Page 15 of Off Limits Daddies
The teachers' lounge smells like burnt coffee and copy machine toner. Jack holds the door open for me, and I step inside to find a dozen pairs of eyes turning in my direction. My stomach clenches, but I force a smile.
"Everyone, this is Miss Wilson, our new English teacher," Jack announces, his voice carrying that professional authority I heard in his office. "She'll be teaching sophomore and junior English."
A tall man with sandy blond hair and an easy smile stands immediately, crossing the room with athletic grace. He's wearing khakis and a polo shirt with the school logo, a whistle hanging around his neck.
"Blake Morgan, football coach." He extends his hand, his grip warm and firm. "Welcome to Riverside Academy."
"Thank you." I'm grateful for the genuine warmth in his brown eyes. "I appreciate that."
"If you need anything, just ask." Blake's smile widens, crinkling the corners of his eyes. "I know how overwhelming the first fewdays can be. We've got a game Friday night if you want to come check out the team. Good way to get to know the school culture."
"I might do that."
"Blake, stop monopolizing the new teacher." A woman with short gray hair waves from the coffee maker. "I'm Patricia. I teach chemistry. Don't let him charm you too much. He does this with all the new female staff."
Blake laughs, not looking remotely embarrassed. "Pat's just jealous I never offered to help her move boxes."
"That's because I was here before you were born, practically." Patricia's tone is affectionate despite her words.
The door opens behind us, and I hear footsteps. Then a familiar voice says, "Sorry I'm late. Copy machine jammed again."
My entire body goes rigid.
I turn slowly, already knowing what I'll see but hoping desperately that I'm wrong. But of course, the way my luck is going, I'm not wrong. Noah stands in the doorway, his arms full of history textbooks, his dark hair slightly messy like he's run his hands through it. Those green eyes behind dark-rimmed glasses meet mine, and I watch the recognition slam into him like a physical blow.
The man I'd had a one-night stand with.
His face drains of color. The books in his arms shift dangerously.
"Noah, perfect timing." Jack gestures between us, completely oblivious to the tension crackling through the air. "This is Mia Wilson, our new English teacher. Mia, Noah Young teaches history."
"Nice to meet you." Noah's voice is carefully controlled, but I hear the strain beneath it. He shifts the books to one arm and extends his hand.
I have no choice but to take it. His palm is warm against mine, and the contact sends electricity up my arm. Memories through my mind. His hands on my skin. His mouth on mine. The way he looked at me in the dim motel room light.
"You too." My voice sounds strangled.
We drop hands quickly, both of us stepping back like we've been burned. Blake glances between us with curiosity, but Jack is already moving on, introducing me to the math teacher.
I try to focus on the names and faces, but I'm hyperaware of Noah standing across the room. He's set his books down on the table and is pouring coffee with hands that aren't quite steady. Every time I glance in his direction, I find him looking at me, then quickly looking away.
This can't be happening. Of all the schools, all the towns, all the possible scenarios, how did I end up working with the man I had a one-night stand with just days ago?
"So, Mia Wilson." A woman with perfectly styled blonde hair and sharp eyes leans against the counter, studying me with undisguised interest. "You're from Riverside originally, aren't you?"
The room goes quiet. I can actually feel everyone's attention shift to me.
"Yes, I grew up here," I answer reluctantly. I know where this is going and I want no part of it. But if I don't answer, it will only be worse.
"I thought the name sounded familiar." The woman's smile doesn't reach her eyes. "You're the Wilson girl who left town so suddenly all those years ago. Right after graduation, wasn't it?"
My throat tightens. "I left for college." The lie comes easily. I've told it so many times, sometimes I actually believe it.
"Hmm." She takes a sip of her coffee, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully. She opens her mouth to say something, but Jack cuts her off.
"Jennifer," he says in that authoritative voice, "that's enough."
"I'm just making conversation." Jennifer's tone sounds innocent, but her eyes gleam with malice. "It's natural to be curious about our new colleague's background."
