“Busy working, I see,” he remarked, gesturing towards the disarray of papers on the table. I nodded. “You’re working too hard. Should’ve finished your salad first.”
I regarded the bowl, contemplating whether to tell him he was the reason I kept losing my appetite and would probably starve soon. I didn’t have time to ponder too much on the issue.
“Good thing me and Ginger are planning on having a little picnic on our front lawn, then. There’s no question of not coming.”
I looked at him. “Me, you, and Ginger?” It was not that I didn’t comprehend his suggestion, just that my vocabulary suffered losses whenever I was around him. I felt dumb the moment I spoke and looked down, suddenly preoccupied with the way my tan sandals fit around my toes.
I heard him chuckle and I blushed. “Sure. The food is delicious. Ginger helped me make it.”
“You cook?” I blurted out and felt my face flush even more.
“I won’t call it cooking. Just some sandwiches and a fruit salad. Oh, and ice cream. Always ice cream,” he said, reaching for my hand.
I grabbed his and stood. Concerned with some mysterious and currently absent draft spreading my papers all over the neighborhood, I pulled my hand back and gathered my files in one single pile on top of which I placed the salad bowl.
He took my hand again and we crossed the small green patch between our adjacent houses. I saw he had already set a folding wooden table on his lawn with a cute checkered tablecloth giving it a vintage feel. The centerpiece was a huge bowl of colored fruit and, right next to it, a basket of deliciously looking croissants.
“You didn’t mention pastries,” I pointed out, honestly impressed.
“Don’t worry, I bought them,” he laughed.
At that moment, Ginger walked out of the house carrying some paper plates and towels and squealed at the sight of me. “Miss Bennett!”
“Hi, Ginger!” I reached for her load and placed it on the table. “I heard you made all these lovely things.”
“Not really. Daddy made them, but I helped.”
I had always loved her honesty. In class she seemed older than her peers and much more self-aware than the average five-year old. I smiled at her and reached to ruffle her hair.
“Are you joining us, Miss Bennet?”
I looked at her father.
“Yes, she is, baby. Why don’t you two sit and I’ll go get the sandwiches?”
“Yay!”
I helped Ginger in her chair, which seemed a bit too high for a child, and sat myself across the table from her. She was already reaching of a piece of fruit.
“Wouldn’t it be better if we waited until dessert time, honey?” I suggested, unsure of how to speak with one of my students outside the classroom.
She looked at me with a puzzled expression. “Daddy always lets me eat from the fruit salad.”
I didn't know how to respond, though I felt I should say something.
“Why is it better to wait?” she asked, still looking at me. I swallowed.
“Well, sweets make you feel full, honey. And they make you not want to eat. But fruits are not like food; they don’t give your body the same things food does, so you need to keep you tummy ready for food first, then fruit. Or ice cream. Do you understand?”
She nodded thoughtfully. “But fruits are still good, right?”
“Yes, honey. They are very good. They have good things in them, too, but we need the things in food mostly.”
“Mmhm. Okay, I’ll try it your way, Miss Bennett.”
I laughed. “Thank you, Ginger.”
Her father walked out of the house with a plate full of attractive sandwiches and placed it on the table.
“How are the girls getting along?”
I smiled, still uncomfortable with intruding upon his home education like I had just done. Ginger didn’t say anything but dove into the closest sandwich. He looked surprised. Sitting next to me, he waited until I chose a nice looking turkey and rye bread arrangement, then took one for himself.
“This is delicious!” I couldn’t help but exclaim. “Who’s responsible for this?”
He pointed at Ginger and she smiled with a mouthful, looking proud. I was impressed again.
“Thank you for this, honey. This is amazing.”
“Thank you, Miss Bennett. I like it best, too,” she said and reached for the last turkey and rye bread sandwich.
“Yes, she has a real talent in the kitchen, this one,” her father joined in.
“Hey, Dawson! Having a picnic, I see! Hello, Mari!” we heard from behind us.
One of our neighbors, a round man who, I remembered, worked as an accountant for some big corporation, approached us. He was taking his regular stroll through the neighborhood and, jovial as he was, decided to approach us.
“Hi, Albert. Care to join?”
He looked at the array of sandwiches on the plate, visibly interested, but shook his head. His eyes fell on my hands. I has holding my sandwich tightly, careful not to waste any of its goodness. “No, thank you. The old ball and chain put me on a diet, she did. Says something about my cholesterol and I believe her. Do I have a choice?” he laughed. I tried to smile back politely as Dawson stood and shook the man’s hand. “Married life is wonderful. How’s, uh… your life treating you, Mari?”
I blushed. The subtlety was clear as day. Trying to keep my mouth shut, I forgot to chew. The words I was trying to keep at bay were too strong for the time and place; I simply didn’t like the way I was treated just because this corner of the world felt appropriate to live by ancient standards. I wanted to get married, too, but that didn’t mean I would give up a career or settle just to stop neighbors from gossiping.
