He ignored her, of course, walking to the front of the room and laying his materials on the desk. She watched his back, its sheer size was always impressive. Her gaze swung down the length of him and back to those huge shoulders. Her perusal didn’t help calm her. She crossed her legs and waited for him to acknowledge her.
As if on cue, he turned, making brief eye contact before focusing on her legs. “Don’t sit like that when the boys get in here.”
“Excuse me?”
“They have enough trouble concentrating. I shouldn’t have to explain that to you.”
His tone was patronizing and infuriating.
All the more reason to stay calm.
“Jealous?” She swung her top leg, her momentary nerves predictably subdued by his rude behavior.
He scowled at her. “Hardly. Your skirt’s too short. I need their attention today.”
She bit back a very rude reply and swung her leg as provocatively as she could. He’d come in with guns blazing, but she was not about to get side-tracked. He’d pay for it eventually, but not before she found out why they were suddenly attracted to each other.
What a joke.
“Well, they’ll all be facing you, so they’ll hardly care. You’ll be the only one staring at my legs, Mr. Kimball. Will that be a problem?”
The color rose in his cheeks and his eyes narrowed ominously. Becky smiled and kicked her leg a little, arching her brow as the students began to file in.
***
Tank felt Becky’s eyes on him as he dismissed the class. He’d hardly stopped to draw breath for the whole lesson, which was not his typical style. His approach was usually much simpler, Don’t be stupid - don’t do drugs. For the last ninety minutes he’d pounded them with facts during his drug and alcohol wrap-up. Maybe his teaching partner had even learned a thing or two. Maybe she’d forgotten that he publicly announced that they were dating. Maybe he’d join the Boston ballet after all.
He heard Becky slide off the desk in the back of the room and walk slowly toward him. He could picture it - the legs and the black skirt which wasn’t exactly short until she sat on the desk. She wasn’t marching up to him, demanding answers. She’d chosen a much deadlier approach.
Tank focused on tucking his notes back into his binder. She’d never buy that he’d started the whole mess to protect her. She would, however, be expecting an explanation, and he had no other to give. He’d hoped that making her good and angry would buy him some time, but she hadn’t taken the bait. She’d just watched him teach, smiling and swinging whichever long, very fit leg of hers happened to be on top of the other. He’d made every effort to ignore her, but failed miserably.
He turned and prepared for battle. “This doesn’t have to be a big deal.”
“Well, turns out it kind of is.”
She stopped on the other side of the desk and hitched her hip on the corner. Great - the leg again.
“Do I get to know why you decided to start this little game?” she asked, far more gently than he expected or deserved. “P.E. teachers harassing you?”
“No.” He picked up his bag and started around the desk. There was no way out except past the legs. He hesitated. She nudged his knee with her ridiculously pointy shoe.
“Not cool, Tank.”
He stopped and looked at her. She rarely used his name; that and her subtle flirting would be his undoing. He’d so hoped she’d be spitting fire, and ideally leaving the room in a huff. He had no idea how to field this Becky.
“Let’s just say it was necessary. A few days and we can just let it fade. No one will care.”
Becky considered his lame explanation. “You’re a hot-shot athlete. People will care.”
“I doubt it. I’m not that big a deal.”
She almost looked as though she might argue.
“Well, maybe I am.”
He couldn’t help but grin. Good for her.
She tilted her head as she looked at him. “You know, if you smiled like that more often, women might actually find you attractive.”
“Women love me.”
“Ha! Name one.”
“Well, besides you ...”
“No, seriously. Name one.”
Tank shook his head, trying to lose the grin. “Let’s give it a week. I promise we don’t even have to spend time together.”
Becky considered the offer. She still hadn’t insisted on a real explanation. Tank couldn’t believe his luck. It couldn’t possibly last.
“Okay, I got involved in a conversation that I shouldn’t have during lunch. The most expedient thing was to say that we’d dated a few times.” Tank sighed and looked out the window. “If we could avoid a noisy breakup in the next week or two, I think it’ll be fine.”
“Well, you’ll have to treat me right.”
He turned and she gave him a teasing smile that did strange things to his gut. He shifted his bag, adjusted the strap.
“We’ll keep a safe distance from each other. No one will ever know that we’re not ...”
“Close?” she asked, nudging his leg again.
Tank drew a deep breath. She was swinging her leg and looking remarkably innocent. He swallowed. He’d rather face a group of large, angry linemen.
“Not close,” he repeated.
“Well, I’ll need something to tell the girls,” she countered, as though she’d given the whole matter a lot of thought.
“Don’t need to tell the girls anything.”
“Not even the P.E. teachers?”
He wanted to give her a shake. She was having too much fun. “They’ll hear the rumor. That’s enough.”
“You’ll have to get rid of this.” She stood and gently cuffed his day’s worth of stubble with her fingertips. “I would never date anyone with facial hair.”
He exhaled slowly. “Don’t worry. My facial hair will never get near yours.”
“What?”
Becky tried to withdraw her hand, but Tank caught it against his cheek before she could reconnect with a little more force.
With his other hand he ran a finger along her jaw. “It’s not too bad,” he grinned.
