Page 32

My heart races when Travis Woods spots me.

I saw him as he started strutting his way toward my friend. The confidence in his gait told me he was about to hit on her, and I couldn’t help my laugh as I saw the recognition dawn on his face.

He says something else to Mandy, but his eyes are still on me for a beat.

I wish I knew what he was thinking.

I wish I knew why he didn’t answer my email or call me back earlier today.

I was trying to let him know that his daughter had used her iPad to get in touch with me outside of school hours last night. She was upset around nine o’clock last night, and she was letting me know that Travis had mentioned finding her a new school.

I had told her she could contact me any time she needed to, but I wasn’t expecting her to actually use my number. She sent me a voice text. She somehow figured out how to do that from her tablet, and it’s yet more proof to show how intelligent this little girl actually is. I just wanted to share that with her father along with my concerns that she’s getting in touch with me when he isn’t aware.

He glares back at me, and then he turns and heads back to his table while Mandy heads back to me with my margarita in her hand.

She squeals when she hands it to me. “I told you he’d be here!”

“I wish you’d been wrong,” I say dryly.

“Well, maybe now you can tell him about Harper getting in touch last night,” she suggests. She doesn’t sit on the empty stool I saved for her. “Come on,” she says, motioning with her head toward a table near the back. I follow her eyes toward the table where Travis just sat.

He’s there with other football guys. I recognize them from Owen’s poster, though the only ones I know by name are Josh Nolan and Jaxon Bryant.

“What do you mean come on ?”

“He invited us to his table,” she says. “So…come on. You can finally hook up with him, and I can star in my own fantasy version of a why choose romance.”

I laugh despite the gravity of the situation. “Babe, this isn’t one of the books we hide on our Kindles and recommend to each other off the clock then proceed to read one-handed while some girl doesn’t have to pick between four guys because they all want to be with her. This is real life.”

She pauses as she looks over at me. “You read one-handed?”

I roll my eyes and huff out a breath. “You know what I mean!”

“Like…you touch yourself while you read?” She makes a face at me like she’s horrified at the thought, and the woman next to her overhears and glances over at me, and good God I’m suddenly freaking mortified . I don’t know whether to play it off like a joke or just freaking own it because yes I touch myself while I read my smutty books and I fucking love every second of it…especially considering my ex couldn’t be bothered to fulfill my needs in that particular arena.

But my God, Mandy sends me these damn book recommendations where the heroine is getting penetrated in the front by one guy and the back by another while a third is doing things to her boobs and another guy is shoving his peen down her throat.

It’s hot.

It’s not something I’d ever want in real life, but reading about it is another thing entirely.

And I refuse to admit that last night I was reading the newest one from our favorite author right before bed, and then when I fell asleep, I had a really screwed up dream that seemed to combine fiction with reality, and I was in my own why choose romance. But all four men were Travis Freaking Woods.

I blow out a breath as I try to come up with something to say, but I merely sputter instead.

“I’m just kidding,” she says, and she laughs and laughs like this was hilarious while meanwhile my face is a tomato and my neck feels all hot. “Now come on, let’s go get you laid.”

“I’m not going over there,” I say firmly. “I want nothing to do with Travis Woods, not during school hours nor after. So get this idea out of your head.”

“Fine, then come with me so I can shoot my shot since clearly he rejected Mrs. Sandburg yesterday,” she taunts me.

I fold my arms across my chest and glare at her, and I hate the punch to my gut I feel at the thought of my friend hooking up with him.

I hate the jealous rage that flits through my chest.

“Come on, Vic. You like him and that’s okay.”

“No it isn’t, and no I don’t. A, it’s against policy for me to date a parent. And B, I just broke up with Owen. I can’t just hop into bed with somebody new, and especially not someone who is as big of a jerk as he is.”

“Show me where in our policies it says you can’t date a parent. Freaking Margie White married the Patel dad, remember?” she says, naming our sixth-grade teacher and a parent who had four kids go through our school. “It’s so obvious the two of you want each other, so just freaking cut that sexual tension already, would you?”

“I do not want him,” I grit out. “If anything, I hate him.”

“What did I tell you about hate bangs, girl? Go get it.”

