Page 34 of Connectio

“Oh, no, I wasn’t worried about that at all.” I smile, a little shocked at his kindness. “Thank you. This is very thoughtful of you.”

Will glares at Oliver and says, voice low, “You don’t want boys looking at your tits.”

And just like that, his “kindness” dissipates.

Sucking on my tooth, I turn around and address the class. “Grade 3s, start writing your four times tables in your workbooks. Grade 2s, you can write your fives. I’m just going to change my wet top. I’ll be back in a minute.”

I scurry to the office and stop by Carly’s desk, tapping my fingertips on the reception countertop. I don’t know how, but Will being here is definitely her doing.

“Yes, Mrs Hunter,” she says, pointing to the telephone receiver she’s holding to her ear. Carly gives me a “Suck shit, I’m busy” grin, so I cock an eyebrow and smile. She can’t avoid me forever; I know where she lives.

Ducking into the staff toilets, I remove my blouse and throw on Will’s T-shirt. It dwarfs me, but it’s dry, warm, and surprisingly soft. Nuzzling the collar, I inhale, a little disappointed to find it smells like brand-new cotton and not him. No matter his caveman appearance and immature persona, nor how many buttons of mine he delights in pushing, I remember him smelling quite pleasant on Friday night when his arms were wrapped around me on the dance floor.

After tucking the hem of the T-shirt into the waistband of my capris so it doesn’t look like I’m wearing some god-awful tunic, I stand under the hand dryer and turn it on, lifting my knees one at a time in an attempt to dry the damp sections on my legs.

“What are you doing?” Carly asks.

I swivel to find her standing at the door. “The can-can, what does it look like?”

Her gaze lands on the T-shirt. “Tap That?” She laughs. “Ha! That’s so Will.”

I don’t get what’s so funny at first until Carly performs a hip-thrusting movement.

“Oh my God! I can’t wear a T-shirt in front of my kids that says Tap That.”

She clutches her midriff. “You don’t have a choice.”

“Do you have any spare clothes I can borrow? Surely you’ve got a blouse or a dress stashed in your desk.”

“Nope.”

I let my head fall back against the wall and look to the ceiling. “How is he even here, Carls?”

“Who? Will?”

“Yes. Who else?”

“Because I called him.” She moves in front of the mirror and adjusts her bra, cupping and rearranging her breasts as if they’ve somehow moved out of position. “While I was giving Derek head, he mentioned Will is a plumber.”

I blink all the blinks. “What?”

“While I was sucking Derek’s cock, he said—”

“Jesus! I heard that part loud and clear.”

She pulls a lipstick out of her pocket and pops the top. “Then why are you confused?”

“Never mind.” I really don’t need to understand how that particular conversation materialised while that particular action was being performed, so I let it go. “So Will’s a local plumber?”

“Yep.” She presses her newly pigmented lips together then places the bullet applicator back into her pocket. “His company holds the contract for the schools in the area.”

“Whyyy?” I drawl, softly headbutting the wall.

“Because he must be good at what he does?” she says, as if my question is a legitimate one.

My eyes meet hers, and she smirks.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” I ask.