Teacher I Want To Date

by Kayla, Mia

  Good god, what is he wearing?

  As I approached, I nearly choked on my own saliva.

  Brad had one of those breastfeeding vests on. He’d bought it online at Amazon. In the comfort of his home, fine, he could use it, but I couldn’t believe that he was out in the open with it. He was even showing Gabby’s cousins how it functioned.

  “Here is where the bottles go.” He pointed to two holes by the nipple area of his vest. “You just push the nipples through, and boom, done.” He wiggled his chest area, and the men laughed. “Yeah, don’t you think it’s a little unfair that women have boobs and we don’t? I mean, breastfeeding is a way to bond with your child.”

  He beckoned Sonia over, who was conversing with one of Gabby’s cousins with a newborn.

  Ava Michelle Brisken was cradled in her arms, sucking on her pacifier as though it held all the answers. She was beautiful, and when she had been born, there had been so many people in the hospital that it was standing-room only in the waiting room.

  “Sonia! Bring Ava over here. Also, where’s your breastfeeding cover?” Brad yelled to Sonia before turning to Carlos. “Yeah, so sometimes, Ava gets embarrassed, so I have to cover her up.”

  When he called out to Sonia again, she rolled her eyes and simply ignored him.

  “She’s jealous,” Brad added. “Of my pump.”

  The guys nearly roared with laughter.

  Jose wrapped an arm around Brad’s neck. “Let’s go, loco. Since you can drink while breastfeeding, let me get you a beer.”

  “One of the perks of not really having boobs,” Brad added. “I’ll meet you by the bar. Let me say hello to King Loco over there.” He tipped his chin toward me.

  When the cousins left and we were alone, Brad patted my shoulder. “Good job in pulling this one off.”

  I took in everyone in the room—the band, the waitstaff, my family, her family.

  “The hardest part was keeping her family from spoiling the surprise.”

  The rest—renting the club, hiring the band, ordering the food—just cost money and was the easy part.

  “Uncle Mason, look!” Mary ran, waving a churro in the air as though it were a flag.

  Tristan ran over right behind her. I’d always remember Tristan as the little kid who had smeared frosting all over my sweater that first day I’d met Gabby’s family.

  He had his own churro in hand. “The chocolate churros are the best. Do you want to try the strawberry, Mary?”

  Mary’s eyes widened and she hopped up and down as though he’d told her Santa was in the room. “They have strawberry ones?”

  Tristan smiled and then grabbed Mary’s hand. “Yep. Let’s go get some.” He lifted his churro up in the air. “Look, a sword.”

  Brad side-eyed Tristan and then yelled over his shoulder as they walked away, “Buddy … keep your sword to yourself, okay? And away from my Mary.”

  I slugged his shoulder. “They’re just kids.”

  “Sure. Sure. And those are just kids too.” He tipped his chin toward the other side of the room, where Sarah and Liam were chatting it up with Gabby’s nieces who were around their age.

  I groaned. Now, they were dating. It was something I’d accepted. It had taken some time to get here, but it was either be on her case and ruin our relationship or trust that Sarah was a responsible teenager who was going through the motions of life.

  “I don’t like that kid,” Brad said.

  I peered over at them. “He’s a good kid.”

  “I think you need to trust my judgment a little more. Remember Janice? Fake pregnancy….” He wiggled his eyebrows. “I told you she was lying.”

  “She wasn’t lying. She was pregnant.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  And I did. He’d been right about Janice trying to trap me.

  Brad was wrong this time. Liam was a good kid. He was kind to Mary. He respected our family, and most of all, he respected Sarah.

  His focus moved back to Sarah and Liam. “I hate that you’ve gone all soft now. You used to be the strict uncle. Now, I have to take that role.”

  I laughed. Just because I bit my tongue a little more before I spoke didn’t mean that I had eased up. Plus, it helped that Charles had instituted a rule that Mary had to go on all of Sarah’s dates.

  Charles walked across the dance floor with three beers in hand. After handing us each one, he stood by me as we took in the scene in front of us. Our families intermingling with Gabby’s family—a meshing of families, of cultures, of lives.

