Hot as Puck(62)

You, too. And think some thoughts about my cock while you’re at it. He’s going to miss you tonight…

“I’ll miss him, too,” I whisper aloud, my cozy apartment feeling cold and empty for the first time since I moved in right out of college.

I’ve always been the kind of person who thrives on solitude—I need it to focus, recharge, and get ready to tackle the world outside my door—but right now I would happily handcuff myself to Justin and throw away the key if there were any way to make a conjoined lifestyle work. If the school didn’t frown on bringing significant others to work, or if I could skate half as well as I ski.

Which is as much reason as any to take at least a day to think about what’s going on here. I don’t want to become one of those people who can’t function without her boyfriend around, especially considering Justin isn’t my boyfriend and might not even be my fuck buddy for much longer.

My phone dings again, but when I glance down, the text isn’t from Justin. It’s Bethany, whose first-grade classroom is right across the hall from mine. So sorry to hear you’re sick! Especially today. A bunch of us are going to the tapas place you like for happy hour after school. I was going to ask you to come!

Happy hour. With Bethany, other teachers, and no one who knows about my current drama. It sounds like a little piece of heaven, so I text back, I’m actually feeling better already. I was just a little off when I woke up this morning.

Oh good! Then you should come. We’re meeting at 4:30. And don’t worry, Principal Edwards won’t be there, so your miraculous recovery from your “sick” day can stay our secret *winking face emoji*

I smile, though I’m not terribly worried about Principal Edwards. She knows I work harder than all three of the other kindergarten teachers put together. Unfortunately for the rest of the six-year-olds at Asher Elementary, Mr. Vickers, Mrs. Gray, and Miss Thompson are all various levels of exhausted and/or ready to move on to teaching kids with fewer potty emergencies. I am Edwards’ top performer for five- and six-year-olds, and I seriously doubt she would reprimand me for taking a personal day.

I text Bethany again, telling her I’ll see her this afternoon, and then scroll through the movie listings, buying a ticket to a noon showing of an action flick. I’ll do some thinking this morning, let myself be distracted by things getting blown up on the big screen, do some more thinking, and then do my best to leave sex and romance worries behind and enjoy an evening with friends.

It’s a good plan, and by the time I find a parking spot near the tapas place, I’ve decided what I’ll say to Justin when the time comes, marveled at how many explosions can be squished into a ninety-minute feature film, and managed to convince Laura via text to leave work early so there won’t be the slightest chance of her crossing paths with Justin again today.

I’m feeling pretty good—nervous, but proud of myself for taking time to think at least semi-rationally about all the things I’m feeling—when I swing into El Toro and realize I’ve made a mistake assuming happy hour would be a safe space.

It’s not. Bethany, Rebecca, and the rest of the south-wing crew aren’t here alone. They’ve brought a member of administration along.

Roger sits at the head of the long table, in the only chair with an unobstructed view of the entrance. The moment I spy him, he spies me—lifting a friendly hand in hello, dashing all hopes of making a quick getaway.

Silently cursing my luck, I force a smile, praying I’ll be able to make it through a happy hour beverage without falling flat on my face or doing something else clumsy, awkward, or embarrassing. I’m not sure what I feel for Roger at this point—it’s hard to think about anything but Justin—but if anyone could manage to make a fool of herself over someone she isn’t even interested in anymore, it’d be yours truly.





Chapter Twenty-Four





Libby




Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

That’s what I feel when Bethany springs out of her seat next to Roger and deftly settles me into her place, making it clear at least one of my coworkers is aware that I have the hots for the VP.

Or that I had the hots for him.

Now that I know what it feels like to experience real passion and pleasure and an intimate, heart-stopping connection to another person, I realize that what I felt for Roger was never “the hots.” It wasn’t lust or love or anything close to what I feel for Jus. It was a crush, a fixation based on fantasy spawned by the fact that before Roger carried me to the nurse’s office, I’d never had anything remotely romantic happen to me.