Hard(38)

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.”