Page 11

Chapter eleven

Elliot

I know it sounds nuts, but sitting atop a pole, staring out at the city, can be pretty cool, especially when said pole borders Piedmont Park, granting me one of the most majestic views in all of Atlanta.

I should’ve been focused on my work, paying attention to the cables or other vital doodads that kept power flowing to this part of town, but I caught myself lost in thought—specifically, lost in thoughts about a certain messy-haired redhead who should never be allowed near a kitchen, any kitchen, even if his only goal was ordering takeout.

That made me smile.

Like a fucking idiot, strapped to the top of a power pole, I grinned the goofiest grin Disney ever set to music.

And I was not a grinner.

Or a Disney fan.

Damn it.

Mike was an enigma, a nervous ball of energy whose staggering lack of confidence should have sent me running for the door. And yet, whether it was his fiery locks or his lopsided smile—or that one dimple I was dying to nibble—Mike Albert wouldn’t leave my brain alone long enough to think.

So, I did what any self-respecting lineman would do in my position, I whipped out my phone and began typing.

Me : Whacha doin?

Yeah, I could be eloquent when I wanted.

Prof Mike : Trying to avoid a dowery discussion with Jessica’s father.

Me : Oh, shit. She’s on fire?

Prof Mike : Like a California forest.

Me : LOL. Too soon, Mike. Too soon.

I waited while the dots danced, my grin somehow widening past my ears.

Prof Mike : You still speaking to me after the whole kitchen nightmare turned breeding session?

Me : I don’t recall being offered any breeding.

Prof Mike : OMG! Not me, the dog, you idiot! Me : God, I love getting you flustered.

Prof Mike : You are evil and must be destroyed.

Me : I’ve been told that before.

There was another long pause, so long I wondered if Mike had been pulled away by some teaching emergency. Then the dots wiggled, and my screen fixation was rewarded.

Prof Mike : Sorry, I’m watching detention and had to bitch slap a senior back to his freshman year.

Me : Detention? That’s still a thing?

Prof Mike : Oh, yeah. And one lucky teacher has to stand guard while the rabble attempts a hostile takeover. Why does it feel like I did something wrong?

Me : You’re a good man, Mike Albert. Stand that wall. Beat those little white walkers back with your fancy kitchen knobs.

Prof Mike : You’re terrible, you know that, right?

Prof Mike : So, you were thinking about me.

Me : Maybe.

Prof Mike : You texted, bitch. Don’t play with my emotions. You were pining. Admit it.

Me : Pining might be a bit of an exaggeration.

Prof Mike : Please tell me you’re on top of a pole, that you were thinking of me while climbing a giant piece of wood.

Me : Don’t make me laugh. I might fall off!

Prof Mike : Oh, god! I’m so sorry. Please be safe. Should we be texting? Do I need to let you work?

Me : If you could see me laughing now . . . I’m fine. Worst thing I might do is drop my phone and kill someone.

Prof Mike : Jesus. You’re sick.

Me : You have no idea.

Me : Speaking of sick, I owe you a dinner. How about I cook this time?

Prof Mike : Oh, hell. He looks like Reacher and he cooks?

Me : I don’t know about Reacher, but yeah, I do okay in the kitchen. Tomorrow night? Seven o’clock again?

Prof Mike : It’s a date. Can I bring anything?

Me : Nope. Oh—leave Homer at home. I know we’ve bonded and all, but I’m scared I might get pregnant if we keep seeing each other.

Prof Mike : I just snorted so loud my students are staring. I need to go.

ME : See you tomorrow, minus the pup and his little pink thing.