“And risk an STD? No thank you.” I chug down half my margarita mostly because I need the liquid courage and I know Mandy isn’t about to let me out of this one.

“NFL players do have regular physicals, you know. And there’s such a thing as a condom to protect you.”

“You’re missing the point. I do not like that man,” I hiss.

She shrugs. “Fine, then shoot your shot with one of the other hotties over there. That Austin Graham is a cutie.”

Now there is an idea. What a way to make my ex jealous and slap Travis right across the face at the same time.

“Which one is Austin?” I ask.

She glances over. “The one in the green shirt.”

“Fine,” I concede, and I reluctantly follow her over toward the table with six hot football players.

“This is Harper’s teacher, Mandy Miller,” Travis introduces her. He glances at me. “And you are…?”

I roll my eyes. “I’m Victoria,” I say to the table. “I’m a reading specialist at the same school where Mandy works.”

The boys on one side of the table scoot over as they introduce themselves, and Mandy perches on the end beside Jaxon Bryant.

That means I either squeeze next to her or sit beside Travis Woods, the man sitting there not budging. My eyes fall to his arms, and I think he must’ve been wearing long sleeves all the other times I’ve seen him because I haven’t noticed his tattoos until now. I knew he had them—they’re in the picture in Owen’s office, and they’re on his arms when he’s on the field, but I’ve never actually had the treat of inspecting them up close.

I ignore them. Tattoos aren’t sexy , right?

Oh, who the hell am I kidding? They’re ridiculously sexy but it doesn’t matter since I hate this man with a fierce passion I didn’t know I had inside me.

I save a special glare for my friend, and my leg brushes against his as I sit.

And damn it all to hell, it’s hot and a spark of electricity seems to fly up from the spot of our connection.

I cross my leg away from him just to try to get some space, but in doing so, my hip brushes against his thigh, and it’s more sparks. More electricity. More heat.

I do not like him .

I remind myself how cruel he’s been to me since I first met him, but then my stupid brain reminds me how sweet he is with his daughter. My stupid brain recalls how lovely it is that he’s taking her in and helping her through the tragedy of losing her parents.

Fuck you, brain. Shut up.

He doesn’t move, and our hips are still squeezed together but if I scoot the other way, I’ll fall out of the booth.

My tummy does not do a flip being this close to him.

It does two fucking flips, and I hate it.

“Are you both Aces fans?” Jaxon asks.

“I’m a huge Jaxon Bryant fan,” Mandy flirts, and I wish I could be as brave and bold as her in that moment, but I’m not.

I’m barely out of a relationship and I’m still on my first drink. Brave and bold might come after liquid courage, but right now I sort of just want to go home.

Jaxon laughs at her assessment and the two of them get to chatting while I sit quietly listening to their flirting. He seems into her, and I wonder if I’m going to have to Uber back to Mandy’s apartment by myself.

“What about you?” Josh Nolan asks me from across the table.

“I was raised a baseball fan, to be honest. Both my parents are from Texas, so my mom wanted me to be a Rangers fan and my dad wanted me to be an Astros fan,” I say.

“Oh please don’t say you’re a Cowboys fan,” Josh begs, and I giggle.

“If it’s football, it’s America’s Team.” I offer an apologetic shrug. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry for you since you haven’t had much to root for over the last two decades,” Josh teases, and I laugh.

This really is just a normal group of guys out for drinks even though I’m just the tiniest bit starstruck that Josh Nolan is sitting across the table from me teasing me right now.

Travis is noticeably stiff and quiet beside me, but he still hasn’t moved, and part of my hip is still touching him, and I want to glance down at our connection because I’m very aware of it but I’m trying to ignore it. I take a sip of margarita instead—because that’s a good idea. Let’s get drunk and do something really stupid.

I shift over. Maybe I’ll fall out of the booth, but I can’t sit here beside him with his leg touching mine…especially not as his scent wafts over to me, some fresh, soapy scent that might not be cologne, it might just be his deodorant or whatever soap he uses, but it’s a little citrusy and a little woodsy all at once.

I hate that it’s another thing causing my thighs to clench together. What the hell is it about this man?

He’s barely acknowledged me since I sat at the table, yet he’s somehow managing to infuriate me anyway. Maybe it’s because he’s not acknowledging me. Or maybe it has something to do with the fact that I find him so freaking sexy that I want him to take me right on top of this table, but at the same time I hate him so much I want to kick him in the balls.

