I spun around, heading for my classroom door to prop it open.
I knew how to handle invasive.
Over the next couple of hours, parents and students filtered in and out of the room, following their class schedule to meet every teacher and learn their class route. Since my students would be mostly freshmen, I had a great turnout. Most parents wanted their sons and daughters to have the lay of the land before their first day of high school, and judging by the sign-in sheet I’d asked parents to fill out, I’d met almost two-thirds of my kids and their families. The ones I hadn’t met, I would try to call or e-mail this week to introduce myself and “open the lines of communication.”
I moved around the room, introducing myself and chatting with families here and there but mostly just watching. I’d adorned the walls with some maps and posters, while a few artifacts and tools used by historians and archeologists sat on tables and shelves. They moved from one area to another, taking in the clues I’d left as to what we’d study this year.
Even though I had about a hundred eighty days with the students, this was the night that was the most important. Seeing how your future student interacted with their parents offered a good indication of what to expect during the school year.
Which parent did they seem to fear more? (That’s the one you would call when there was trouble.) How did they speak to their parents? (Then you’d know how they’d speak to you.)
A couple parents and kids still flitted around the room, but as it was almost end time, everyone was starting to leave.
“Hi.” I walked up to a young man who’d been slouched in one of the desks for a while, sitting alone. “What’s your name?”
The kid wore earbuds and played on his phone, but he shot his eyes up at me, looking annoyed.
I wanted to sit down and spark up a conversation, but I could already feel the apprehension. This one was defiant.
Catching sight of the name tag the PTA had stuck to the left of his chest when he’d showed up tonight, I held out my hand.
“Christian?” I smiled. “Nice to meet you. I’m E—” But I stopped and corrected myself. “Ms. Bradbury,” I amended. “Which class will you be joining us for?”
But then his phone beeped, and he sighed, pulling out his earbuds. “Do you have a charger?” he asked, looking impatient.
I dropped my hand and tilted my chin down, eyeing him. Thank goodness I didn’t believe in first impressions; otherwise I might have been irritated at his lack of manners.
He waited for me to answer, staring at me with blue-gray eyes beneath black hair, stylishly mussed, and I waited as well, crossing my arms over my chest.
He rolled his eyes and gave in, finally looking at the piece of paper lying on the desk. “I’ll be joining you for US History,” he answered, his flippant tone putting me on edge.
I nodded and took the paper, creased with half a dozen folds. “And where are your parents?” I inquired.
“My mother’s in Egypt.”
I noticed that he was in my first-period class and handed the paper back to him. “And your father?” I prodded.
He sat up, stuffing the paper into the back pocket of his khakis. “At a city planner’s meeting. He’s meeting me here.”
I watched him stand up and smooth a hand down his black shirt and khaki and black necktie. He was nearly as tall as me.
I straightened and cleared my throat. “A city planner’s meeting?” I questioned. “On a Sunday night?”
His white teeth shone in a condescending smile. “Good catch,” he commended. “I asked him the same question. He ignored me.”
I arched an eyebrow, immediately discerning that he and his father didn’t get along. What were they going to be like in the same room together?
He affixed the earbuds back into his ears, getting ready to tune me out. “If I give you any grief, it’s best just to call my mother in Africa rather than deal with my father,” he told me. “Just a tip.”
I shot up my eyebrows, breaking out in a small grin. He was a little pill.
But then so was I. I could understand where this one was coming from. We might just get along after all.
Turning around, I walked to my desk and slipped my phone out of the drawer. Dislodging the battery, I walked over and handed it to him.
“Charge it back up tonight and we’ll exchange tomorrow morning, okay?”
He pinched his eyebrows together and slowly reached out his hand, taking the battery. Luckily we both had the latest generation of the same phone.
“According to the student handbook,” he started, swapping out his nearly dead battery with mine, “we’re not allowed cell phones in the classroom.”
“In my class, you are,” I shot back, standing my ground. “You’ll find out more about that tomorrow.”
