She’s dressed in jeans, a faded T-shirt, and work boots again today. No dress. No jewelry. No makeup. Her short hair is clipped back at the sides with barrettes decorated with tiny butterflies.
And she’s fucking gorgeous.
My brain is conjuring images of her soaking wet, her nipples straining her T-shirt, those jeans stuck to her curvy legs and hips, all that mud—
Nope.
Nope nope nope. Shut it off, brain. Shut it off now.
She smiles at Libby again as she slides off the counter. “Don’t make a big deal in front of Junie in class today, okay? She’s already mortified that I’m bringing these in, but it’s you or Earl, and I’m pretty sure I’ve fed Earl enough lately.”
“Flint,” Libby repeats. “Try the muffin.”
“Forgot to plan my lesson,” I stutter as Maisey’s gaze lands on me.
And like a total chickenshit, I hightail it out of the lounge before Libby can force-feed me the muffin in my own hand.
Which she would absolutely do.
But instead of heading to my classroom, I wait just around the corner.
I don’t know if I have a headache or if I’m having an allergic reaction to being attracted to Maisey.
Whatever it is, I have to fix it.
And there’s exactly one way to do that.
More students are arriving as it gets closer to the bell, and while I know June should be in the cafeteria, should be and is aren’t always the same.
So when Maisey strolls past, I grab her by the elbow, ignore her startled gasp, and haul her into the janitor’s closet during a moment of empty hallway.
“We need to talk,” I say when I have her alone.
She squeaks again.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“Dropping off Junie’s treats.”
“Why here?”
“Because we had a ton leftover after stopping at the fire station and the sheriff’s outpost and the senior center, and school is where you take baked goods.”
I need to let her go. I need to block her permanently from my brain, walk away, and replace all images of her in my head with something terrible and awful, like Earl. Every time I think of Maisey, I need to force myself to picture Earl in a bathrobe or Earl in nothing but an apron or Earl licking my dick, and see if that solves anything.
“I don’t date my students’ parents,” I blurt.
“So you assured Junie,” she replies.
“But you keep showing up—”
“I’m not here for you, and you were very kind to drop Junie off on Wednesday, but as we’ve established, that was a parenting fail and not an attempt to seduce you. Oh my God.”
“There’s a serious appearance of favoritism—”
“There is not. Junie says you give kids rides home all the time.”
“If I date you.”
“I’m not dating anyone, least of all you.”
“I saw how you were looking at me on Wednesday—”
Her nostrils flare.
Her eyes go dark.
She visibly swallows.
And I am so hard my dick could hammer a hole in my jeans right now.
She slowly licks her lips. “And you also saw that I didn’t act on it. Junie’s number one. I’m number two. Fixing the ranch is number three. And there is no room for a number four in my life, and even if there was, it wouldn’t be you.”
I rear back and bang my head on a shelf of bleach. “Ow. It wouldn’t be me? Why not? What the hell’s wrong with me?”
I should not have asked.
As I rub my head and her gaze smolders into mine, she ticks off her fingers, her voice almost completely steady. “One, you took an instant dislike to me, probably because I made you get thrown off a horse, for which I am very sorry. Two, even if you didn’t dislike me, I am well aware that you’re still sneaking kids out to work on the ranch when you think I’m not there. Three, you very clearly assumed that I’m nothing more than the personality painted by a TV show run by my ex-husband, whose very mission in life was to squash me so that he could look better. Four, you’re Junie’s teacher and coach. She’s number one. Making her uncomfortable is the last thing I would do, and me dating you would make her very uncomfortable. And five, I don’t think you’re worth taking my clothes off for.”
Five makes me choke on my own shock. “I am—”
“Arrogant, condescending, trapping me in a broom closet because you think you need to tell me to keep my hormones to myself instead of telling yourself that, and ugly.”
I rear back again, my jaw hanging. “I am not ugly.”
Her nose wrinkles. “Must be your personality coloring my opinion. Don’t be a dick to my daughter, and let me out of this closet before I show you what I can do with a mop bucket.”
Jesus.
What the hell is wrong with me?
And I don’t mean that in the same sense I just asked Maisey what was wrong with me.
I mean that in a What the hell am I doing? way.
I don’t trap women in broom closets.
This isn’t me at all.
I lift my hands. “Sorry. Sorry. I didn’t—shit. Sorry.”
I don’t wait for her to say anything else, and instead, I retreat out the door, leaving it open for her to exit at her leisure.
I stride down the hall, ignoring curious looks from a few more students, and fling myself out the side door to the two picnic benches that the staff sometimes use in nicer weather, and I keep walking toward the football field and beyond, to the stables, where anyone who rides their horse to school can keep it for the day. When I’m sure I’m alone, I grab my phone and dial Kory.
“Late for class?” he drawls when he answers.
I work with teenagers all day long, but I rarely act like one.
Until today, apparently. “Why do I have a stupid crush on Maisey Spencer, and why am I losing my fucking mind over it?”
“Because she’s hot, you thought she was moderately evil for bringing change to your life, you found out she’s not unreasonable, and also that she’s emotionally unavailable, and that despite your idiotic assumption that since she looks like an airhead on television, she’s competent with power tools, and that’s hot, even to me, and all of that together basically makes her the first fresh blood in town that’s completely your type in about three years?”
I close my eyes, suck in a big breath through my nose, and tell myself not to hang up on my best friend.
That doesn’t end well for me.
Don’t ask how I know.
“And let’s not forget the part where she’s the closest thing you’ll ever have to Tony again,” Kory adds softer. “You’re fucked up, my friend.”
“This has nothing to do with her being Tony’s niece.”
“You sure? Because I’m pretty sure if any other woman had moved into any other ranch that you’d been using for giving some of your kids an outlet and, let’s be real here, finding an outlet of your own, you wouldn’t have been such an ass. I think you’re afraid she’s too much like Tony and that you’d get hurt if you let yourself be nice to her.”
I grit my teeth.
Kory keeps talking. “And if you think you’re extra immune to women who know they haven’t been doing their best by their kid but are doing everything in their power to make up for it now, before it’s too late, you’re fooling yourself. After the way you grew up? Dude. You are fucked. Maisey Spencer is your catnip.”