Emmeline
There was a reason people hated Mondays.
Half the class forgot their homework, three kids fell asleep at their desks, one had thrown up all over Em’s shoes, and that was all before lunch. Teaching wasn’t always the easiest job, but Em enjoyed being in the classroom and making a difference in these children’s lives.
But Mondays were still Mondays, no matter how much you loved your job.
With so many of her third graders dealing with struggles too difficult for their age, Em was happy she could be a bright spot in their lives. She just didn’t like being the spot in the middle of the bullseye when it came to projectile vomit. Her students were lucky she didn’t start dry heaving right then and there.
Thankfully, the bell had rung only moments after. She sent her students to the lunchroom with a fellow teacher and had raced to the bathroom.
After wiping her shoes down with enough sanitizing wipes to clean her entire room, she finally walked into the teacher’s lounge. Frida, who taught art, was already in their usual spot. There was a small splatter of red paint on the front of her plain cotton jumper. Her dark hair was piled on top of her head in a messy bun, but her makeup was immaculate enough to put any beauty blogger to shame. The plastic salad bowl in front of her was almost empty.
“I was wondering where you were. It’s not like these twenty-five-minute lunch breaks give a lot of time to gallivant all over campus,” Frida said when she noticed Em walking toward her.
Em plopped down across the table from her and set a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on the table. “It’s been a day.”
A corner of Frida’s mouth lifted. “It’s only eleven.”
“Yeah, and I could already use a nap.” Em quickly filled Frida in on the drama from that morning.
When she was done, Frida wrinkled her nose. “And you’re still eating after all that?”
“I think I’m going to fall over if I don’t. I feel like I’m running on fumes today.”
Frida put her elbow on the table and propped her chin in her hand. “Exciting weekend working on lesson plans?”
Em rolled her eyes.
“Wait, don’t tell me.” Frida sat up in her seat. “You spent hours online looking for cute ways to teach the kids about dividing while I got to work on my latest sculpture and have it count as research.”
“For your information, I went out on Saturday night, and stayed out way too late.” Between Silas and Finn’s jokes and following Grant around the bar with her eyes, she’d lost track of time and didn’t realize it was two in the morning until they did last call.
“As your best friend since kindergarten, I know you didn’t have a date this weekend. And last time I checked, Storm games didn’t run that late.” Frida sent a teasing smile at Em before stabbing her fork into another bite of lettuce.
“I ended up hanging out with Finn at City Bar.”
Frida stopped chewing. “You were with Finn?”
“Yeah. I haven’t seen him in, like, forever.”
“Talk about anything important?”
“Not really. But spending the entire night with him made it easier not to talk to another player.”
Frida started eating again. “So, who weren’t you trying to talk to?”
She averted her gaze as she took a bite of her sandwich and said, “No one.”
“Wait.” Frida set her fork down and stared at her. “This wasn’t just not talking to someone because you didn’t feel like being social. What happened?”
Em pressed her lips together. If she wasn’t so tired, she wouldn’t have been so obvious about it. Of course, she’d planned to tell Frida eventually, she’d just hoped to get through this day first. “Promise not to laugh?”
“I make no such promise, but you’d better tell me anyway.”
She let out a long sigh before she told Frida about how Grant had bumped into her at the game. When she got to the part where they flirted at the bar, Frida’s eyes went wide.
“Is he cute?”
Instead of answering out loud she pulled out her phone, opened Instagram, and typed in Grant’s name. Once his profile was up, she squeezed her eyes shut, took a deep breath, and slid the phone across the table toward Frida.
A few seconds went by, and Em realized she was still holding her breath while she waited for her best friend’s response. She released it and looked up at Frida.
Frida’s eyes were glued to the screen, and her lips slowly curved up into a smile. “Ooh. I can see why you like him.”
Em reached out and snatched the phone from Frida’s hand. She cradled it to her chest and glared at Frida. “I don’t like him.”
“It’s okay if you do. He’s gorgeous.” She wiggled her perfectly groomed brows.
“He is.” Her cheeks warmed at the admission.
“And you were avoiding him because of your no-dating-athletes rule.”
“Obviously.”
Frida was silent for a moment. “You know that not every guy is Travis, right?”
Travis.
Hearing his name brought back so many painful memories—memories Em had worked hard to forget. Not only had Travis destroyed her heart, he’d made it impossible for her to trust another guy for years. She pressed the heel of her hand against her forehead trying to clear her mind.
Frida put a hand on her arm. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have mentioned him.”
“It’s okay.” It had been six years since Travis had shown his true colors. It was time to move past it. She looked up at Frida. “But it’s not just him. Remember Mark in college? Or Damien?” Every athlete she’d taken a chance on was a complete waste of space.
Frida snorted. “Damien was ridiculous.”
“Yeah, he was. But Damien was also a reminder to stay strong in my convictions and not get distracted by a pretty pair of pecs, because there is literally nothing hiding behind them but a self-love that rivals Narcissus.”
“Dang, girl, tell
