by Ellie Hall
What really threw him was the haircut. It looked great, but he didn’t want great. He wanted the hair that he’d started growing the moment he’d walked out of his father’s house back in North Carolina. He hadn’t cut it once since he’d left as a symbol of his freedom.
Dennis Wolfe kept his son’s head shaved for his entire childhood and teen years. In fact, until he decided to let it grow, Connor didn’t know what his hair actually looked like. He’d never seen it past a quarter-inch long. When it came in brown and shiny, it was like a miracle—not one that he’d ever share with anyone because he didn’t want to seem girly. That was another thing his father wouldn’t tolerate—feelings and not even the happy or excited kind, which was especially tough when he was just a little guy.
After leaving North Carolina, and his hair was long enough to fit into a band, he’d started tying it back, important during football. It was a pain to get in his helmet, but it had been with him all that time. Now, it was gone. Shonda assured him she’d donate it—and she’d commented that it was a shame to cut, but not loud enough for Katerina to hear. One good thing was that his head was less sweaty during his workout.
As he took one more glimpse of himself in the mirror, he was ready for revenge especially since he’d somehow lulled Katerina into a nap. He was sure she’d seen the selfie he’d taken the night before. Like many women the world over, it was likely that’s what caused her to lose sleep. He was respectful to women, but certainly not humble. He wasn’t going to do anything diabolical or akin to moon-gate, but a little prank he planned wouldn’t hurt. No, it would make his point.
Placing his hand on the knob to the raised panel door to her office, he expected it to be locked, but it turned easily.
Inside, was a wide oak desk, a few chairs, cabinets, shelves, and plants. It was classic, tidy, and the view through the window, with the slowly setting sun hanging like a basket and golden light spilling over the mountains, was spectacular.
Connor was up to his old tricks, but he couldn’t help realize that since arriving in Concordia, he’d felt a shift. Perhaps it was the air, being far from home, or something else entirely, but he was strangely introspective. Ugh. Sure, his father discouraged feelings, but for good reasons. They were so mushy, fluffy, feely...
He closed the slatted blinds in the office and set to work.
An hour later, while lounging in the courtyard, what sounded like a shriek and followed by the forceful clicking of heels approached.
As expected, Katerina rounded the corner. Instead of showering him with a flurry of sticky notes, she held a neat stack of the colorful pieces of paper that he’d covered her entire office with while she’d napped.
“Good evening, Kat,” he said as though nothing was out of the ordinary.
“What are these?” she asked, waving the yellow, neon, and pastel papers.
His eyes lifted from the sports article he was reading and he tilted his head, examining her slender fingers, waist, and then floating his eyes up to meet hers. “I believe those are called sticky notes. The brand name is Post-It, I believe.”
“Let me rephrase. What were they doing all over my office? Literally, every surface was covered. I didn’t even realize I had so many.”
He had to borrow some from elsewhere in the building. Her question was met with a shrug.
“This was a prank and as our resident prankster, I think it was you.” Pieces of her dark hair had escaped her bun.
“Me? I’ve been reading this enlightening article on football analytics.”
“Really? What have you learned?” Her hand flew to her hip as though not buying it for a second.
“Are you challenging my knowledge of my own game?” He stood up, matching her posture.
“I’m challenging the possibility that you were sitting still and reading that for any length of time and not Post-it-ing my office.” Her accent pounded out each word.
“Do you have any enemies among your employ?” he asked.
She blinked a few times. “Not necessarily,” she said after a beat. “I knew I should start locking the door.”
“Not a bad idea.”
She tipped her head up and flashed him a tight smile. “Very well. I will see you at dinner. Same place and time.”
The meal was shorter but tenser. Still dressed in the suit, Connor felt obligated to mind his manners. But that wasn’t the source of the tension. No, it was the way those few pieces of her dark hair remained free from Kat’s bun, the way she moved so gracefully even doing the simplest thing like putting pepper on her potatoes, and the way her accent curled over words like aurora and serendipity.
“You said you’re from Russia,” he asked, carrying on with the polite conversation.
“Yes. At eighteen I went to London for university and then moved here directly after.”
“Do you have family in those places?”
“I used to. My aunt and uncle were here for a long time but moved to Greece before I arrived.”
“Wow. You’re part of the jet-set then?”
Her lashes lowered. “No.”
“Right. I suppose then you wouldn’t be working here.”
“Actually, I might. I believe in the value of hard work and education. I studied to be a school teacher, but this position was available and I couldn’t pass it up. Youngest headmistress Blancbourg has ever had.” Her chin lifted with pride.
“Your parents must be proud of you.”
Her lashes lowered again. “No.” Without letting him ask what she meant, she added, “What about you being a famous football player and all. Your parents must think the world of you.”
He laughed. “Same answer. Nope. Well, my mother would be proud. She passed away during childbirth.”
“I’m so sorry.” Sincerity rained over her features.
Connor nodded. He’d never told anyone that before. “My father is a lot like you actually,” he shot back, sensing he was getting sentimental and feeling more in the safe zone if he bared his teeth. “Strict, disciplined, and rather irrational.”
