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It’s only five minutes, and both boys disappear into their room when Aly tells them it’s time to give up the DS and get ready for bed. I’ve seen this game they play, the one where Aly tells them it’s time for bed and they get another hour of the night out of her.

In her defense, she tries pretty hard to get them to stick to a schedule.

“Cash needs to practice math, and then I have to get the kids ready for bed,” Aly tells me when she notices I’m giving her the look that screams need. I mentioned it’s been four days, right?

I’m ready to pick her up and take her into the bathroom and fuck the need away.

I wink, crossing my arms over my chest. “I’ll wait.”

Aly bites her lip nervously. “You can’t stay here, Ridge. You’re their teacher, and I’m not sure I’m ready to introduce them to whatever this is.”

I don’t budge and sit down on the couch. “They love me.”

And then I see it in her eyes. She knows they do. “That’s the problem.”

Leaning forward, I rest my elbows on my knees. “Stoptrying to push me away.”

Sighing, she sits next to me. “You scare me.”

“You scare me too. I saw your hair the other morning,” I tease, twirling a strand of her blonde hair around my finger.

She knocks my hand away, twisting to face me. “Be serious.”

“I am. I wasterrified.”

She grabs me by my shirt, fisting the fabric in her tiny fist. It does nothing for the raging hard-on I have now. “You’re not staying the night.”

I’m getting to her. Taking her hand from my shirt, I kiss it seductively and then drop in on her lap. “Ohh. . . just a booty call. Nice.” I lay back, tucking my hands behind my head. “I like it.”

Aly stands and kicks at my foot. “Shut up and help Cash with his math.”

“He has homework? I didn’t give him that. What kind of prison are you running here where eight-year-olds have homework?”

I watch her walk from the living room to the kitchen until she pauses by the kitchen counter. “Ask him what two plus two is.”

She has a point. Cash is absolutely horrible at math. “I did. He told me twelve.” I laugh, though I know it’s not funny.

“He’s awful at it. Help him.”

Cash is shy. You wouldn’t think he is judging by the orneriness he usually displays, but when it comes to math, he’s entirely different.

“Are you good at math?” he asks as we sit at the table, the same table I’m wondering about its sturdiness for feature reference.

I grin, not for the reason he thinks. “Not sure. What’s two plus two?”

Cash drops his pencil, his eyes cloud with anger. “You’re making fun of me.”

“No, making fun of you would be pointing at you and laughing because you asked a stupid question. Of course I’m good at math, dummy. I’m a teacher.”

I’m sure the first rule of teaching is not calling a student a dummy, but it’s not like I’ve followed a single teaching rule yet, why start now?

Cash stares at me, then drops his eyes to the paper in front of him asking him to break down the number into ten frames. “I don’t get it.”

“Okay, here.” I grab his hands holding up both his fists and prying his fingers open. “Each finger represents ten. You know how to count by tens, right?”

He nods.

“So if you have four ten frames, how many is that? Count on your fingers using each one as ten.”