I rake my teeth over my lower lip. “I guess that could work. She does like getting massages, but can’t usually afford them.”
“See?” He shoots me a smile. “Second.” He leans in a little further as if he has a secret to tell me. “Are you listening?” At my nod, he continues. “You’re too hard on yourself. Here I am, one week in, and I haven’t even taught a single class yet. I’m completely overwhelmed. This job is hard. Really hard. The fact that you do it well, but forget a few things here and there in your personal life?” His eyes get really big and he shakes his head as he proclaims, “Oh. Fucking. Well.”
I cover my mouth, trying not to laugh. When I think I have myself under control, I agree with him. “Right. Oh fucking well. Third? Is there a third?”
“You bet. Weird history fact—Andrew Jackson had a cussing parrot. When he died, they actually brought it to his funeral, but they had to take it out when the service started because the poor thing kept shouting obscenities. Your mouth can’t be any worse than Andrew Jackson’s fowl-mouthed bird.” He pauses for effect. “Get it?”
“Oh my God. I’m dead.” I burst out laughing.
He sends me a wink and a boyish grin, his dimple popping.
My heart stutters.
I suck in a breath, my chest rising. “You’re too much, Sawyer Rivers.” I laugh a little too awkwardly for my liking.
“I mostly just speak the truth.” His gaze drops down to my lips and mine to his.
I don’t know how long we sit there like that. Slowly and steadily, we both lean closer. His lips look like they’d be incredibly soft, and I wish I could feel them on mine. Or have them caress my neck. Or maybe skim their way over my breast before taking my nipple between them. Like a warning flare, something bursts to life inside me, warmth flooding through my body, ending in a rush between my legs. My breath hitches, as his dark eyes look into mine—searching, wondering, questioning.
From outside the workroom, the sounds of someone approaching are like a grenade set off between us, and we both jerk backward in our chairs. Chests heaving, we continue to stare at each other as the knob twists and the door opens. Piper’s too busy arguing with Damon to notice that they’ve interrupted what could have quite possibly been a huge mistake.
Or something hugely satisfying. You know, one or the other.
I groan inwardly as shame floods my cheeks, making them hot. I press my fingers to them in an effort to cool them down and turn myself back around in my seat, tucking my feet under my desk. What am I doing? He’s a freaking student teacher. I’m his mentor. I’m going straight to hell for even thinking about him like that.
“Hey, Had. Hey, Sawyer.” Piper blows past us like a whirlwind, which I guess is a good thing because it means she obviously didn’t pick up on the tension in the room when she came in.
“Hey, Piper.” My voice trembles as I pick up my pen again to pretend like I’m working. Meanwhile, my brain and my body are at war—my brain knows it would be a bad idea to pursue him, my body just wants him. Period. The evidence of the latter is obvious from the tightness of my nipples and the desire snaking its way through me. I squeeze my legs together in an effort to halt the onslaught of feeling, but it doesn’t stop the throbbing down south in my lady business.
Sawyer stands beside me and places a hand on my shoulder, squeezing briefly before he lets go and returns to the computer.
My head feels fuzzy, as if I’ve just woken up. Was that all a daydream? Did I black out? Or had that really almost happened? I’d like to tell myself that we were just sitting close. That’s all that was. Right? And what was with him touching my shoulder like that? It’d seemed almost like a gesture of solidarity—like he’s with me and I shouldn’t worry. That he understands I’m wigging out. That he gets me.
Chapter 11
Sawyer
Willow and I sit side by side on stools at the little bar in Newberry—the same one I’d first seen Hadleigh at before I knew who she was. After what almost happened at school today, I went straight to the bar for a drink, begging Willow to drive the twenty minutes to meet me.
“Wait, wait, wait. I need a replay of what you just said so I have the proper visual.” Willow snorts as she holds up her hands to get me to pause for a second. “You’re telling me that you were just sitting there, and your lips just kind of accidentally almost put themselves on her lips? What the heck were you even doing sitting close enough that it could have happened in the first place?”
I send her a side-eye and tilt my beer to my lips, swallowing deeply before I set the bottle down. “I don’t fucking know, Willow. She was having a mini-meltdown about forgetting to buy her mom a birthday gift, among other things. I scooted a chair close to her and sat down to talk her through it.” I grip the back of my neck and take another drink. “Then I told her about Andrew Jackson’s fucking cussing parrot and we laughed about it. When we calmed down, it was suddenly too quiet, and I don’t even know what happened. She leaned in, I leaned in, there was eye