  He tipped back his beer and gave Brad a look. “Take that thing off. You look like an idiot.”

  “It’s functional, and when I’m feeding the baby, Sonia’s able to sleep.”

  Charles lifted an eyebrow. “Are you breastfeeding right now? Take it off.”

  Brad huffed and slipped off the breast pump. “Don’t knock it because I’m sure you’ll be borrowing mine or buying your own when Becky delivers.”

  I reeled back and searched Charles’s face. “Wait, what?”

  With his smile and a tip of his chin as confirmation, I nearly knocked my brother over in a side hug.

  “Congrats, Charles! And why is Brad the first to know?” I asked.

  Brad smirked. “Chill out, neurotic man. Becky told Sonia because she wanted recs on doctors.” Brad then tapped his beer bottle against mine. “And Sonia told me.”

  Fine. I’d accept that reasoning. Still, I hated being the last to know.

  Charles took a swig of his beer. “She’s only a few weeks along. The girls don’t even know. And don’t worry; when we tell them, we want both of you to be there.”

  The band was playing music in the background, but no one was on the dance floor yet. There were taco stations and churro stations at the far end of the room. Small appetizers before the sit-down meal.

  We stood at the edge of the dance floor, shoulder to shoulder, ironically in order of birth. Charles, Brad, and then me.

  Our narrowed focus was on the opposite side of the family. Gabby and Becky and a slew of other women surrounded Sonia, doting on baby Ava.

  “Our family is expanding,” Brad whispered.

  The thought brought a little pang of heartache to my chest because I thought of our parents.

  I gripped my beer bottle tighter. “I wish Mom and Dad were here. To meet their grandchildren.”

  Charles threw his arm over my shoulders and squeezed my shoulder blade. “We turned out okay. The company is doing great, and I know this is all they ever wanted for us.”

  Charles always knew when to say the right things. Because this was what my parents had wanted.

  They’d wanted our family to be happy, to flourish, and to expand.

  Gabby leaned over and cradled Ava in her arms, kissing her tiny little forehead. It was a picture-perfect moment.

  “You need to catch up,” Brad said, our stares focused on the opposite side of the room.

  “Don’t worry. I will. I have a proposal up my sleeve.” And I’d planned an elaborate way on how it was going to happen.

  “That’s crazy.”

  I turned toward Brad. “What’s crazy? That I’m going to marry Gabby?”

  He shook his head, his stare focused at his family. “No. Just that I married my secretary. Who would have guessed that?”

  I laughed. “Well, life is unexpected sometimes.”

  “And you.” Brad tipped his beer bottle toward Charles and threw back his head in laughter. “You were a widow for a while and I thought you’d end up alone. But then you started banging the nanny and then ended up marrying her and now knocked her up.”

  “Shut up,” Charles deadpanned.

  The headwaiter approached, dressed in a tux. “Senor, a que hora quieres empezar?”

  “Está lista la comida?” I asked.

  “Si.”

  “Vamos a sentar a todos,” I responded.

  The waiter left and moved to the stage to instruct the band director to get everyone seated,
so they could serve the plated dinners.

  “Your Spanish is getting better,” Charles said.

  “Between that online class I took, Rosetta Stone, and Spanish days where Gabby only speaks Spanish to me, I’m learning real fast.” I’d especially learned how to talk dirty to Gabby, which turned her on.

  I clasped a hand on Charles’s arm and tipped my head toward the tables scattered across the room, around the wide wooden dance floor. “Go and get seated. Food will be served soon.”

  Brad laughed beside me. “You ready?”

  “Yep. Ready or not, it’s happening.”

  * * *

  Gabby

  Our table of ten was front and center, next to the dance floor, and Mason’s tortilla soup was already cold. I turned to Sonia, who sat to my right. She was breastfeeding Ava under her cover-up.

  “Have you seen Mason?”

  “No, I haven’t.” She snapped to Brad, eyes narrowed, “Uh, can you stop peeking down my cover-up?”

