Justin had a plain face with average features. The guy was the definition of nondescript except for the end of his nose, which resembled a large boil. Sometimes when he spoke at meetings, I imagined what would happen if I lanced it. “Those aren’t hats, Lets. Those are planets. We’re going to be taking the school on a journey through the solar system.”
Speaking of planets, Justin was the only person on ours who thought it was okay to call me Lets. It didn’t endear him to me.
“Hm. Sounds interesting,” I said, and began to turn away.
“You’re gonna love it. See my buddy Hayden over there?” Justin pointed into his sea of perfect angels. “He can tap-dance like he just came off Broadway. And Angelica sings in her church choir every Sunday. You should hear her. She’s gonna be a star one day.” He paused to shove his hands into his pockets and shrug. “And so I figured we should make the most of their talents.”
“So you’ve put together a tap-dancing musical tour through the solar system?” If so, I was going to have to drink some drain cleaner before things got under way.
“Nah, more like, we matched their talents to the planet. Like Saturn? That’s a musical planet, so Angelica is going to sing about it. And Neptune? We agreed that was the smoothest planet. If that planet were a person, he’d wear a leather jacket and he’d tap-dance, and he’d have some serious moves with the ladies.” Justin smirked like I understood what he was talking about, and then he removed a pencil from behind his ear and started tapping it on a clipboard in his hand. “Just you wait, Lets. It’s gonna be awesome sauce.” A person with less self-control than myself would have shoved that pencil up his nose and killed him.
The lights flashed, and I heard Brunhilda’s voice bellow, “We’re going to begin. Everyone take your seats.”
She was onstage with three people in suits who were probably from the board of education. It was like something out of a terrible fashion show, between the ill-fitting jackets, large brooches, and tweed. Brunhilda is looking broad in a cream-and-brown-flecked tweed skirt and matching jacket. Her brown loafers boast a sturdy heel and sensible design, perfect for stomping down the hallway like an irate Puritan on a witch hunt.
She smiled suddenly—a noteworthy event in itself—as a man with silver hair and tortoiseshell glasses entered from stage right. I recognized him as State Representative Fritz Patrick. Fritz was no stranger to the spotlight. He’d made headlines a couple of years ago when a female reporter asked him about an alleged voting scandal, and he’d replied, “You’re out for blood. It must be that time of the month.” Charming. As I took my seat, I hoped Fritz was there to accuse Brunhilda of something similar. After suffering through a conversation with Justin, I was in the mood to watch someone get beaten with a steel-plated bra.
“Welcome, everyone,” Brunhilda said. “I’m so pleased to see you here.”
I noticed that Eric was absent, and I wondered whether he was still speaking with Mrs. Dellacourt. Beside me, Dominick was picking his nose. I let him.
“We’ve got a great program for you today, complete with special guests from the board of education. I’d like to begin by introducing Connecticut State Representative Fritz Patrick.”
Representative Patrick approached the lectern and gave the usual spiel about being happy to be there, proud of the work we’re all doing, blah blah. Then he said, “I’m especially proud to announce that Noah Webster’s standardized test scores were exemplary last spring.”
Who cares? This assembly didn’t apply to kindergarten through second grade. No one takes standardized tests until third grade, which meant that Justin Solarsystem McTapdance was either puffing out his chest with pride or pretending to be too cool to care. Where was Mindy? I needed to make knowing eye contact with someone, but after a quick glance around the room I saw she was positioned in the far back. Smart.
“And Dr. Hauschild,” Fritz continued, “it’s clear to all of us that Noah Webster is thriving under your leadership. This is a welcome change of news.”
Sure, because all the old news was still about how Marlene Kitrich was going to have her husband killed. As murder plots often did, it had cast an unfortunate shadow. Hurrah for standardized test scores!
Brunhilda looked emotional for a moment as she shook Fritz’s hand. She was going to receive a bonus check from the board of education for ten thousand dollars for those test scores. I’d be choked up, too.
“Thank you, Representative Patrick. On behalf of the Noah Webster Elementary community, we are all indebted to you for your tireless efforts at the capitol.”
This was getting gross. I took that time to think through some of the knots in my erotic novel. And then, when Justin brought his tap-dancing solar system onstage, I thought about whether there was any possibility he could be implicated in the Marlene Kitrich murder-for-hire scandal and sent away to prison.
OSCAR WAS still gone from my class when we returned from the assembly. When he didn’t return for the rest of the day, I started to get worried.
“He’s safe,” Eric said to me the minute I entered his office. He didn’t even look up from his desk. “She’s safe, too.”
I lifted my hands, waiting for more. “And? What happened? What did Mrs. Dellacourt say?”
“Come in.” Eric rose from his chair, shut the office door, and gestured to the seat in front of his desk. “Your instincts were good. She’s afraid for her life. She says things were fine for a while after her husband was released from prison, but a few days ago he threatened to kill her and Oscar. She says he has a gun.”
My skin went cold. “How terrifying.”