He handed me the dead battery and nodded. I relaxed, relieved that he seemed to soften a little.
“Christian.”
We both looked up, turning our heads toward the door, when the sharp tone startled us both.
Standing in the doorway, filling the space in a deep-black three-piece suit, white shirt, and gold tie was Christian. All grown up.
The stone-blue eyes narrowed on us under eyebrows that didn’t curve but slanted.
Oh, shit.
I stood there, stunned still and not breathing as my fists instantly clenched.
I may have just met the son, but I already knew the father.
I looked away, blinking long and hard. No, no, no…
My pulse raced, and my forehead and neck broke out in a cold sweat.
I didn’t know if he recognized me, but I couldn’t bring myself to move toward him. What the hell was I supposed to do?
It was Tyler Marek.
The same man who’d danced with me, flirted with me, and told me there was one place where he wouldn’t be careful with me was my student’s parent?
Spinning around, I returned to the front of the room, choosing to ignore him.
I circled my desk and bent down to the open drawer so I could replace the battery in my phone. I didn’t need to bend, but I could feel his eyes following me, and I needed a moment to panic in private.
I closed my eyes, inhaling deeply.
He hadn’t seemed like the type to have a kid when I’d met him before. Had I been wrong? Was he married?
I hadn’t seen a ring on his finger last February at the Mardi Gras ball, but that didn’t mean anything nowadays. Men took them off as easily as they put them on.
What would happen if he recognized me? Thank God I hadn’t slept with him.
I drew in a long breath as I replaced the case on my phone and closed my bag.
Licking my dry lips, I swallowed the lump in my throat and forced myself to stand the hell up and deal with it.
Straightening my back, I smoothed a hand down my blouse and shirt.
I gathered some of the surveys that parents had filled out and straightened them, setting them in the tray in the corner of my desk.
The other parents and students had already drifted out of the room, and I tensed, seeing his long legs coming to stand in front of my desk.
Tyler Marek.
I’d thought about him. More than I wanted to admit.
However, I’d resisted the urge to Google him for more information, not wanting to indulge my pointless curiosity.
I’d never expected to see him again, much less here.
“I’ve met you before, haven’t I?” he asked, sounding almost sure.
I looked up, chills spreading down my arms at his sharp gaze. He held my eyes, calm and attentive as he waited for his answer.
I swallowed and steeled my shaky smile. “I don’t believe we’ve met, sir.” I held out my hand, hoping whatever memory lapse he was having would be permanent.
Of course, I’d been wearing a mask that night – a pathetic mask but still a mask – so his image of that girl in the red dress might be obscured. Hopefully it would stay that way.
Not that a dance and flirting were scandalous, but it would certainly be awkward.
He shook my hand, and I remembered how those same hands had held my waist, the back of my neck…
He squinted, studying me, and I wanted to sink into a hole, away from his scrutiny, because at any moment he’d remember.
“You seem familiar,” he pushed, not convinced.
“I’m Ms. Bradbury.” I changed the subject, walking around the desk. “Your son and I have already met. I’ll be teaching him US History first period this year.”
And with hopefully only one parent-teacher conference, and then you and I will never have to run into each other again.
It wasn’t that I was embarrassed or scared. I could handle some discomfort.
But this guy had turned me on.
I’d looked back on our interaction often over the past few months. On quiet nights when I’d wanted someone’s hands on me and the only person keeping me company was myself, I’d remembered that dance, his mouth close to mine and his eyes looking down at me.
I’d slept with other people since then, but strangely, he was always where my mind wandered back to when it wanted a fantasy.
And now with him close…
He continued to study me, an eyebrow arched, and I was suddenly nervous. He looked formidable. Not at all as playful as he’d looked that night.
“Christian,” he called to his son. “Come here.”
His son barely looked up from his phone or the video game he played as he walked past us.
“I’ve been here,” he said, anger twisting his voice. “I need something to drink.”