“Discipline has its merits,” she retorted. “But I take umbrage with irrational and I have a distinct feeling that I am nothing like the man who raised you.”
She was darn right about that. He just wanted to widen the narrowing gap between them as he felt irrationally drawn to her.
“You thought I put sticky notes all over your office. Why would I waste my time doing something like that?”
She took a deep breath, stood up, and said, “Boredom? Because you’re a rascal? Or can’t bear to do the right thing.”
“And what’s that?”
“The right thing? Be kind. Contribute. Help in some way instead of wasting resources this school hardly has.”
He had a charity and did plenty. In fact, since arriving in Concordia, he’d reached out to a local organization to offer assistance to animals—dogs in particular. Not that there were many unmet needs in Concordia. It was a very wealthy nation. Back in the U.S., he funded wolf preserves and animal rescues. Looking around, it didn’t seem like the school was hurting financially with its plethora of antiques, generous accommodations, and he couldn’t complain—the food was amazing. So much so that he was disappointed when the meal was over.
“Goodnight, Mr. Wolfe.” She walked toward the door.
“Sweet dreams, Kitty Kat,” he said.
And he hoped she did because after seeing her reflection in the mirror after he’d had the makeover, he’d be posting another selfie that she was sure to enjoy.
The next morning, Connor woke to an itch. An all-over itch. He scratched his arm and pulled back quickly. Something had bit him...or cut him. It was a papercut. As he slowly lifted to sitting, his entire body was covered in sticky notes...and they all said the word jerk on them. His jaw dropped.
Had Katerina pranked him back?
Before he removed any more, he snapped another selfie and posted it with the comment I thought you’d enjoy last night’s selfie with my
new haircut and suit a lot, but perhaps you’ll like this one better. He added a cat emoji and posted it to @ChicksDigWolves.
With thousands of likes and comments on the post from the night before, his fans sure seemed to like his cleaned-up look. He wasn’t sure if Katerina had an account and had seen the image. However, he hoped she’d see the shot of him covered in paper and be pleased with herself. But that meant it was double game on.
After cleaning up, he met her for breakfast, had lessons, and his afternoon workout. She never let out a peep about the Post-its or his photo on social media.
Soon enough, she’d know that he was watching her, which wasn’t a travesty really. Even though she wore her hair in a tight bun and donned business attire, there was no denying that she was pretty, even if a little prickly.
Before they parted for the evening, she said, “I understand you have an event later this week?”
Connor nodded. “I realized your country is very wealthy and I arranged a meet and greet. I’ll be signing autographs and giving away Boston Bruisers merchandise. There’s an optional donation, which will go directly to a charity I operate.”
She nodded as if she approved.
“I enjoy your company. Would you like to join me?” he said, echoing her instruction from their first dinner together.
“Are you mocking me?” she snapped.
He wasn’t. Mostly, he wanted to keep an eye on her so she didn’t get around to doing any more pranks. “How’d you get in my room, by the way?”
Katerina wore a faint Mona Lisa smile, the picture of innocence. As she walked away, he heard the keys rattling in her pocket in time with the click of her heels. Bingo.
That evening at dinner, Connor made a grand show of helping her out of her blazer and pushing in her chair. In reality, he didn’t mind at all. Of all the lessons he had to endure at Blancbourg, he enjoyed dinner the most. Perhaps it was because it was when Katerina came closest to letting her hair down—not literally, but she opened up a bit more than when she was in full-on teacher mode. It could’ve been because he was finally minding his manners or because after the long day, she relaxed.
Once again, turkey was on the menu and he hoped she’d sleep soundly and not be in her office all hours.
After a polite conversation, including an overview of what to expect at the meet and greet, she said she was turning in.
Instead of going to his room, he stole to her office, avoiding Arthur when he passed the staff room. Thankfully, he’d snagged the keys from her blazer pocket before she’d been the wiser.
His first prank with the sticky notes was time-consuming. However, the idea he’d had that he ought to keep an eye on her—or, in this case, many eyes—might take all night, but it would be worth it. He shook the baggie of googly eyes that he’d bought from a craft store in town and got to work adhering them on every surface.
Over the years, Connor had gotten used to sleeping in a range of places from hotels, resorts, training facilities, and even planes and buses, but each time the old building settled and creaked, he had to remind himself it was just that...and not ghosts. Not that he believed in them, but his senses were hyper-aware as he continued to stick the googly eyes all over Katerina’s office. He thought he heard whispers—maybe one of the other guys on the team was sneaking around with his teacher. They were all attractive women, which continued to surprise him, and not the hags that he’d envisioned.
Katerina had indicated the school was in financial trouble. When he stuck the last eye on the receiver of her office phone, his gaze landed on a financial document. Apparently, the bursar’s office needed to land another thirty-four thousand dollars. Notes indicated they’d already laid a lot of employees off. He wondered if finishing schools had fallen out of favor—it seemed unlikely in certain circles, for businessmen and women, and guys like him. He chortled, never in a million years imagining he’d end up there.
