Authors: Sosie Frost
I bristled. Only Momma ever took that tone with me. I wasn’t sure I liked it coming from Zach. He wasn’t exactly shining his perfect halo.
“Don’t you dare lecture me about my behavior,” I said. “Not after what you did.”
Zach waved his arms wide. “God help the next man who thinks you’re attractive. Two forms of ID, a credit check, and proof of his family tree before he gets in your pants.”
“I should have known what type of guy you were when you introduced yourself.”
“And what
type
of guy is that?”
“I don’t know,
Hard
, why don’t you tell me? Find a girl in the bar, take her home?”
His eyes darkened, a deep jade that looked colder and less inviting than his usual conquesting smirk. His voice rumbled, rough and impatient. Everything about Zach morphed before my eyes. This wasn’t the carefree charmer from the pool.
I really pissed him off. I wasn’t expecting that. I didn’t like that it happened.
Why did it hurt so much to have him mad at me?
None of this made sense, and that was exactly the reason getting closer to Zach would be a bad idea. We’d end it before the Disney birds started tweeting and my heart fluttering. A crazy part of me actually
liked
his idea of a house in the Maldives, a place where no one knew us. Just me. Him. A sunset. Solitude and peace and absolutely no responsibility to anyone but ourselves.
Did I deserve that slice of paradise? Did Zach deserve to wake up from a nap so I could call him out for being a man-whore?
I meant to set a line in the sand. Instead, we ended up bearing our souls. Then again, I bared enough of my body to him. At least now I was seeing what made Zach, Zach. And I almost liked it.
Almost.
“You know.” Zach took an unsteady breath. “I
did
meet a girl at the bar. I
did
take her home. And she was the best goddamned fuck I ever had.”
“Zach—”
“And yes, I regretted every minute I didn’t tell her who I was. I regret it more now that she’s pissed as fuck at me and I ruined my chances with her. But Shay?” He leaned close. “You might believe it of me, but I didn’t think you were any particular
type
of girl.”
I looked away. He didn’t care.
“I didn’t judge you, even though you sure as hell assumed I was some shady player looking to score. I thought I was the luckiest bastard in the world to spend the night with someone so goddamned beautiful.”
I stilled. His voice only hardened.
“I didn’t think you were a
slut
because you found a guy to fuck,” he said, watching me flinch at the word. “But you’re sure as hell acting like a bitch now.”
The insult hurt, worse than I ever imagined. Especially coming from a man whose opinion had somehow started to matter.
He realized it too. He turned, rubbing his head.
“Fuck, I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry, Shay.”
He apologized.
He
never
apologized, not in the weeks we spent together. I shut my mouth, but he groaned, sitting back on the couch.
“Sorry. I’m not feeling right. I have a headache…” He pressed his lips tight. His face had paled, but he didn’t let me speak. Was that why he stayed in the theater? It was one of the few comfortable and dark rooms in the house. “I didn’t mean it.”
“I think you did.” And I think I deserved it.
“Why did you really come to talk to me?” Zach said. “I can’t see straight. Don’t ask me to read between the lines now.”
“It’s nothing,” I lied. “I have some aspirin in my bathroom. Help yourself.”
“Thanks.”
I cleared my throat. “That’s not an invitation to the bedroom.”
He smirked. “Yet.”
“Keep dreaming, loverboy.”
“Every night, Shay. Every night.”
I didn’t have the courage to tell him I dreamed it too.
I ignored the rapid-fluttering that lumped my heart in my throat. I hoped I’d choke on it before I admitted what I was feeling.
So much for being responsible.
So much for ending whatever it was we had.
So much for me ignoring what happened in the pool.
I poked the carpet with my toe. At least it was plush and cushy because when I fell for him, I would fall hard.
And I think I already struck the ground.
Chapter Twelve - Shay
The only time I was ever called to the principal’s office, I was thirteen, Dad had just left us, and I thought I was edgy because I cut class.
Momma came down to the school equipped. She beat me with a wooden spoon before we even left the principal’s office. It cracked in half by the time we got to the parking lot, and then she drove my ass to the store and made me buy her a plastic one. It didn’t have the same
whack
, but I never got in trouble again.