“And a violation of his probation, no doubt.” Instead of sitting behind his desk, Eric chose the seat beside me, pulling it closer so our knees were almost touching. “I contacted my brother, Andrew. The cop. Mrs. Dellacourt is going to apply for a restraining order, and Mr. Dellacourt will be served. If he’s violated the terms of his parole, he’ll return to prison. While all of that is happening, Mrs. Dellacourt and Oscar will be in a safe house in another town. He may miss a few days of school, but he’ll be okay.”
I could have hugged him. The relief felt so good that I sat back in my seat and savored the feeling. And his kind, patient green eyes.
“You’re amazing.” I didn’t know what else to say. “Thank you.”
He looked pleased but shrugged modestly and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “My dad wasn’t what you’d call a model citizen. I knew when I saw Mrs. Dellacourt’s face, when I showed her that picture her son drew. It broke her heart.” He shook his head as if he was trying to shake out the memory. “I’ve seen that look before on my own mother’s face. The guilt and the fear.”
Something about the confession cemented me in place. Then I remembered. “You told me that story about your sister seeing the psychologist. You did, too, didn’t you?”
He looked away for a moment, then nodded his head reluctantly. “Court-ordered therapy.”
I saw that little boy in him at that moment, and I reached out to clasp his hand. He looked startled at the contact, but didn’t move away. “I’m so sorry, Eric. About your dad.”
“He died a few years ago. We made peace before that.” He slipped his fingers between mine and turned his gaze to me. “I’ll bet your family’s normal.”
I laughed. “My dad is on his fourth wife, who’s just gone vegan, and my sister has an open marriage.” I pressed my lips together. “Not to spread family gossip.”
Eric chuckled softly and said, “No. Of course not.”
He stroked his fingertips gently across the back of my hand, and my entire body pulsed with electricity. This was what had drawn me to him from the start, his kindness and strength. He was the kind of guy who gave lost kids lollipops and helped women find a safe place to stay. This was what I found so irresistible, and it seemed that the more I was around him, the less I remembered wha
t my objections were.
I glanced at the door to his office, then back at him. We were still holding hands, and his eyes were intense. “What are you doing for Thanksgiving?” I whispered.
The corners of his eyes crinkled. “Funny you should ask. This is the year where everyone in my family celebrates with their significant others.”
“But you don’t have a significant other. . . .”
“No.”
I took a breath, summoning all of my (very meager) courage. “Come to my house. Please. You can meet my weird family and stick stuffing in the turkey cavity.” I hated that part of the preparation.
“You know, those are two things I love: weird families and sticking things in turkeys.”
“So that’s a yes?”
“Yes. What are you doing tonight?”
“Like, now? Going home, cleaning up whatever mess my dog made, and then defrosting leftovers.”
“Have dinner with me.”
He reached out to take my other hand in his. I didn’t usually go for such corniness, but man did he have the Touch. All of my parts were on full alert, no comas in sight. “There’s a great place in Westborough,” he continued. “It’s called Sombrero’s—”
“No, that’s terrible. I know a better place in New Haven. It’s a dive, and it’s amazing.”
“I like amazing.”
And I really liked him. “Let’s go.”
I WASN’T WRONG. With dinner, no surprise there. I love my food, and Rancho Viejo has a Virgin of Guadalupe fresco right at the front entryway, so an excellent meal was virtually guaranteed. But when it comes to love, I haven’t been lucky and I haven’t always made the right choices. The real surprise was I wasn’t wrong about Eric.
I loved looking at him. His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled and his entire face lit up when he spoke about something he cared about. His students, for one. “I received an e-mail last spring from one of my favorite students,” he said. “He was just accepted to med school. He sent a letter to thank me.”
“That’s what it’s all about,” I said. My first kindergarten students were still in middle school, but I hoped they’d think of me one day and send a letter. “It’s why we do what we do.”
He ran a finger along the edge of his water as he thought. “I never worried about him. He’s going to be successful. My favorite e-mail is from a student with learning disabilities. I must’ve tutored this kid after school four days a week for most of the school year. We met constantly. Then I received an e-mail from him a few months ago saying he was going to graduate school to study American history. He said he never thought he’d go to college.”
Even relaying the story, Eric’s face shifted with emotion.
“Do you miss teaching?”
“Yes,” he said, without a trace of hesitation. “All the time. I miss the creativity of it. Each morning I’d think about how I was going to reach this student or challenge that one, and every now and then I actually succeeded.”
“But being an administrator—that must be a different kind of creative challenge.”
“Sure.” He smiled, and my heart skipped. “Except for me, the challenge is finding meaning in regulating the supply closet.”
Talking with Eric felt like talking with a long-lost friend. There were no gaps in the conversation, almost as if we could barely get our words out fast enough, we were so eager to share. We could laugh about Brunhilda and her dress code. (“She takes it very seriously,” he confided. “She enters my office at least once a week to complain about someone’s disregard for the no-armpit rule.”) We both thought the faculty lounge smelled funny. We agreed that life would be much more pleasant for all of us if the board simply funded the full-time music program so Evelyn wouldn’t have anything to complain about. But honestly? She’d find something else to complain about.
After dinner he drove me home, and the conversation continued until we turned on to my street. Then I could sense all the questions that hung silently in the air. What were we now? Where did we go from here? Why had we insisted on doing things ass-backward, with sex first, then dinner weeks later? Except it had worked out, in a way, getting the lust out of our systems so we could move on to a different kind of intimacy.
