He stares down at me, his green eyes never leaving mine nor saying anything; his large calloused hand still firmly grips mine.
“Yeah, sorry about that,” he finally responds, breaking our weird moment. “Z’s mom only just called me about the meeting; she's been held up.” He clears his throat, like it’s a lie, but continues, “I came when I got the call.”
He finally releases his awkward hold on me and takes a step back. With the loss of his grip, I have to move my hand to the front of my desk to support my unease. For some reason, other than stupidity, I have no idea what he said so I just nod my head. He grins, noticing my reaction, and I smile back, lost in his.
Jesus, Kadence, get it together, you’ve met good-looking men before.
I take a deep breath, shaking off the stupid look I’m sure I’m wearing. I’m surprised and appalled by my attraction. I’ve never reacted to someone like this before.
“Well, in that case, let’s get started shall we?” I ask, hoping my voice doesn’t give away his effect on me. Yeah, ‘cause the stupid grin you just had on your face didn’t?
Walking back around my desk, I take a large breath, hoping it calms my beating heart before sitting. I watch as he folds himself into the small grade-school chair, and I hold back a smile at how ridiculous he looks. I address Zayden’s dad first, not certain if his wife relayed what I told her over the phone.
“I’m not sure what your wife has told you, Mr. Knight.”
“Ex-wife,” he interrupts me, his tone telling me that I need to remember that.
“Right, okay,” I continue, ignoring the pleasure I get from hearing he isn’t married.
“Well, as I was telling your ex-wife, Zayden was involved in an altercation with another student today,” I tell him, looking over at Mr. Hill and his son. “Ending with Tommy’s black eye.”
“This true, Z?” Hot biker dad turns, looking at his son.
In my head, hot biker shouldn’t be in my vocabulary, but with his long legs outstretched in front of my desk, the sexy-as-sin riding boots crossed over at the ankle, and the way I hear the leather move when he turns to look at Z, I can’t help call him anything but.
“Yeah, Dad,” Zayden replies, his eyes lowered.
“Your son is a menace just like your club, Knight, and I won’t allow him to bully my kid in class. I want something done about it!” Mr. Hill yells, standing from his seat.
I’m not surprised by Mr. Hill’s outburst; he’s been sitting on the edge of his seat, ready to chew someone’s head off for the last twenty minutes. Yeah, I value my time too, but that’s not Mr. Knight’s fault; he came when he found out. I don’t know why I’m siding with him. I should be more concerned for Mr. Hill’s wellbeing when Mr. Knight stands from his own seat and takes a rather large step toward him.
“Excuse me, I was talkin’ to my boy. I'll address you when he explains to me why he saw fit to put his hands on your son,” Mr. Knight pushes out with gritted teeth. Fuck, he even speaks sexy biker. What the hell is sexy biker? Get it together, Kadence.
Sensing the situation could get out of hand, I stand. “Mr. Knight, Mr. Hill, please sit down,” I demand, hoping the slight tremor I feel doesn’t show.
Mr. Hill sits first, obviously realizing he is in over his head with the fuming badass.
“You wanna give me a moment to talk with my boy?” Mr. Knight asks, looking over at me. I don’t know why I do it, but I nod my head and sit back in my chair. I watch him spare one more look at Mr. Hill, a silent warning to keep his mouth shut.
Jesus, how can he be the one in control right now?
“Now, you wanna tell me why you put your hands on someone, Z?” He squats down in front of his son’s chair, arms stretched out to keep him steady, his muscled arms bulging under the strain of their position. I can make out the large Knights Rebels tattoo and I wonder what else he has hidden under his clothes.
“Tommy was pulling Sarah’s hair, told her she was a whore like her mom. I told him to quit it but he started on me. You always said if someone puts their hands on me, I’m allowed to stand up for myself,” he responds quietly, calmly, given that the two hundred-pound man is squatting in front of him, scowling something fierce. I look at Tommy and see his face is ashen at Zayden’s confession.
“Is this true?” Mr. Hill turns to look at Tommy, who sinks further into his chair.
“I was only saying what you told me,” he answers back.
Mr. Hill looks up at me; a small amount of embarrassment fills his cheeks as I raise my eyebrows.
Sarah’s mom works over at Bare Assets, our local strip club in town. I have no problem with the place. Holly, my best friend, likes to drag me along sometimes for ladies' night. It’s a well-respected establishment, and as far as I know, Sarah’s mom works the bar, not a pole. What an asshole.
Awkward silence fills the room as I look between the two fathers. Mr. Hill looks down at his hands while Mr. Knight holds my gaze. His eyes show anger, no doubt at Mr. Hill, but I’m drawn to the intensity of it, like a fond memory pulling me in. I drag my eyes away, needing to break the connection, not prepared to let those feelings back in.
“Okay, well, regardless of the reasons, we still have a policy here that fighting is not allowed. Because both boys engaged in the fighting, they will both be given afterschool detention for five days.”
Considering both boys have never been in trouble for fighting, I thought I would give them a chance to sort it out here before taking it to Principal Wilson. That guy is a real schmuck, no doubt suspending them on their first offense. Yes, Z was defending himself, but Tommy is the one with a swollen eye. Sending them home for three days off won’t fix the problem.
Mr. Knight scoffs and then shakes his head, clearly not happy with the punishment. He looks over to his son, giving him a wink before turning back to me. His blatant disregard for the rules don’t surprise me, and I can’t help but call him on it.
“I hope from that wink, Mr. Knight, you're not condoning this behavior?” I challenge, cutting him off before he can begin to argue my decision.
“Listen, Mrs. —”
“Miss Turner,” I correct him the same way he did me.
“Miss Turner.” His deep, gravelly voice exaggerates the Miss and I hold back the need to roll my eyes at his insinuation.
“No, I don’t condone violence. I will, however, be proud of my son if he stands up for someone who can’t stand up for themselves.”
“He gave another student a black eye,” I shoot back. “Not to mention disrupted my class.”
Pulling two eleven-year-old boys apart in the middle of the classroom is harder than most would think. For one, they’re almost the same size as me. My five-foot-two frame is no match for two angry boys when they nearly put me on my ass.
“So? He was defending the girl and defending himself. I would have done the same,” Mr. Knight continues to disagree with me. His anger confuses me a little. What does he expect me to say? Sure, it’s fine your son clocked another student and left him with a swollen eye?
“Yes, I don’t doubt that. However, the school board doesn’t see it that way. Using violence against each other gets us nowhere.” I stop myself from saying our school rules are probably different to the rules he follows.
I stand from my chair, trying to end the conversation before I come to blows with him. Something inside of me wants to argue with him, my quick temper often getting me in trouble, but this is more. The thought of pushing him sends a tingle down my spine. I need to stop this. I force myself not to engage with him anymore; the rules are simple, there’s no point arguing. He obviously lives by his own set of rules. Unfortunately for his son, he must abide by the school’s.
“My son has a right to defend himself. Where were you when all this was happening?” He stands, clearly not done with this battle, now questioning me.
“I was dealing with another student.” I find myself on the defensive. “These boys are eleven years old, Mr. Knight. Old enough to be trusted and know violence is no way to handle things. Using your fists does not make you a man. He should have walked away and come and told me,” I tell him, feeling small again under his height and gaze.