It’s a total contradiction, and I can’t help but wonder whether he feels the same way.

He turns toward the guy on his other side and gets involved in a conversation, and Jaxon and Mandy are still flirting across the table from me, and I’m sitting here like some loser with nobody to talk to. So what does one do in a bar when there’s nobody to talk to?

That’s right. She drinks.

Margarita one goes down smooth.

Margarita two shows up a few beats later, and Travis orders himself another drink, too.

“Is that just water?” I ask, glancing at his short tumbler filled with ice, a tiny bit of clear liquid, and a lime.

“Patron,” he says, the single short word filled with some sort of emotion toward me like he’s not going to give me any more than that.

Fuck it. I’m out with my friend, and she dragged me here specifically to see if this guy would be here. Well, he is, and he’s as big of an asshole as advertised.

I hold up my margarita. “Tequila!” I say gleefully as I try to find something in common with him, and he just gives me a look like I’m a loser. I roll my eyes. “It’s okay to loosen up once in a while.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“I don’t get you,” I mutter.

“I’m a pretty open book, Hartley,” he says, and the way my last name comes rumbling from his lips causes me to shiver a little.

I chug my second margarita for a little more liquid courage. “Oh really? Is that why you ignored my call and my email today?” I ask. I know I’m pressing buttons here, but I don’t care.

“No, I ignored your call and email because I’m a busy guy who doesn’t have time for your bullshit.”

“Oh, right. Well that bullshit was just letting you know that your daughter texted me last night from her iPad to let me know you made her sad because you mentioned pulling her out of school. Did she tell you about her feelings on that?” I pick up my glass a little triumphantly and chug down the rest after I say the words, and he looks at me as if I just verbally slapped him across the face.

I feel immediately guilty.

I shouldn’t have said it that way.

“She texted you?”

I raise my brows pointedly because yes , she did text me, and he would have known that if he’d bothered to read my email or answer my call. I still feel bad about my outburst, though. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said it that way, but yes, she did get in touch with me last night, and as her father, I thought you should know.”

He purses his lips and looks away from me. “I’m doing the best I can, okay?”

“I know you are,” I say softly.

He turns fully away from me and engages in conversation with the guys on his other side, and I try to make eye contact with Mandy to let her know I’m ready to get the hell out of here. She’s either totally unaware that I’m staring daggers at her or she’s ignoring me in favor of a possible hook-up with the Aces running back, so I just sit back and huff silently until nature calls.

I head toward the bathroom, and it’s as I’m exiting into the dark hallway that leads back into the bar that I find Travis standing there looking…something.

We’ve met here once before, but this time is different.

I can’t quite put my finger on it. It’s somewhere between fury and helplessness, with his eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared. His fists are clenched and he’s breathing a little heavily, and he just stands there blocking my way from exiting this little hallway as he stares me down.

I take a step back, a little intimidated, and he takes a step toward me. I step back again, but it’s a narrow hallway and now I’m backed up against the wall. My eyes dart to where the light shines from inside the bar and the loud rumble of music and clatter of bar glasses fills my ears.

He takes another step toward me and another, and then he moves in until his hips are pinning me to the wall. I feel his erection against my hip, hard and strong and thick , and an ache pulses between my legs. I shove my hips toward him, fighting back as always, but he’s a professional football player. He’s much, much stronger than me. Instead of scaring me, though, the thought only makes me want him more.

It makes me want things I have no business wanting.

It makes that ache between my legs throb with need in a way that tells me I’m not just hot for him. I’m dripping wet and horny as hell and this is all wrong but there’s a part of me that feels absolutely powerless to stop it anyway.

Whatever is brewing between the two of us is powerful, and I’ve heard the old clichés about love and hate riding a fine line and the opposite of hate being indifference.

This is definitely not indifference. I have strong feelings of anger and hatred for him that don’t quite make sense. I know he makes me rage in a way no other man ever has. And on the same coin, I know I want to continue pressing his buttons.

I also know I’m insanely attracted to him right now, and the mere thought of walking out of this hallway without knowing what it feels like to have his lips pressed against mine ignites a profound sense of loss.