Who was I kidding? The lust was definitely not out of my system. All throughout dinner, I thought about the feel of his body against mine and the way he kissed. Every time I looked at his hands, I remembered what they felt like on my skin. Every time I looked at his mouth, I remembered that he knew exactly what to do with it. By the time we pulled into my driveway, I was aching.
He put the SUV into park but kept the engine running. We both sat for a few suddenly loaded moments.
“I had a nice time,” he said finally.
I’d spent my entire life thinking about manners and what nice girls do and don’t do. I’d waited patiently for James to make all the first moves in our relationship: to ask me out, to kiss me, to ask me to spend the night, to propose the wedding, and then to call off the wedding. I’d followed the proper, old-fashioned, nice-girl route, and you know what? Screw that.
“I had a nice time, too,” I whispered, and tucked my hand into his. “I really like you, Eric.”
He looked pleasantly surprised. “I really like you, too, Lettie.” He glanced at my front door.
“It’s Friday night.”
“It is.”
“Do you want to come inside?”
“Yes.” He hesitated. “You realize everything could get complicated, right?”
I reached over and turned off the engine. Then I leaned over to kiss him. Man, he was a perfect kisser. He reclined his seat and I scooted over to sit in his lap. He cupped my butt, rocking me against him, then allowed his hands to explore beneath my skirt. I unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt to spread my hands across the hard wall of his chest. We must have stayed that way for a good twenty minutes, and by the time we finally came up for air, the windows were steamed up.
“Come inside,” I whispered, barely recognizing my own voice. “I’m not finished with you.”
A moan escaped from the back of his throat. “I thought you were looking for excitement.” A wicked smile crossed his lips. “Why leave now?”
My heart was already thundering. I didn’t know if I could stand any more excitement. “Are you suggesting—”
“Yes. Take these off.”
He reached up my skirt to pull off my underwear. It took some shifting and awkward contortions, but it’s the price one pays to get kinky. “Is this lace? So damn sexy.” He flung them aside.
Yes, I’d worn black lace underwear, and right then, I was feeling downright smug about it. I leaned back and accidentally knocked against the horn. The sound made us both jump, and then laugh. “Sorry, that wasn’t—”
“It’s okay. Just one of the hazards of doing it in the car.”
He pulled the seat back away from the steering wheel, and I adjusted, straddling his lap. Then I reached down to unbutton his pants and it nearly jumped out at me. “Wow. Is that spring-loaded?”
He grinned and pulled his pants lower. I slid his length inside of me, nearly weeping at the feel of him. “Oh, thank you.” I moaned.
“Always so polite.” Then he stopped talking and began thrusting in and out of me.
Hot. It was so hot that it gave me chills, and I held on to his shoulders for dear life as he hit the right spot again and again. Everything about him felt so impossibly perfect as we ground our hips against each other and came to intense orgasms quickly, and almost simultaneously. When it was over, we were still joined, panting and sweaty.
He was back against the seat staring at me. “That was the hottest sex I’ve ever had.” He nearly gasped it.
“Hotter than the office at the bar?”
“Even hotter.”
We sat for a moment, catching o
ur breaths, and I felt him stirring. My jaw dropped. “Again already?”
He reached up to wipe at his forehead. “I’m not that good. Give me a few minutes.”
“Well, I certainly can’t let you go home in this condition.” I climbed off his lap to retrieve my underwear. “You should come inside. Maybe spend the night.”
I felt him palm my bare bottom and moan. “You’ll be the death of me.”
CHAPTER 18
THE MORNING was gray and damp after an overnight rain, and the earth was still soft and muddy. Lettie pulled on a pair of light blue wellies and tossed the ball to Odin in the backyard while Eric waited for the coffee to brew. He watched them from the kitchen window, smiling as he remembered the lecture she’d given him the night before about getting too attached to Odin. “This is getting serious now,” she’d informed him. “It’s one thing for you to mess with my heart, but if you mess with Odin’s . . .” She shook her head in warning.
They’d been seeing each other for a couple weeks now. Acting natural at school had become a challenge. He felt like they were smiling too much and standing too close. The evenings together were great, though, and he had no intention of messing with anyone’s heart. “I promise I won’t,” he’d replied, and snaked his arm around her warm waist. “I’ll treat him like he’s my own son. Or dog.”
Eric loved dogs. He’d had one as a kid, a German shepherd named Toby that slept by his bed at night. It was obvious that Lettie cared about Odin, so he was pleased that the yellow Lab appeared to have accepted him. Odin sat by Eric when he and Lettie watched television, and slept on his side of the bed. Funny how Lettie warned Eric about hurting Odin, when Eric was the one getting attached.
Now the dog was hurling himself after the tennis ball, kicking up mud and grass behind him. He caught it and trotted back to Lettie, tail wagging. When she reached to take it out of his mouth, he turned his head away playfully and made her wrestle him for it. Eric poured coffee into two large mugs and carried them over to glass door leading to the backyard. “Coffee’s ready.”
Seeking Mr. Wrong Page 22