She’s cried herself to sleep both nights since she moved in.
How does she do it? How does she put on this front? Smile through the bullshit? Or is her sadness just a temporary blip, a red herring I’m falling for, and she’s actually, truly like this?
I can’t decide which is worse.
All I know is that I’m annoyed. And turned on, which is annoying me further. Perhaps even more than her full-on laugh and glowing smile at something nimrod Chad Vandelay just said when we all know he’s not nearly that funny.
My fists clench, and I grumble under my breath.
“No. That’s definitely not part of the curriculum.”
She’s still laughing. He’s smiling at her like a sexual predator.
Some weird noise escapes from my larynx.
“I’m sorry, did you say something, Dr. Fritz?” she asks with that saccharine voice, all sunshine and fucking unicorns. Dr. Fritz. Not Landon.
Every head in the room swooshes in my direction.
I glance down at the sheet in my hand. “What is your teaching experience prior to coming here?” Expectantly, I look back up at her.
She frowns. Turns red. And I realize once again, I’m a supreme dick. But how can I not be? I’ve trained myself to be numb, but with her I can’t help but feel again. The throb of a fresh wound after the lidocaine wears off. It’s awful.
Elle clears her throat. “If you’re interested in discussing my résumé, Dr. Fritz, I’m sure we can do that at a more opportune time, or please feel free to email me to schedule an appointment during my office hours. But for now, I think everyone here is anxious to get home for the night and would prefer discussing their children and this school year.”
I get the two can play at this game raised eyebrow and the you’re a fucking asshole glare.
Another grumble hits my lips and once more I’m quickly overlooked.
One more set of parents filter in and out of her room, going to their children’s last classroom—as I should be—and yet I can’t make my feet move. I can’t work my limbs. Stella has always been an A student and frankly, I don’t need to meet with her art teacher to know she’ll receive a top-rated education this year.
It’s why I pay a college tuition for middle school.
But with this new group, I stay rooted in place, staring. At her.
My unremitting presence drives Elle mad. She was hoping I’d leave like everyone else just did, but I’m still here, hovering in the background, pressing upon her every cool nerve that I want to set on fire.
Does she have any clue?
I was in control.
Now I stand by my open bedroom window at night listening for her. Thinking about her.
Elle giggles at whatever nonsense Richard Hargrove just said to her, her hand reaching out and squeezing his forearm, and my lungs collapse, nearly choking me. She’s temptation and everyone in here knows it. All it takes for them to want her is to look at her. Her laugh. That smile. An impossible piece of hidden lace.
Fucking vixen.
Which is why the second the class empties, everyone in the building now heading home, I pry myself away from the wall I was clinging to and cross the room with slow, measured steps. Elle busies herself with her computer, shutting everything down. The presentation on the SMART board flickers off, and she’s organizing papers that don’t require organizing.
But she knows.
She feels me.
I can practically see her pulse racing in her neck as I reach the other side of her desk and stare down at her, compelling her to glance up at me. Finally, when she’s out of things to do and can no longer resist the temptation, she puffs out a breath, rolls her shoulders while planting her hands on her desk, and meets my steadfast gaze.
“Why are you still here?”
Because I have to know. “Did you know who I was the night at the bar?”
“What?” She blinks incredulously at me, not expecting me to ask her that.
“You heard me.”
She shakes her head, standing upright, aggravation pouring off her. “You mean when you told me you were your brother? How could I have known you?”
“Because you said that night you thought you recognized me. You fell into bed with me quickly too, without a lot of talking or questions. Now you’re not only my neighbor but Stella’s teacher. I need to know if this is all just one big, fat coincidence or if you’re up to something else with me.”
A laugh belts past her lips. It’s the kind of laugh that suggests I’m crazy, but I’m not. I’m an Abbot-Fritz, and people have done worse to get to us. Oliver’s ex stalked him and Amelia all over Boston, going as far as trying to break them up, and when that didn’t work, she attempted to get Layla kicked out of school. A woman Kaplan had a one-night stand with broke into his place the following night to steal stuff, including the used condom. Luckily, she was caught before she could use his sperm to get pregnant. Rina’s psycho ex-boyfriend attacked and kidnapped her.
Money breeds greed and madness in people.
“You’re serious?”
I stare at her, unmoving.
She huffs. “No. I didn’t know who you were. I had thought you looked familiar, but it wasn’t until after you showed up on my doorstep and told me your last name that I realized it’s because I actually met Luca once years ago at a charity thing. I’m most certainly not up to anything with you, Dr. Fritz, and that’s how I intend to keep it. If money and assholes were my thing, I’d still be married.”
Money and assholes. She mentioned her ex was a professional athlete. Chambers. That was the name on the box Gulliver ruined. I bet her husband was David Chambers.
Satisfied, I rip my gaze away and stroll toward the door.
“Are you always going to be this rude?” she calls after me, and I stop in my tracks, my head rolling over my shoulder to find her. She shrugs, a half-smile pulling up the corner of her mouth. “If so, I’d just like to know that ahead of time. You know, so I don’t try to borrow eggs or sugar and make sure I schedule our parent-teacher conferences as a Zoom instead of in person.”
“Are you always this sweet and friendly?”
She frowns and shifts her weight, momentarily glancing away because I already know the answer is yes, and I don’t think she wants to admit it. But I’m also learning that lying isn’t her strong suit, and she tends to say what’s on her mind when pressed.
“Are we sticking with honesty?” I ask, letting go of my question to her. I don’t need to know more about her or what makes her smile or frown or tick.
“Yes.”
“I wasn’t trying to be rude, per se. But you’re the fourth tenant in five years to move in next door to me. People don’t usually stay long there, and I never found a reason to become friendly with them as a result.” And other than Roberta, the one time I did, he turned around and tried to sell pictures and a story to The Boston Globe. I heave out a breath. “I’m not a friendly person on a good day and frankly, I can’t be friendly with you. That night…” I swallow. “That night was…” Unexpectedly perfect. Everything I’ve been missing. “Not something that can ever happen again. So if you’re looking to borrow eggs or sugar, Mrs. Bellows on the other side of you is very nice and accommodating. And as far as parent-teacher interactions, emails and Zoom work just fine for me.”