Thoughts began to build inside me and I was on the brink of spilling them out when Dawson, probably watching me, decided to break the uncomfortable silence that had settled over us.
“Well, I suppose you have to listen to your wife,” he said. “Too bad, though. How’s your work going?”
“Fine, thank you. Looking forward to a bit of vacation, if you know what I mean,” Albert replied, winking at Dawson.
I, for one, didn’t know what he meant, but decided against getting too involved. Dawson exchanged a couple more pleasantries with the visitor then sent him on his way swiftly. I followed his diplomacy with interest, surprised to learn he knew his way with words better than I imagined.
When he sat back down, he smiled at me, then looked at Ginger. His eyes widened with surprise as he saw his daughter struggling to finish another sandwich. “How did you manage that, baby?” he asked her, real interest permeating his voice.
“I was hungry, daddy.”
He looked at me as if to make me a witness to this scene. I shrugged. “She never eats that much,” he explained.
“Oh?” I replied, having some ideas as of why would that be, but Ginger beat me to it.
“Miss Bennett told me food has better things in it that are good for me and that I should not eat sweets and fruit before a meal so I can eat more food.”
“Is that so?” he asked, regarding me with obvious gratefulness. “And here I was thinking you didn't eat enough.”
“I suppose Miss Bennett knows better than you, then,” the little girl replied and we started laughing. She looked puzzled.
“That was the best comeback I ever heard, if you want my opinion,” I managed to say.
Dawson nodded, still laughing openly. Ginger’s choice of dealing with us with a shake of her head didn't help in settling the raspy cascade of laughter that had seized him.
I felt proud for making him happy. I wanted to thank him for accepting my intervention and his happiness made me feel more comfortable. I even dared to have another sandwich.
The rest of the picnic went smoother and I was sure I haven’t enjoyed myself that much in a long time. At the end, I helped carry the plates to his kitchen and he stole a kiss from me while Ginger was in the bathroom.
“Are you free tonight?” he wh
ispered and my body felt his words in every fiber and cell. I nodded, already picturing our bodies together, passionately making love. He smiled and I was beginning to suspect he had a way of reading my thoughts.
Still blushing after our short tête-à-tête, I pulled back when Ginger walked into the kitchen. She didn’t seem to notice anything suspicious and I took advantage of them negotiating over which ice cream to eat and made my excuses to leave. He didn’t stop me but his eyes promised pleasures I couldn’t wait to have.
CHAPTER THREE
“What are you doing this weekend?” he asked, as I was trying to tie my hair in a ponytail.
The same blonde strand kept rebelling and I never knew what to do about it. It was becoming really annoying. I pulled my scrunchie off, again, and started over, feeling the anger rising in my gut. A sudden wave of calmness washed over me, as he put his hand around my waist and nuzzled in the curve of my shoulder.
“Bad hair day, baby?”
I felt butterflies swirling in my core from the touch of his breath, as the vibration of his low voice resonated through my body. I moaned and turned to face him. My hair was no longer a concern.
“Not important. Baby?” I murmured, looking up at him through hooded eyes.
“Mmhmm…”
I couldn’t hide a big grin, but he squashed it with a kiss.
“So?” he said, ending the dance of our mouths.
He saw the puzzled look in my eyes, so he clarified, “This weekend.”
“Oh. I don’t have anything planned. Why? Do you?” I answered, in a tentative voice.
He smiled and let go of my waist. Bringing a hand up, he slowly caressed my cheek. “It’s not like that. I wish it was, but I have to work.”
“Oh? What do you do, anyway?” I asked, turning around to pick up my shirt. I smiled at the disarray my clothes lay in. It screamed hot sex and I felt good about it. He had called me ‘baby,’ after all. My smile widened, as I put the light fabric on.
“Nothing fancy, really,” he said. I felt like he was avoiding the question. He cleared his throat, then continued. “I’m a bouncer at a club downtown.”
I turned to him, a frown on my face. “And Ginger?” I asked, genuinely concerned.
“That’s why I asked you about your weekend.”
“Yes?” I urged him, though I had a suspicion I wouldn’t like what he was about to say.
He cleared his throat again. “I was thinking of asking you if you could look after her this weekend. I really need to work and there’s the money issue…”
“I understand. You don’t have to explain,” I said, and bent to pick up my pants. I didn’t know what to say. “Want some coffee before you leave?” I asked, trying to make some time to think for myself.
He nodded. He looked like a man who understood my thoughts. I smiled, as I pulled my pants on, and gestured towards the door. In the kitchen, he sat on the barstool and kept quiet.