Except now, apparently. And getting summoned to the principal’s office when you
work
at the school is an entirely different kind of humiliation. I wished for the spoon. Hell, I’d have asked for the whisk.
I wasn’t in trouble for cutting class. This time, I was getting completely, royally, and utterly screwed.
I waited for their judgements.
The principal was an old Harvard elite who got lost on his way back to Connecticut and settled in Georgia instead. He mumbled over his papers.
The teacher I shadowed, Mrs. Bradley, was a proper southern lady who had the first dollar her family ever earned framed on her wall—if only to show how
old
her money was. She hardly spoke to me during my brief stay in her classroom.
And, of course, Professor Sweeten was called from the college to attend. She arrived with her usual sparkling personality, though she finally cracked a smile through her stone-faced scowl.
She knew what was going to happen.
So did I.
And that made it so damn hard not to cry.
“Shay,” Principal Reid said. “It’s been a trying two weeks, hasn’t it?”
No. Not in the least. The kids were great, I handed my lesson plans in on time, and I arrived early and stayed late every day to assist Mrs. Bradley with her decorations. I even volunteered to help direct the first grade play—The Three Billy Goats Gruff. I did my work, and I did it
well
.
But Mrs. Bradley was good friends with Professor Sweeten. I realized it all too late.
“Unfortunately, Shay…” he said. “After speaking with Mrs. Bradley, it appears we might have a few...issues with your continued study here. This academy was designed to offer the very best educational experience for our students—experiences many children are not privileged to receive.”
I swallowed. “I understand the community’s expectations.”
“Then you understand. In order to facilitate our unique and elite environment, we can only recruit the very best and brightest to guide these children into their specific world. We have to be prepared to assist them with the challenges they will face within their status. It benefits the children to have a teacher who…encompasses their family’s social class.”
I was used to people judging me by the color of my skin, not the color of my blood. My father left me a billion
dollars, and I wasn’t
blue-blooded
enough for these people?
It didn’t make sense, and Principal Reid knew it.
Professor Sweeten arched an eyebrow. “Shay, I’m sorry to say that your student teaching experience is counted as a pass or fail grade. I’m afraid we’ll have some very important matters to discuss at campus.”
“Wait.” Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry. “I…can’t transfer to another classroom?”
Professor Sweeten and Principal Reid both shared the same nauseating glance, the kind mentally delivered with a slap to the face and swift kick to the behind.
“Shay, I’m sorry,” he said. “Your services are no longer required at our academy.”
Don’t cry.
I told myself to shake his hand.
I ordered my feet to march me out of the office with my chin high until I hid in my car.
And I stopped at the first gas station I passed and bought ten candy bars—one for every day I worked at the school before Professor Sweeten destroyed my teaching career.
I managed one bite before the sugar coated my tongue in sticky, nougaty regret. I could buy all the chocolate in the world—or at least a large stake in the biggest company—but it wouldn’t make me feel better. It wouldn’t secure me a job.
It wouldn’t repair a dream shattered into so many fragments I nicked myself trying to glue it back together.
Professor Sweeten wanted to meet me at the campus. Well, she could take her syllabus and shove it in places not recommended in the student handbook. She humiliated me enough. I wasn’t letting her get in another strike while I still had chalk dust under my nails.
I pulled into the garage. The bays were mostly empty. Dad probably intended to fill the space with more cars and never got the chance. It was just me and Zach’s car and motorcycle.
And I was glad to see them. Since our blowout, Zach hadn’t been such an ass. In fact, I inadvertently called a truce during the past two weeks. I was too exhausted from waking at six, teaching, and coming back to do lesson plans. I couldn’t fight with him and instead accepted the apple pie he baked as an apology for his outburst.
I never watched anything as sexy as a six foot four Navy SEAL slicing up apples and pounding out a crust for a homemade pie. It tasted good, and I shoveled it in my mouth before I said something stupid. Or humiliating. Or entirely too revealing.
