Page 9 of The Incredible Ordinary

My shoulders tighten, and my back straightens. Authority figures and I have never been a good combination. I don’t like them and they don’t like me, so already we’re not off to a good start. I am not the right person to deal with this situation. There’s a good chance I’m going to make everything much worse. This is a problem for Aiden to solve. He’s great at this kind of thing, and by this kind of thing I mean sucking up to the adults in the room.

“Ah. Mr. Corbin, I presume?” the principal says. The way she says the name is a clear indication that she recognizes the name and knows who I am, but she’s professional enough not to mention it. “I met your brother at the start of the school year, and he updated me on your family situation. Patricia Lawson. A pleasure.”

She speaks in a clipped voice like she’s in a hurry. It’s a middle school, so chances are there are more kids trying to beat each other up somewhere.

“Milàn Corbin.” I push myself to my feet, and we shake hands. So far so good.

She glances at the secretary. “Any word on Mr. Wilsson?”

“I got ahold of him fifteen minutes ago. He should be here shortly.”

The principal motions toward her office. We all file in after her. First the two boys, both studiously avoiding each other, then me.

Rory throws himself into the chair and very purposefully aims his gaze at the ceiling. The other kid takes his seat silently and with much less attitude.

I bite back a sigh. I’ve got a hunch about who the instigator might’ve been.

“I appreciate you coming in on such short notice,” the principal says. “We here in St. Patrick’s prefer to handle these situations as swiftly as possible when an issue arises. Family cooperation is key.”

“Yeah, great,” I say before I remember I’m expected to be the responsible parent figure, eager to get this shit figured out and fixed. God help us all.

I straighten myself in my seat. Pretend to know what the fuck I’m doing. Let’s get this show on the road. “What exactlyisthe situation here? The person I talked to on the phone mentioned an altercation.”

Let’s avoid the word fight. Let’s use something softer instead.

The principal’s gaze moves between Rory and the other kid. “Yes. Unfortunately?—”

Somebody gives a quick, cursory rap of their fingers on the door before it opens again.

A man walks in, and in the time it takes him to cross the floor, it becomes painfully obvious that in a responsible parent figure contest, I’m not off to a good start.

I’m wearing sweats and a T-shirt, both of which I scraped up from the floor of my bedroom earlier this morning. My hair is a mess, I’m sporting a scruffy beard, and I most likely look like death warmed over by now because I don’t remember the last time I had a good night’s sleep.

The guy who just stepped into the office is my polar opposite in terms of being put together. He’s wearing dark gray chinos with a deep purple sweater, the sleeves of which have been casually rolled up. The dark brown chukka boots match perfectly with his belt, and there’s a silver watch on his wrist, because apparently there are people in this world who have time to accessorize.

His dark hair is meticulously styled, and the same goes for the five o’clock shadow.

He looks like somebody who has their shit together no matter what life throws at him.

This was me a few years ago. Now I’m trying my damnedest to somehow keep my head above water and not succeeding most days, whereas this man oozes competence.

The differences between us couldn’t be more glaringly obvious.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” he says smoothly in a deep, rich voice.

And all the while, I keep staring like an idiot, because aside from everything else, what my brain decides to latch on to is the fact that this man? He’s excruciatingly, exquisitely hot.

He has a regal look about him. Back pin straight. High cheekbones. Lean. The dark eyebrows make his equally dark eyes seem impossibly intense.

He’s also tall and just a tad preppy-looking—understated but still sexy as fuck—which I’m very much fucking into.

This meeting just got a whole lot more interesting.

That’s another point for me in the shitty guardian contest, for those who are counting. I should be worrying about the teenager with the loose fists instead of getting distracted by handsome strangers.

“Ah. Jordan,” the principle says.

They’re on a first name basis. This bodes well for me and Rory.