I busied myself with the French press and thought of what he asked. I liked this man. Ever since he had moved next door, I felt an uncanny attraction to him. He did look like trouble, with his roaring motorcycle and devilish good looks, but I couldn’t help it. Especially seeing how he took care of his little daughter, the deal had been sealed in my heart.
I would’ve done anything for him, especially since I liked little Ginger very much. She was one of my favorite students, clever, always ahead of her class. And I had trouble with exactly this: her being my student. Concerns like what will happen with my job if word got out about me being involved with a parent in my class or what my gossiping neighbors would do if they found out were just a few of the thoughts racing through my mind.
I didn’t look up as I poured us two cups of coffee. I slid his across the table and grabbed mine with both hands. I knew I had to say something, but I didn’t know what. I wanted to help, I really did, but something held me back. And I felt guilty for feeling this way. After all, it was Ginger’s best interest at stake. So I raised my head and looked at Dawson.
He was looking at me, a sheepish expression across his face. I felt my core melting and I blushed. I must look like such a bad person now, I thought, as he began speaking. “If it matters, I can pay.”
My eyes darted to his. “No,” I stated vehemently. “Absolutely not.”
I was about to continue with my reasoning when I saw a mischievous smile creeping on his lips. I stopped. He looked so handsome when he smiled; those dimples on each cheek giving him the manliest look I never thought dimples could.
“It’s fine if you don’t want anything, but I suspected you’d have accepted this without objection. Then again, I don’t like to sound too cocky…”
“What is it?” I asked, smiling in my cup.
“If you had let me finish…” he teased.
“Oh, come on!” I whimpered.
He started laughing, infecting me with cheerfulness. He stood up and came across the kitchen to me. “I was thinking of exchanging weekends looking after Ginger with nights exactly like the one we just had,” he whispered, trailing his breath along my neck.
I felt my pussy clench and I needed him to take me again. But I knew we didn’t have time. I needed to go to school, and he needed to get back to Ginger. A sigh burst out of my chest, prompting him to chuckle.
“Is this an offer you can’t refuse?” he said, caressing my back with his strong hands.
“Mmhmm,” I murmured, sipping some coffee to regain my composure. “Okay. I will help you. I like Ginger lots and I really am looking forward to this weekend. Honestly.”
“Really?”
“Yes. We’ll have a girl’s weekend. Lots of fun, what do you know…”
He laughed again, stirring my butterflies in a frenzy. “Okay, then. Thank you, Mari. Really.”
He bent and kissed me and I reached my hand into his hair, keeping him longer, taking control of his mouth. “I think you’re just cocky enough,” I said, getting up for air.
He smiled that smile again, and I swooned in response. “Do you have to go soon?” he asked, lifting the cup to his lips.
“Yes, I should change my shirt. I need to get going,” I replied, checking my wall clock. I learned that, if I wouldn’t hurry up that second, I would be terribly late for work.
“I’ll walk with you. Go, get ready.”
I placed the cup in the sink and hurried to the bedroom.
I heard him say, “We don’t want you fired now, do we? I couldn’t afford to pay you for a full time babysitting job.”
“You’d have to, if it came to that,” I threw back, while struggling to fit my round hips in a pair of jeans. “With you being responsible for me being late and all.”
I heard him laugh before I closed the bathroom door.
CHAPTER FOUR
“Goodbye, Miss Bennett!” Ginger said, her entire body buzzing with happiness. I smiled, knowing the little girl had waited her father’s return patiently, unaccustomed to spending so much time with her teacher.
“Be good, Ginger. Yes?” I said, ruffling the mop of hair so fitting for her name. Her mother must’ve been a true redhead, if Ginger came out with this beautiful color, given that her father was as dark as they came.
He looked at me with that smoldering smile that sent ripples through my core. “I hope you had a good time,” he said, his eyes thanking me more than his words ever could.
I nodded. “Yes. We might need to get better acquainted, but I think we’re fine. I was surprised to find she really has that great talent for cooking, she does.”
Dawson didn’t look surprised. “I wasn’t lying.”
Ginger nodded vigorously, showing her wide, white teeth with pride.
We laughed. Then silence fell over our conversation, as I looked into Dawson’s eyes, as I lost myself in their cold steel. He smiled again, warming up the light flickering in his gaze that turned my insides into mush.
.“Daddy, can I have some ice cream now? I’ve been good, I promise.”
“Sure, baby. I know you’ve been good. Shall we have some vanilla, then?” he said, once the moment was over.
“No,” she scrunched her nose. “Chocolate chip. Or strawberry. No, chocolate mint!”
She couldn't contain herself as he lifted her to his chest. He looked amazing in his father role. The contrast between his darkness and roughness, against Ginger’s innocence and light, presented a delightful view. I took it in, relishing in the moment. “Okay, then. We shall have them all, baby.”
“Really?”
HAWK: The Caged Kings MC Page 26