My eyes dart to his, and his are heated and full of lust.

He leans forward a little and brushes his nose along the side of mine, and it’s a freaking sensory overload. His fresh scent, and the way his scruff is just a little too overgrown along his jawline, the heat emanating off him, the tequila-lime scent of his breath.

“It’s a damn shame you have a boyfriend, Hartley,” he says. “Because I could hate fuck the shit out of you right about now.”

My mouth dries up at his words. No witty comeback is ready to be fired off. In fact, if anything, my brain mis- fires and I’m left speechless—a rare occurrence for me.

He must see the confusion dart through my eyes because he cocks his head a little. “Wait a minute,” he says, narrowing his eyes as he pushes that erection against me again. “You do still have a boyfriend…don’t you? Did you ever, or did you just make that shit up?”

“God, I hate you,” I finally manage. “I did. I broke up with him a week ago and if you think for even one second that it has anything to do with you, you’re a bigger idiot than I ever could have im—”

“Oh shut the fuck up,” he interrupts, and then his mouth comes crashing down to mine.

What was I saying?

Oh, right.

Travis Woods knows how to use his mouth.

Oh. My. God.

I’m completely lost in his lips for a few beats as the shock of his mouth slamming to mine rushes over me. He goes right in for it, his lips parted as his tongue finds its way into my mouth, and I stand there stupidly for a beat as I try to make my brain catch up with what’s happening to my mouth, but all I can focus on is the ache in my pussy and the need in my chest and the tingles flying up my spine and the flips my stomach is doing and his mouth, his beautiful, perfect, arrogant mouth.

I feel breathless, like he’s stealing all the oxygen from me through this kiss, and for just a beat I sink into him as I let him kiss me like this, and I kiss back as I try to take the oxygen back from him, as if I’m breathing him in. He presses his body to mine, and his is all firm and hard everywhere , and that’s when my brain finally catches up.

I lift my hands to his chest and try to push him away, but he doesn’t budge. Instead, he grabs both my hands in one of his and lifts them above me, pinning them to the wall above my head, and then his mouth moves from mine and trails down my neck.

“Fuck, you taste good,” he mutters against my skin, and I try to tip my head back to give him more space even though my brain keeps telling me to fight this, to knee him in the nuts, anything to get away from him. My body betrays that stupid brain, though, and instead I stay put and I stop fighting because I have to know where he’s taking this.

Because I have to have his lips on me for just a little longer.

He’s hurting my wrists where he has them bound above my head in his tight grasp, but it’s the kind of pain I don’t want to end.

His lips move to my ear, where he rasps, “If you ask me to stop, I will. But I think you want this as much as I do, Hartley.”

He pulls back and I shiver at the feel of his hot mouth near my ear. His eyes study mine for a beat, and then his lips fall back to mine when he sees what he needs to there. This kiss is messier, a clash of teeth and my mouth opening while his is closed, like we can’t quite find the right rhythm because we’re both clamoring to deepen the kiss, to feel as much of each other as we can in this stolen moment in a hallway.

I want to wrap my arms around him—I want him to wrap his arms around me— but instead he still has my hands pinned above my head in one of his hands, and his other comes down to my hip, where his fingers dig in.

Part of me feels like I could stand right here in this hallway for the rest of the night kissing him, but he pulls back again and trails his lips across to my ear again.

“I want to know what your cunt tastes like,” he says, and his hot breath makes me tremble with need.

Holy shit. I don’t know if I’ve ever wanted anything as much as I want his mouth on my body right now.

The ache between my legs is unbearable, and I have this gut feeling that only he will be able to alleviate it. I want to know what he’s like in bed. I want to know if the rumors are true.

But logic kicks in.

I don’t just want to be another notch in his belt. I don’t want to mess up a relationship with a student who has already put a lot of trust in me after only knowing me a short time, and one thing is guaranteed when it comes to Travis Woods: things will get messy.

I can’t do this…not with someone who has been nothing but a total asshole to me, not in the bathroom at a bar, and not with the father of a student.

It doesn’t matter how much I want it—how much I want him.

“I can’t do this,” I finally say, and he looks a little stunned but he immediately drops my hands to set me free.

And then I run like hell to get away from him.