She yanked her hand free and involuntarily ran a hand across her very smooth cheek. He found himself tracking the movement.
“You know this will end badly,” she said.
“Probably,” he agreed.
“Well, you started it. Whatever happens, it’s on you.”
Tank looked at her thoughtfully. “Fair enough.”
eighteen
“Do you even own pants?”
“Do you have anywhere else to go but here?”
“I thought you’d want to see this.” Tank handed Becky a newspaper, then stood in the entryway, hands on his hips.
She looked down at the paper in her hands. “What happened?”
“A reporter caught me on my way out of school on Friday.”
She looked up in surprise. “Really? What did they want?”
“Kind of a long story. Do you mind if we ...” he gestured inside.
“Alright, come on in,” she grumbled, leading him into the kitchen. He was dressed like he would be for school. What was he doing up so early on a Sunday morning?
“What are you doing up so early on a Sunday morning?”
“It’s not early. It’s eleven o’clock,” Tank replied, settling onto a barstool. “I went to church,” he added.
Becky eyed him warily. “Do you go to Maddy’s church?”
“Yep.”
“Does Grace go?”
“Sometimes. More now than she used to.”
“Oh goodie. Everybody’s finding Jesus.”
Tank eyed her thoughtfully. “I wasn’t the one doing the finding.” He tapped his hands in a quick rhythm on the counter. “Mind if I have some coffee?”
Becky shook her head. “Whatever. Fine.” She sat down on the other side of the counter with the paper.
“You gonna get dressed?” he asked, helping himself to a mug.
She looked down at the fluffy bathrobe that sort of covered her T-shirt and shorts. “Why should I?”
“Just thought you might want to.”
“Well, I don’t. You want to make sure I’m dressed appropriately, call ahead, or rent a room.” She glared at him and sipped her coffee, trying not to care what she looked like.
Tank shrugged and filled his mug. He gestured at the paper. “Sports section,” he directed. “Front page.”
She flipped through the regional Sunday paper, which served several of the area’s coastal towns. The sports section was generally dominated by high school sports, but Tank took that honor this week. “Tank Kimball Holds the Line at Clairmont Regional High School.” Cute.
“So this kid caught me after school; said he’d been trying to track me down.”
Becky started to skim the article.
“Someone,” Tank continued, “I have a feeling I know who, though I can’t really figure out why - gave him your name.” Tank pointed to a spot in the article. “I’m sorry. The timing of all of this is unbelievable.”
Becky brushed in annoyance at his hand. She read silently for a few moments, trying to figure out how to feel about being named in the paper in connection with Tank. There was a time - well most of her life, really - when she would have welcomed the attention; now, for some reason, not so much.
“So, what do we do?” She looked up at him again. The article stated that Tank, filling in at the high school to, “help out the community,” was also in a relationship with Becky Jacobs, long-term French sub, also new to the high school. It went on to highlight Tank’s career, which Becky was not about to read in front of him. She hoped he left the paper so she could do it later. If he didn’t, she’d Google him.
He shook his head. “I don’t know. Ride it out, I guess. I had hoped he’d focus on what I’m doing with the kids, but of course, he had to work the relationship angle in.”
Becky sighed. “What do I tell Maddy? She’ll never believe it. Neither will Grace, for that matter.”
Tank looked at her speculatively. “I think Grace might.”
Becky rolled her eyes. “You’re her brother. I’m her friend. I actually confide in her. She knows it couldn’t happen.”
Tank sat back with his coffee. “You talk about me?”
Becky refused to be cornered. “Complain about you mostly. She’s very sympathetic.”
Tank’s mouth quirked. “Well, she’s always hinting that she thinks we’d be great together, so I think she’d buy it.”
“What?” Becky jumped up. She ran a hand through her already messy hair and scowled at his grin.
“Not saying I agree. Just that she might not be a hard sell.”
“Oh, please. If she’s feeding you that kind of bull, then she’s delusional and it doesn’t matter what she thinks.” Becky marched over to the coffee maker and refilled her cup. She turned around and glared.
Tank rubbed a hand across his jaw. “So, what should we tell them?”
“Stop grinning. This is all your fault.” She crossed her arms. “You tell me.”
He thought for a minute, the grin fading as directed. Becky felt its loss despite her pique.
“Well, I think it would be best to try to sell it to everyone, even the family. Tell them we started going out a couple of weeks ago. Kept it quiet. In another week or so, we’ll tell them it didn’t work out.”
“Maddy won’t believe it.”
“That it didn’t work out?”
“Hardly. That we ever tried.”
“Do you have to talk to her about it?”
“Please. As soon as she reads the paper she’s going to call me.”
“She reads the Sports Section?”
Becky wanted to throttle him. “John does. Maybe she does, too. I don’t know. They’ll find out one way or another.”
“So tell Maddy and ask her to play along until we get this figured out.”
Becky considered this. “What about Grace?”
“Okay if we wait with her? I’m concerned that ...” Tank hesitated. “I don’t want her implicated if something goes wrong.”
“That sounds serious.”
“I don’t think anything will happen, I’d just rather ... wait with her.”
