Page 49 of Mr. Infuriating (Mister #1)

Gretchen

Jake was confused by the state of our kitchen when we’d gotten home. Gabe and Beau had removed almost all the cabinets except for one small section with the kitchen sink and the island.

“Where go, mama?” my son asked with his hands open as he looked around the kitchen.

“We’re getting new cabinets, baby. Here, let me show you.”

I took his hand, and we went out to the garage where I pulled the foam wrap off the cabinet my dad had inspected when they were first delivered.

They really were beautiful.

I swept my hand out to gesture to all the cupboards in the third stall of the garage.

“These will go in our new kitchen.”

“Okay. I play Elmo now?”

There were advantages to the short attention span of a two-year-old.

Laughing, I ruffled the hair on his head.

“You can play Elmo now.”

I was confident he’d be asleep in minutes since it was way past his naptime. I’d purposefully stayed away from the house until an hour after Brayden’s game was supposed to start.

I knew the reprieve was going to be short-lived, since they were coming over tomorrow. But at least I had a day to lick my wounds.

And with any luck, some cheesecake to help ease my pain.

~ ~

I woke up the next day filled with nervous energy.

I knew who Brayden Mitchell was. Yes, I’d purposefully found out once I’d done the deed with his dad, and I observed him in the hall between classes. There was no denying he was Gabe’s son. The Mitchell genes were strong.

I was a little concerned he was going to think his dad and I were dating and cop an attitude with me while I tried to tutor him. I guess I’d find out soon enough.

Wayne had filled me in about Brayden’s abilities once I told him I was going to be tutoring the young man.

“He’s a good kid.”

That didn’t surprise me. He had Gabe for a role model.

“His overall reading comprehension seems good, but he’s struggling with poetry and literary devices—especially symbolism.”

That wasn’t unusual. Seventh grade boys were not known for their love of poetry, and, let’s face it, males at any age weren’t exactly known for their ability to read between the lines.

“And his essay writing is abysmal.”

Okay, so at least I knew where to start.

When the doorbell rang Sunday afternoon, I was ready to face whatever lay in store for me.

*** *

Gabe

“And why are we going to Mrs. Wainwright’s again?” Brayden asked as he took a bite of the omelet I’d made him.

He, Brittany, and I were having breakfast in the nook overlooking the backyard—the treehouse on full display in the distance.

“So she can tutor you while I work on her cabinets,” I replied as I buttered my toast. “And she just got divorced, so technically, I think she’s Ms. Kelly now but isn’t changing her name at school until next year.”

“Does that mean you two are dating?”

I was glad I wasn’t in the middle of drinking my coffee because I would have spit it out before I offered a lame denial.

“No! She’s just a client. We reached a bartering agreement—I’ll install her cabinets in exchange for her helping you get your English grade up.”

“How did you know my grade is bad?”

I hadn’t exactly. Only suspected it based on some of the papers I’d seen in his backpack, but he just confirmed it.

Britt chimed in, “Mom said since you don’t have the password to the parent portal, you’d never know.”

And that was going to change, effective immediately.

I was a little peeved that Becky decided to keep that from me but decided to ask her about it first before I jumped her shit.

See? I’m growing.

Frankly, I was surprised she hadn’t jumped mine and tried to make it my fault .

“Well, it’d be hard to hide it from me when he becomes ineligible to play lacrosse, now wouldn’t it? Hopefully Ms. Kelly will help make sure that doesn’t happen.”

“And I really get to babysit her son?” my eleven-year-old asked with excitement in her brown eyes.

I wouldn’t call it babysitting, per se, since both Gretchen and I were going to be in the house. More like keeping him occupied. But my daughter liked the idea of being responsible for Jake, so I wasn’t going to rain on her parade.

“You really get to babysit, honey.”

“Do I get paid?”

Brayden looked over at me with raised eyebrows.

Shit . I hadn’t thought about that .

“That depends. How much do you want?”

“I’m just teasing, Dad. You buy me stuff all the time.”

I decided I’d still slip her a few bucks when Brayden wasn’t around.

“Think of it as an investment in your academic future. You never know, you might have Ms. Kelly for your English teacher someday. It’d be advantageous to be on her good side.”

“You’ll have her if you’re lucky,” Brayden piped in. “Will says she’s really nice.”

“Let’s hope she’s as good a tutor as she is nice.”

“But you’re not dating her?” my son asked again.

“Nope. She’s just a client.”

Unfortunately.