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CHAPTER EIGHT

Kaden

Not her boyfriend.

C arrying the computer equipment into Josie Rhodes’s classroom should be a simple task. Drop it off. Set it up. Blend in. Except Josie is distracting me. I catch her staring as I lift a box from the cart, her eyes trailing along my arms before snapping upward like she is absolutely not watching me.

It shouldn’t affect me, but it does.

She clears her throat, turning away quickly, pretending to be invested in organizing a stack of paper on her desk. I remind myself why I’m there and it’s not because she’s a cute piece of ass.

I’m at the back of the classroom, unboxing another monitor when I sense movement. I glance up. A few kids have abandoned their stations and are stealthily creeping toward me like I’m an exotic animal they’ve just spotted in the wild.

They stop a few feet away, watching in silent fascination. I’ve never had this kind of intense surveillance in my life, and I’ve infiltrated high-security compounds.

Finally, one of them gathers his courage. He’s taller than the other, but still round-faced and more baby than child. “Are you Ms. Rhodes’s new boyfriend?”

“I’m the tech guy—installing computers.”

The kid nods. “My dad moved in with my mom after three sleepovers. Her sister says that means she’s a whore.”

“That’s unfortunate,” I say, deadpan.

He’s not deterred. “Did you sleep over at Ms. Rhodes’s house?”

I look across at Josie who is sprinting toward us. “Everyone, back to the rug, please.” Most of them go, but not all. One serious-looking little boy says, “My dad watches Netflix but he doesn’t pay for it. Are you going to send him to jail for that?”

I cough. “No. I’m not that kind of tech guy.”

The kid nods, appeased and walks away.

Josie stands beside the one remaining boy. “Let’s go. If we want computers that work, we shouldn’t bother the man who’s setting them up for us.”

The little boy stands taller. “I have a loose tooth. Want to touch it?”

“No,” I say and shake my head as he opens his mouth and flashes a bloody tooth that is hanging on by a thread and twirling.

“Want to pull it out?” he offers.

“Still no,” I say then force a smile. “But thank you for the offer.” That seems to appease him and he walks over to join the rest of the kids.

Josie is choking on laughter. “Sorry about that.”

I shrug. “They’re just kids. It’s cute.”

A tiny girl with pigtails and sticky hands walks over. I know her hands are sticky because she touches my arm. Now I’m sticky. “I hope Ms. Rhodes marries you. You have big muscles.”

I gently remove my arm from her grasp. “I’m not her boyfriend. I’m just here to install the computers.”

She looks up at Josie and waves a hand around. “Sorry, Ms. Rhodes. I tried.”

Josie’s face is bright red. “I’m going to head back over there and teach some math.”

“Good plan.” I feel a little bad for her so I wink. She turns away, starts walking, looks back, and nearly trips over a little chair. I shake my head and return to unboxing the monitor.

A short time later, I pause from arranging the wiring for the computers to watch Josie teach. She has a large refrigerator box decorated with clocks and numbers. The children all have dry erase boards on their laps and are clamoring to do math problems that, if they get them correct, earn them a trip in the time machine. One child gets an answer correct and gleefully goes inside the box. Bells ring. Lights flash. It’s all cheaply made, but the kids seem to really love it. When the kid comes back out, the others raise their hands and ask him about where he went and what he saw. He excitedly describes visiting a dinosaur in a cave. Josie tells him he should write about that in his home journal and bring it in to read to the class the next day. He dances around and promises to.

I don’t like how happy the class is. Or how good she is at what she does. It doesn’t fit what I suspect about her. I’m still mulling that thought when one kid calls out, “Ms. Rhodes, Conner pooped his pants and it’s all the way down to his ankles!”

“Oh, no,” Josie says, then adds gently, “What do we do when a friend has an accident?”

The children recite, “We say that’s okay, because everyone has accidents.”

“I’m going to call the office real quick,” she says over the children’s heads. “Conner, come with me. It’s going to be okay.”

With Josie at her desk, calling the office for the nurse, the kids on the rug turn their attention back to me. “Have you ever pooped your pants?” one asks me.

It feels like a trick question. Do I say no and imply it’s not natural? In my world it isn’t, but who knows what is common with kids this age. I decide on, “Not lately.” And give a sigh of relief when Josie returns and asks them to pick up their boards again and try the next math problem.

I linger at the end of the day, past when the last kid is dismissed. Josie wipes down all the tables, looking tired but happy. When she notices I’m still there, she quickly turns a shade of pink.

“Oh, good, you’re still here,” she says breathlessly.

“You asked me to be.”

She nods nervously. “Yes. Yes. I need help moving my desk.”

I glance at it. “Sure. Where do you want it?”

She points vaguely. “How about over there?”

I lift it effortlessly, carry it two feet to the left, and set it down.

Fidgeting, she says, “No, actually, I think it was better over there.”

I squint at her then pick it up again and move it to where she pointed.

Josie clears her throat. “Maybe a little to the right?”

I cross my arms. She’s stalling. “Do you mean exactly where it was?”

She freezes. Blushes violently. “Oh, crap. I’m not good at this. Would it be weird or would you be uncomfortable if... do you like coffee?”

Ah. There it is.

She’s trying to ask me out. I let the moment stretch, enjoying how adorably terrible she is at this then decide to put her out of her misery. “Oh. Oh! You mean like a date?”

Her entire face ignites. “Unless I just made things weird.”

I grin at her, thinking this might be easier than I thought. “No, not at all. I’d like that. Do you want my number?”

She looks like she might actually combust. Then nods and goes silent for the first time all day. When she hands me her phone, I type in my number and my cover name. Then hold the phone out for her to take. If any of this was real, I’d want her to feel better about it, so I say, “Relax. I admire someone who’s brave enough to put themselves out there like that. Mad respect.”

“Yeah, that’s me. Brave.” She snatches the phone back, then practically sprints out of the room.

I watch her go and frown. Is the agency sure they have the right woman? Because if so, she is a damn good actor.