“Well, that’s fine for you; you never talk to her. What am I supposed to say when I see her?”
He grinned. “Tell her you finally saw the light.”
Becky sputtered, fighting her own grin. “Oh please. I’m not that good of an actor.”
“Well, can you make an excuse not to be around her for a week or so? Tell her you’re not feeling well?”
“This is getting so complicated.” Becky stood. “You should go. And you owe me big time.”
Tank nodded and drained his coffee. “It’ll be over soon enough.”
***
Becky arranged her smile carefully as she approached the classroom the following morning. For some reason, her normal confidence completely eluded her. She willed her heart rate to slow down.
The room was unlocked - he was already there, of course. Did he have to be early for everything? Why couldn’t she be the one waiting in the classroom, all cool and under control? She threw her shoulders back and opened the door.
There were several students in the room and they greeted her with more interest than usual. They marked her progress toward the other teacher, no doubt waiting for the first bit of evidence that the rumor was true. She could almost feel their phones humming.
Becky walked up to him and set her bag down on top of the papers Tank was pretending to read. She sat on the edge of the desk, waiting for him to look up from his interrupted work. It took longer than strictly necessary. She was not about to look like a fool playing his game, so she leaned down and whispered ‘hello,’ making sure their cheeks had a brush of contact.
She kept it very simple, letting the tone of her whisper speak for itself. When he finally looked up, it was with the startlingly direct look that had taken her breath away in the kitchen weeks ago. His eyes, in all their glorious greens and browns, were fixed on hers.
“Morning, Ms. Jacobs,” he said, with much more warmth than she’d ever seen, felt, or heard from him.
It took a concentrated effort to close her mouth and rearrange her lips into a convincing smile. Every instinct begged her to slide into his lap and get a closer look at those eyes. She rarely saw them in full color, much less with any kind of invitation in them.
The invitation was palpable. He was messing with her - daring her to respond in front of the kids.
Oh, he is good.
The fact that he played the game so well was intriguing, enticing, and just a little heart-breaking.
A hint of a smile touched Tank’s lips as Becky fought to regroup. It was all she needed to regain her focus.
“Good morning, Mr. Kimball.” She kept her voice quiet, husky. “Ready for contraceptives?”
Her greeting had the necessary effect. Tank jumped out of his seat, almost toppling the desk in his haste to get away from her. She smiled and stood, breathing deeply before turning to face the class. Today’s lesson on protection was going to be very interesting. She could hardly wait to hear what Tank had prepared.
***
Tank walked into the kitchen with Frank on his heels. Becky glanced at the clock. Almost ten. Didn’t they know she had to get up early? They’d made an effort not to use power tools too late into the evening, but still, she could never relax while he was in the house. She forced a smile as Frank offered an apology.
“Sorry to keep you up, Becky. Been hard to coordinate with this guy, but we got our project done. Won’t be here so late next time.” His grin stole some of the sincerity from his apology.
“No problem. Glad you got it done.”
Her heart beat irrationally as Tank approached her and slid his stupid, heavy arm around her. It was completely unnecessary. Frank didn’t need any convincing; he probably didn’t even care about their ‘rel
ationship.’ Becky shifted to bear the weight better, and ended up tucked neatly into Tank’s side. She wanted to stomp on his foot, but instead she slid her arm around his waist and dug her nails in.
“How’s it going up there?” she asked sweetly.
Tank also shifted and grabbed the hand with the claws. He pulled her fingers around and flattened them against his stomach, patting them lovingly. “It’s going well. Wanna come take a look?”
She faked a yawn. “I think I need to get to bed. You too, right? Class bright and early.”
Frank cleared his throat while he loosened his tool belt and set it on the counter. “I’m just going to grab a bottle of water and take off. Tank, you want one?”
“Sure,” he replied, catching the bottle that Frank tossed him, while keeping Becky tucked firmly into his side. She took the opportunity to remove her hand from his ridiculous abs. Like she needed a reminder of how fit he was.
“Okay, well, thanks again for your help, Tank,” Frank said, walking to the dining room door. “I’m sure John will be in touch about the ceiling fans.”
“Sounds good,” Tank replied.
The minute the door closed, Becky turned uncomfortably under the weight of his arm and pushed on his chest.
“Okay, show’s over. Get off me.”
Tank closed her into his arms as the door re-opened and Frank stepped back in.
“Sorry - tool belt.”
She heard muffled sounds as Frank made quick business of grabbing his belt and beating a hasty retreat. Tank had turned her toward the sink, his back to the door. For all Frank could tell, they were locked in a passionate embrace; just couldn’t wait for him to leave the room.
Tank could tell that they weren’t locked in a passionate embrace. Becky had no problem using her nails on his chest to keep him from getting too comfortable. Apparently immune to pain, Tank simply held her close and whispered into her ear. “I’m going to cut those nails myself.”
“I - dare - you,” she growled, unnerved by his closeness and his stupid whispering.
He let her go, but only so he could get a hold of her hands. He pulled them out to her sides, and they stood, her nose only reaching his chest. She slowly looked up into his eyes. He was way too close.
Done With Men Forever (Clairmont Series Book 3) Page 15