I mean, come on. Bev and I are friends, we hang out, and she totally knows I am full of crap.
“Well, hey, works for me. He’s not your type, so maybe this will be my big chance for a little office romance, eh? Eh? You think?” Bev asks, and I cave. I laugh out loud.
“You suck, you know that, right? Now give me your damn lunch bag so I can go.” I reach over her desk and she hands me her black-and-yellow floral print Thirty-One lunch bag, and I take it like I have every morning for the past three years to put it in the staff room fridge with mine. I’m about to turn and leave as Bev makes her way back to the supply room to the photocopier, when he walks in.
Son of a bitch. I almost made it.
“Morning, ladies,” Coy cheerfully greets us, his eyes shifting to Bev’s now-retreating back, then to me where they stall and land. His eyes darken as they drink me in, and an awkward moment passes between us. Or maybe it’s only awkward for me, knowing what I did last night as I got off picturing those eyes, that voice, and the rest of the package that is McCoy Graves. And, as always, I would kill to know what he’s thinking when he regards me like he is right now.
Thank goodness for Bev, and her forgetfulness.
“Ah, morning,” Bev replies, breaking our small showdown. “I forgot I needed this one, too,” she says, sweeping up a blank sheet of paper and giving me a look before leaving us alone again.
So, here we are again, face-to-face, his eyes blatantly moving up and down my body without care. He’s taking me in as if he hasn’t seen me in years, when in reality we saw each other only the other day. His blue eyes shift, making a slow greedy pass over my body, one that lingers when it lands on my bare shoulders, moving exceedingly slowly as they cascade down to my chest, landing on the hem of my dress where they pause a moment on my bare legs, all before traipsing back up to my face. I feel myself reacting to the potency of being under his watchful eye. My cheeks heat, my nipples harden against the silk of my bra, and my stupid mind starts to race, questioning whether he likes what he’s seeing. And the idea that he does brings me a feeling of satisfaction as I note the way his Adam’s apple bobs and the tightness of his jaw while he stands here staring at me, looking as if he’s waging some kind of silent war with himself about what to say or do next. It sends tingles of awareness down my spine, along with a jump in my stomach. It’s the reaction I wanted from him, and it makes me feel good, like maybe my chance hasn’t passed.
I won’t lie and pretend that I didn’t put on this particular form-hugging, cinched at the waist, pastel yellow slip dress with him in mind this morning, because that would indeed make me one hell of a big fat liar. And I hate liars, so I’m happy with his reaction.
Bristling and uncomfortable with him making me feel and think things I shouldn’t again, because I should know better, I give my head an inner shake and lose the eye contact, determined to ignore my body’s reactions to him, regardless if I did indeed bring this on myself.
McCoy is bad news for me and I’d best remember it.
Frustrated with myself for falling into familiar territory, I end what seems like a long standstill and greet him with a pleasant, “Happy first day, Principal Graves.”
I almost sideswipe him as I pass by, and he reaches out, grabs my wrist lightly and rumbles, “I want those eyes on me when you speak to me, Ms. Hatfield.”
I knew the McCoy and Eastlyn from the laundromat was too good to be true. Forcing down the urge to spit venom, I muster up my sweetest smile and try again. This time, I meet his gaze full-on. “Happy first day of school, Mr. Graves. So glad you’re here with us.” I nod, making my way towards the door without a backwards glance and, of course, I make sure to shake what my momma gave me with every step I make, because, yeah, my dress is also tight on my ass, and you can bet every single penny that I know without a doubt Coy’s eyes are glued to it. And that’s because not only is he an asshole—he’s also an ass man.
I’m about to turn the door handle to leave when Bev’s voice cuts through the heavy silence she doesn’t realize has descended around us. “Oh, Eastlyn, I forgot to tell you. Mr. Foley has called twice for you this morning,” she says, handing me a slip of paper with his number on it along with a hot-out-of-the-copier schedule of this week’s school events.
“Did he say what he wanted?” I ask, and I swear I hear McCoy grunt where I left him standing.
“No. But he was adamant that you call him back as soon as you can, though,” Bev says before walking back towards her desk, unaware of her now-stewing boss.
“Okay, thanks. I’ll call as soon as I get a chance,” I tell her, my eyes darting to Coy. He’s clearly not impressed.
“What could he possibly want? It’s only the first goddamn day,” he voices aloud. Judging by his reaction, he surprised even himself.
“Pardon?” Bev asks, looking up from where she’s placing her fresh copies in everyone’s mailboxes, not having heard him like I obviously did.
“I mean…did he say what he wanted? It’s barely the first day,” he repeats.
“No. He didn’t say much, just that he would like to hear from Ms. Hatfield,” Bev responds happily. She’s got no clue of our history, no one here except for Kami knows. The last thing I wanted was for the ladies from school to be all over me this summer, as it would only amp up my already frayed nerves about this school year.
“I bet he would,” Coy grunts, his shoulders visibly tense under his dress shirt.
“Thanks, Bev. I’ll be sure to call him as soon as I can.”
“Just doing my wonderful job,” Bev quips, going on about her business.
Coy says my name, his voice sounding like a warning: “Eastlyn.”
“It’s all good, Mr. Graves. I’ll be sure to let you know if I need you.” I smile up at Coy, stressing the word before leaving the office with a little extra pep in my step.
Sure, knowing that Neil Foley has called twice already before the day has even begun doesn’t sit so well with me, but seeing Coy’s reaction to his calls makes me feel a little pumped.
It would seem McCoy Graves definitely isn’t oblivious to me. And that knowledge, my friends, is all kinds of power.