  Her cover-up reminded me of a long bib and was tied around her neck. There was a little gap through the top, which Brad was leaning over to get an eyeful.

  “I’m making sure Ava is properly fed.”

  She elbowed him. “Stop. Anyway, where’s Mason?”

  “No idea.” Brad wiggled his eyebrows, letting me know he knew exactly where Mason was.

  Oh, boy, what did my boyfriend have up his sleeve?

  Just then, the lights dimmed and shut off, and then … the drums roared to life. A spotlight shone on my sister Alma standing in front of the band on the middle of the stage.

  She waved to the crowd. “So, for those who don’t know me, which I’m pretty sure most everyone here knows me, I’m Alma, Gabby’s outgoing, smart, and beautiful sister.” She took a little bow. “And since we’re all here to celebrate Gabby and all her goodness, it wouldn’t be a celebration without singing, dancing, and a show.”

  “Strippers!” someone behind me yelled.

  Oh, good god. Hopefully, it wasn’t strippers. I wouldn’t put it past my family though. My cousins had hired strippers for Tia Nida’s fiftieth birthday party. My eyes immediately scanned the table, looking at Mason’s family. They were in for some entertainment tonight if my family was in charge.

  “No strippers tonight,” Alma responded. “I told Mason we should have strippers, but he nixed the idea.”

  The first act didn’t need an introduction because everyone knew my mother—Ana Cruz. My mother stepped into the middle of the dance floor, dressed in a flowy black dress with a slit on the side of her skirt that stopped right above the knee.

  “And the new and improved Mason Brisken,” Alma squealed into the microphone.

  What?

  Mason walked to the center of the room, right by my mother, and I nearly fell over. He was wearing exactly what he had worn on our first date—a bright red button-down shirt and pressed black slacks.

  Then, the band started playing “Periódico de Ayer,” and Mason—my Mason—began to dance.

  I stood and clasped my hands together. “What is going on?” My mouth dropped open. “Oh my God!” I turned toward Brad and Sonia and Sarah to my left. “He’s actually good!”

  His hips moved to the beats of the drum, to the music.

  “Omigod!” I jumped up and down, amazed.

  I could hear his mouth counting the eight beat—the quick one, two, three, pausing on four, and the last quick beats on five, six, seven, eight. And he was doing it on point. He rocked back on his heels and to the balls of his feet.

  When he twirled my mother, I cupped my hands around my mouth and hollered, “Baby, you’re doing amazing!”

  He lightly held my mother’s hands, effortlessly moving his feet to the music. Then, he turned it up a notch, leading her into a free spin and into a double turn.

  My mouth fell open again and I openly gaped, staring at Sonia and then Brad, focusing back on my man.

  Becky sidled beside me, wrapping one arm over my shoulders. “He practiced for months.”

  “I can tell. He’s no longer a beginner. This is intermediate territory.”

  “And now, the dance floor is officially open,” Alma announced on the mic.

  It was as if she’d said there was an open bar in the middle of the dance floor. Almost every single one of my family members and some friends stood and made their way to the dance floor.

  And walking toward me was my knight in shining, shimmery red-shirt armor. Swoon…

  My heart picked up in speed and I practically jumped him. “Baby …” I placed both palms against his cheeks and kissed him fully. “This is the best birthday gift ever.”

  His smile was blinding and beautiful and all the things I adored.

  “Let’s not let a good song go to waste.” He reached for my hand, intertwined our fingers, and dragged me onto the dance floor where he twirled me into a free spin.

  My feet knew what to do on their own, and I took his lead, smiling the cheesiest, cheek-hurting smile. “When did you have the time?”

  He led us into a cross-body lead with an open break. “Gabby, I’m concentrating. Talk later.”

  I merely laughed.

  From a distance, watching him on the dance floor, I hadn’t been sure who was the lead, if my mother was leading and Mason was simply following her lead. Now, with his hands on my hips, his lead into another free spin, there was no doubt that Mason was leading. My body was hyper-aware of him.

  When the song ended, Mason lifted his head and pointed to the band, who broke out into a lovely rendition of “All of Me” by John Legend.