All of a sudden, the door opened.
“Mr. Wolfe, what are you doing here?” Katerina asked. She wore a fuzzy white robe and slippers. Her hair was piled on top of her head. Never did he expect her to look so comfortable or so adorable...or shocked.
He didn’t answer.
He was staring.
He was caught.
She stepped fully into the room, wrapping the robe tighter around her. She wore pink bunny slippers.
His eyes widened and his lips quirked with amusement.
“Attention. Up here,” she sniped. “What is the meaning of this?” She slowly gazed around the room. “What are these?” She picked up one googly eye and then another. She turned her head side to side as though confused and still in shock.
“I was watching you so you don’t label me jerk again.” Unable to suppress it a moment longer, he cracked up with laughter.
She laughed and then stopped herself. “This is inappropriate. How’d you get in here?” Her eyes flashed to the keys on her desk. “You took my keys.” She snapped them up. Her brief amusement turned into anger.
As she stalked around the room in her fuzzy robe and bunny slippers, he held back further laughter, but it built inside and could’ve shaken an avalanche on the mountains loose.
“Go on,” she said, gesturing to the door. “To bed with you.”
He hung his head and came out from behind her desk. As he passed her, he leaned in, close enough that he could feel her warmth and the feathery wisps of her loose hair from her high, messy bun. “I like this look. It’s cute.” He winked because he wasn’t teasing. Not at all.
The pranks continued for the remainder of the week.
She’d sneaked into his room and painted his toenails.
One evening at dinner, she mentioned she wanted a bath and he planted some dye in the faucet that would dissolve when she ran the tub water. He heard her shriek from down the hall as she freaked out about the green liquid.
She got him back by coating his soap in nail polish so it didn’t lather—he had a mind to steal all her nail polish but didn’t want to make things worse. Who knew she’d be so clever and ruthless?
After getting ahold of another set of keys, he got her back by changing the clocks in her office, flipping the screen on her computer monitor upside down, and for good measure, he covered the sensor on her computer’s mouse with a photo of himself—the one he took after his makeover. He also attached an air horn to the bottom of her desk chair so that when she sat down, it would honk.
Pleased with himself and hoping he’d made his point—that he was the grandmaster prankster, he dusted off his hands and retired to his suite.
For the next couple of days, Connor was braced for the worst. He expected Katerina to exact revenge at any given moment. When she didn’t, he assumed she’d given up. The Boston Bruisers team saying It ain’t over ‘til we’ve won resounded in his mind to the sound of cheers in the background, well, in his imagination. In reality, it was a silent victory but one nonetheless.
The afternoon of his meet and greet rolled around so they skipped class in lieu of him having the opportunity to demonstrate what he’d learned in real-time. Wearing jeans and his black and blue Boston Bruiser’s hoodie, Connor waited in the foyer for Katerina.
From the nearby stairs, her feet, wearing black heels appeared first, then her slender and sculpted legs, followed by a blue wraparound dress that hugged her in all the right places and was the exact team color. Her hair was down, but the top was pulled away from her face in a clip. It wasn’t a going-out-to-dinner outfit and not a headmistress outfit either, but somewhere in between. He felt like letting out one of his signature howls but held back.
He hadn’t been wrong when he was talking to the guys the first day at Blancbourg; Kat was hot in a classy way and her hair was—he wanted to run his fingers through her long and silky locks. There was a slight natural wave and it was full of body and shine. A major upgrade to the tight bun—though he didn’t mind the loose one on top of her head from the night she caught him in her office.
&nb
sp; “Hey, shorty. You look good. I like the Bruiser blue and black.” He meant it but was also joking—about the shorty part at least. He just couldn’t pay her a real compliment in case she got the wrong idea. Not that someone like her would. She was all business all the time and no-nonsense at least when it came to him.
He suddenly wondered if there actually was anyone special in her life. A guy who she watched movies with while wearing her bunny slippers.
He hoped not, which only meant one thing. Even though he tried to fight it, a sort of lopsided smile grew on his lips and it didn’t disappear through the entire event, not even in the photographs taken and posted online. Except that was the only part of his face that appeared in the pictures. Katerina had offered to take the shots and had cut off most of his head at the lips.
Was it revenge for calling her shorty? For gluing the googly eyes all over her office? All of it? He hadn’t meant shorty as an insult because to his mind, she was perfect. Her hair, her eyes, her lips, her everything. Even, her personality. She was a challenge...and Connor was a Boston Bruiser through and through, he knew he wouldn’t stop until he won...won what? Her affection.
Playbook or not, Connor was in trouble.
Chapter 7
Katerina
After the photo prank at the meet and greet event, Katerina hoped she had the last word, or image, as it were and their prank war was over.
Connor had tested her, not only her patience with the pranking but also with his new appearance. She wouldn’t lie if under oath that he was striking before, in a wild kind of way, but the new look caused little fires to smolder all over her skin. It didn’t help that they were walking side by side down the cobblestone street in the village by the school and their arms and hands would brush from time to time.