I tried to tip-toe out of the garage. No dice. He heard the door and called from the theater.
“Playing hookie already?”
He loved that I was student teaching, admittedly so he could imagine me as a school-girl. But now wasn’t the time. I didn’t know what to say.
I got fired.
You get a half-day when your dreams are destroyed.
Do I have enough money to build my own academy so I never have to deal with those douches again?
Actually, the last idea wasn’t too bad.
I leaned against the doorframe to the theater. Zach grinned at me. I didn’t understand it, but his dimples reassured me. Just his presence started to remind me of home.
It was still weird that he did crunches and pushups while watching his favorite shows, but I certainly didn’t mind spying on his toned muscles during the slower episodes. He winked as he pressed against the floor.
He constantly trained during his leave. I asked why his time off was so long. Apparently, he had a special arrangement. I figured it had something to do with his scars, but Zach did everything he could to avoid talking about those.
Zach finished a set of one-armed push-ups and toweled off, pausing his show.
“Tonight, Chef Orlando is preparing our dinner,” he said. “His
representative
says he’s known for his Latin influences. I thought tomorrow we’d let the Japanese-inspired chef take a turn, though I think you’re pretty set on Chef Vito.” He winked. “I won’t be upset if you say his spaghetti was better than mine.”
I gave a timid shrug. “His was a bit more…professional.”
“That’s why I’m paying him the big bucks.”
I smirked. Zach took the initiative and braved my wrath. He hired a chef, maids, and landscapers for the estate. I couldn’t argue. Suddenly, everything operated a lot smoother, cleaner, and our dinners were always on time. Money made things so much easier.
Except when no amount of money could buy a chance to achieve your life’s ambition. If I couldn’t buy a pallet of luck, maybe I’d send a personal assistant to appeal to the Dean instead.
“What’s wrong?” Zach lowered the chef’s menu. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I shook my head. “No. I just…I gotta…”
The slightest curl of his finger called me to the couch. I dropped next to him. He made a show of wrapping his arm over my shoulders and crossing his feet on the ottoman. I didn’t care how arrogant it was. It felt nice to be held. Hugged.
I curled against his chest and let myself mope for a long moment.
“That bad?” He asked.
“Worse.”
“Wanna talk about it? I’ve had my share of bad days.”
I bit my lip. “No. I’ll take care of it.”
“Shay. I want to help.”
Why did I believe him? I sighed. “I lost the student teaching position.”
“
What
?”
“My advisor and the teacher knew each other. They set it up deliberately, just to ruin me. My advisor thinks I was buying my way through the program.”
“That’s bullshit! Can you get a new position?”
“No. It’s a pass/fail credit. If my advisor hates me—which she does—she can screw me. I can’t do anything, the grades are up to her. And if the school doesn’t want me…”
“We can fight it.”
“I’ll have to transfer.”
“Advisors?”
I shook my head. “Colleges.”
“No way.”
“Sweeten will never pass me. I can’t get another teaching opportunity at the Academy, and she’ll never get another assignment. I have to transfer to another college…if my credits even count.” I pushed off the couch. Zach took my hand and pulled me down. “I gotta go take care of this.”
“You’re upset,” he said.
“Yeah?”
“Let this simmer for a day. Maybe there’s something we can do. We’ll find a way to change your advisor and get you a new gig. It’s not over. Don’t worry.”
My lip trembled. I didn’t believe him. I sucked in a breath and tried to imagine anything else. Puppies. Good food. My favorite movie. My favorite kiss.
That one was easy. It was every kiss I ever had with Zach.
I’d have given anything to pretend that Zach wasn’t my step-brother, if only so I could lose myself in his arms for just a little while.
Bad ideas. All of it.
“What are you thinking?” Zach asked.
Nothing I could answer honestly. Too bad the lump in my throat was just as painful to talk about.
“I’ve always wanted to be a teacher,” I said. “Life goal.”
“You’ll get there.”
“And if I don’t? One bad professor today could be one awful administration tomorrow and one demented school board a year from now. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. I wanted to be there for the kids.”