  I pushed out my lip. “Mason …”

  This song had played months before, on his speakers at his apartment. It felt like ages ago, as though I’d known this man for years.

  He brought me closer, wrapping his arm around my lower back, and I breathed him in, his clean, masculine scent.

  I was so moved that I wanted to cry. I loved this man completely, endlessly, deeply.

  “You did this …” My eyes scanned the room, taking in all our loved ones scattered everywhere. “Even learned Spanish and now how to dance, just for me, when you already had me.” Because I was irrevocably, inevitably his.

  “I know.” He cupped my face with one hand. “But I didn’t only learn for you, but also for me. Our kids will be half-Mexican, so they’ll know Spanish. Do you think I’ll let you guys have a leg up and talk about me in front of me?”

  I laughed, but when his thumb brushed a tear from my cheek, only then did I realize that I was crying.

  “Gabby, dancing is part of your soul.” He motioned to the room and the people around us. “It’s part of your family. Our kids will be dancing in your womb, I have no doubt. So, I had to learn, not just for you, but also for me.” He angled closer, bringing me flush against him, igniting every one of my senses. “Gabriella Elise Coratina Escavez Cruz, I want to dance with you today. I want to dance with you tomorrow. And I want to dance with you when we’re eighty and until we can’t possibly dance anymore.”

  My heart soared to unbelievable heights at his words. “I love you, Mason Neurotic Germophobic Brisken. And I’ll love you until the end of time, until we’re old and gray and we can’t possibly dance anymore.”

  Want to read the bonus epilogue? Click HERE to read more about Mason and Gabby.

  Want more of these characters and the family, including adorable Mary? If you haven’t read BOSS I LOVE TO HATE (Brad and Sonia’s story), it’s a funny one. CLICK HERE to find out more.

  Want more of my books?

  Keep reading to find out about my Amazon Bestselling Romance - MARRY ME FOR MONEY.

  PROLOGUE

  Marry Me for Money

  The woman was beautiful. She looked like a supermodel ready to walk the runway. The blackest of black eyelashes swept upward, accenting the depths of her emerald eyes. Curls of mahogany sat on top of her head while the apple of her cheeks were highlighted with a slight pink as if the sun had kissed her.
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  I should have been excited. I should have been anxious.

  But as my heartbeat thrashed in my ears, all I felt was dread.

  I sat on the stool, staring at the girl in the mirror. I wondered who this girl was. I wondered where the old girl had gone and how I could get her back. The problem was I couldn’t. The lie was so deep, the charade so long that there was nowhere else to go, but to move forward.

  It was an out-of-body experience as the chaos of the circus around me was happening. I hardly noticed the woman in front of me as she swished her little brush of pink gloss on my pouty lips.

  Everybody was getting ready for the big day.

  My big day.

  Four photographers were scattered around the room, catching every moment and every detail from the shoes to the invitation to the flowers.

  Orchids.

  Orchids didn’t give off a scent like every other flower. Too much water would drown them. Not enough sunlight would kill them. They were useless and high maintenance.

  So, when the florist had asked me what kind of flowers I would like for my bouquet, I’d said, “Orchids.”

  It was the flower I despised the most. It wasn’t because of its lack of beauty or its uselessness, but I didn’t want anything that I would pick for my real day.

  The photographers moved to the king-sized bed, and they snapped pictures of the regal designer wedding gown. This was another thing I never would have picked for myself. I remembered my last fitting. I had barely squeezed into the strapless couture dress. I would never choose a dress that I couldn’t walk, dance, or eat in. I hated it, and that was the reason I’d picked it.

  My stomach growled from starvation. I had no appetite the night before, and today Kendy, my maid of honor, wouldn’t allow me to eat. It was so unlike her. I guessed it was for my benefit because I could barely fit into my dress. Either way, my stomach was eating itself because it had nothing else to feed off of.

  The time went by slowly as if it were dragging on purpose to punish me for living the biggest lie of my life. Everyone always said their wedding day had flown by. This day was killing me, killing me softly and slowly.