“There’s bottled water by the door,” I instructed, but he just kept walking, leaving the room without another word.
His father’s jaw hardened, and I could tell he was angry.
“Excuse my son,” he apologized. “His mother is away for a year, and he’s a little out of sorts.”
His mother. Not my wife, then.
The air-conditioning poured down from overhead, caressing my face, and I felt it waft lightly against my blouse, cooling the light layer of sweat.
Tyler and I were alone in the room, and I inhaled through my nose, smelling his intoxicating scent, which I could almost taste on my tongue.
I walked around him, toward the papers by the door. “Well, I know you have other classrooms to visit and not much time,” I told him, “so here is a letter explaining my background and plans for the year.” I picked up a single-sided letter off the desk and also a two-page detailed calendar, walking over and handing both to him.
“And there’s also a syllabus with a rundown of dates when tests occur and when papers and projects are due,” I continued as his eyes left mine to peruse the documents.
His eyebrows nose-dived as he studied them.
“All of this information is also on my website,” I told him. “This is just a hard copy in case you prefer it.”
I crossed my arms over my chest and tried to keep my voice light. “Do you have any questions for me?”
I probably sounded like I was trying to rush him out of here, but the longer he stayed, the greater the chance that he would remember me.
“Yes,” he said quietly, still flipping through the papers. “I do have a question.”
I stiffened, trying to remember to breathe.
“How long have you been a teacher?” he asked.
“This will be my first year,” I said in all confidence.
He raised his eyebrows, the edges of his mouth curling. “I hope you’re good.”
I cocked my head, peering at him. “Excuse me?” I asked, trying not to sound offended at the innuendo.
“My son can be a handful,” he clarified. “He doesn’t misbehave, but he’s willful. I hope you know what you’re doing.”
I nodded slightly and turned to go back to my desk.
Doesn’t misbehave?
From what I’d already seen, he was very much a handful. I just hoped I didn’t need to call his father or deal with him for anything.
Back behind my desk, I looked up and saw that he was still by the door, looking at me like he was trying to figure something out.
“Was there something else?” I tried to sound polite.
He shook his head as if he was still thinking. “I’m just… almost sure I know you.”
“Easton?” Kristen poked her head inside my door, interrupting. “Some of us are going – oh, I’m sorry.” She stopped, seeing the parent still in the room.
My eyes fluttered closed, and my stomach flipped.
Shit.
“Sorry to interrupt,” she chirped. “Stop by my room when you’re done, okay?”
And then she let the door close, leaving us alone.
I darted my gaze over to Mr. Marek, and he turned his eyes away from the door and pinned me with a sharp stare.
And then, like the raging sun over a cube of ice, his hard gaze melted, turning into one of knowing as realization hit, his eyes softened, and his mouth curled with amusement.
Fuck.
“Your name is Easton?” He stepped toward me slowly, every step shooting through my veins and making my blood rush.
“That’s an unusual name for a woman,” he went on, inching closer. “In fact, I’ve met only one other with the name.”
I let the air drift out of my lungs, and I raised my eyes, meeting his.
But his eyes fell away from my face and moved down my body as if he was trying to connect who I was now with what he remembered from six months ago.
He finally met my gaze again and leaned in, looking expectant. “You haven’t asked my name yet,” he toyed.
The hair on my neck stood on end.
“Would you like to know?” he pressed, playing with me.
As the parent of a student, introductions were in order.
But he was having fun with me right now, and while I wanted a good relationship with my students’ parents, I needed to sever the hand to save the arm.
I didn’t know what would happen if he saw me as anything other than Christian’s teacher, and that’s the only way he should see me.
“Mr. Marek.” I spoke calmly but firmly. “If you have no further questions, I’m sure your son is waiting for you. Again,” I added. “Perhaps you should make sure he’s okay.”
The hint of the smile in his eyes immediately disappeared, and I watched him straighten and his expression harden.
He was insulted. Good.
I glanced to the door and back to him. “Have a good evening.”