Dirty Little Midlife Disaster: A Motorcycle Hottie Romantic Comedy (Heart’s Cove Hotties Book 4)

by Lilian Monroe

  “You teacher will love you, honey,” I tell her, but my daughter doesn’t look convinced. So, I pat her knee and stand up, heading for my phone and the multitude of emails from the school I haven’t quite got around to going through. That was going to be tomorrow’s job.

  Look, I know I’m supposed to be Super Mom. I know I should be all over this stuff and I should know everything about Katie and Toby’s new school off the top of my head, but I don’t. I’m doing my best not to let the mom guilt eat at me right now, especially when I grab my phone to look for the emails I got from the school when we registered.

  “Now,” I say, settling in beside Katie, “let’s see what we can find about your teacher, mm?” I flick through my emails, searching for Heart’s Cove Elementary. Half a dozen emails pop up—the most recent one with a welcome pack for both children.

  I open the email, click the attachment, and wait for it to load. “It’s normal to be nervous, you know,” I tell Katie. “I was nervous every year when school started.”

  “You were?”

  “Mm-hmm,” I say. “But everything will be okay. You’ll make tons of new friends.”

  Katie bunches her lips to the side, not convinced.

  I turn my attention back to the phone, zooming in to the tiny writing on the screen. “Now, here we go. You’re going into the second grade—”

  “I know that,” Katie says with a roll of her eyes.

  I hide my grin and keep reading. “And your teacher is Mr. Bl—”

  I freeze.

  That name.

  I read it again, and it hasn’t changed.

  My heart starts thumping so hard I have to gulp down a breath, but that name still stares at me in big, black writing on my screen.

  Blair.

  Brows lowering over my eyes, I stare at the name on the screen so hard it starts going fuzzy. Mr. Blair. It’s still there.

  It can’t be. It’s not him. It’s not Mac.

  Katie pokes my side. “What’s my teacher’s name?”

  “Mr. Blair,” I say quietly.

  Katie’s feet kick out as she leans back in the sofa, her little hands intertwined over her stomach. She looks just like her father when she slouches like that, and it makes pain rattle through my chest. Snapshots of the marriage I could have had pierce me like a thousand tiny needles scattered over my skin.

  But I turn my attention back to the horror on my screen.

  It’s Hamish, right? Or Lee? It’s some relative. It’s not Mac.

  Even though at the back of my mind, I remember all the things he’s told me. He loves kids, “obviously.” He gets really busy when the school year starts, but he doesn’t have children of his own. He has a lot of prep work to do for tomorrow…because it’s the day before the school year starts.

  Oh. My. God.

  I slept with my daughter’s second grade teacher this morning. I had oral sex with him yesterday. No, it was so much dirtier than oral sex. I got on my knees and I sucked his cock.

  Oh no.

  The name on the screen stares back at me, taunting. I fucked my daughter’s second grade teacher. Holy shit. Oh no, no, no.

  But worst of all? I loved it. I wanted to come back every night and do it again and again.

  And tomorrow, he’ll be teaching my daughter addition and subtraction.

  This isn’t happening. My chest feels so hot it burns, and not in a good way. It claws up my throat, fuzzing my vision as I try to push the reality aside. I’m jumping to conclusions. Mac isn’t a teacher.

  “What does he look like?” Katie says, feet still kicking up in a steady rhythm, the fear gone from her face.

  “Umm…” I tap on my screen to pull up the school’s website with trembling hands, clicking through the pages to find the staff page.

  Katie sits up, folding her hands on my shoulder as she peers down at the screen with me.

  I scroll through faces, young and old, male and female, praying it’s someone else. There must be another Mr. Blair. It’s not Mac.

  But then I see him, looking nothing like the motorcycle badass, dressed in a smart blue button-down with his hair combed back, a broad smile on his handsome face.

  Katie moves closer to the screen and bites her lip. She tilts her head to the side and studies his face for a moment, then sits back. “He looks friendly.”

  “Uh-huh,” I say numbly. “He is.”

  He was real friendly when he was telling me how good I tasted. When he was telling me how much he loved his cock in my mouth. When he was buried so deep inside me I couldn’t breathe.

  Super friendly.

  I don’t really know what happens next. Katie settles down and I put her back to bed. I head downstairs and stare at my forgotten glass of wine, feeling more and more horrified as the seconds tick by.

  Then I try to talk myself down.

  It’s fine. Right?

  We screwed around… So what? We’re adults. I throw back my glass of wine and dump the rest of the soured wine into it, staring at the golden liquid as I lean against the counter, palms on either side of the glass.

  Then I straighten up, because a day ago I was standing in the exact same position, but Mac’s hand was down my pants.

  I turn away, sliding my hands through my hair and pulling it tight. Okay. Okay, this is fine. It happened before the school year, and it’s casual. We can maintain an appropriate relationship while Katie is in his class. Everything is fine. We’re adults, we hooked up, and now we need to stop because it’s inappropriate.

  Then I whirl back around and stare at nothing, because a fresh, horrible thought enters my head:

  Did Mac know?

  Then it dawns on me. That woman—she said I was “the new one.” The new mom he was screwing around with, and he even admitted he slept with her.

  Is this what he does? Does he sleep with his students’ moms?

  Has he been playing me this whole time?

  22

  Mac

  Trina never answered my text messages last night, and as I get ready for my new kids to arrive in class, I try not to dwell on it.

  She told me she was busy last night. She’s a mother. Sure, we hooked up yesterday morning, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking of the way she moaned my name, but we’re both busy people. It’s normal not to answer every single text. We’re going to dinner tonight, I’ll tell her about Belinda, and everything will be fine.

  That’s how I find myself in my classroom on Monday morning, making sure all the kids’ name tags are stuck to the appropriate desks, and everything is prepped for the whirlwind of seven-year-olds that’s about to walk through my door.

  When I first got into teaching, I thought I wanted to be a high school teacher. I thought I’d prefer having older kids and knowing that I’d had a hand in preparing them for their futures. I even considered teaching art full-time when I discovered I loved pottery.

  It didn’t take me long to realize I was good with younger kids. I think it was my second year of college, I was a student teacher doing a placement at a school in a first-grade classroom, and I saw a little girl break down and cry when she was asked to write her name. All the other kids knew how to do it already, and she panicked. I sat with her and coached her through the letters of her name—Laura—then watched her face transform from teary to ecstatic. She then proceeded to write her name on every piece of paper she could find. And the desks. And the walls.

  I never quite got over the wonder that young kids have in their eyes. Teaching them makes me feel like I’m actually contributing something to the world.

  Movement draws my eye to the door. A little girl points to the list of names I taped to the door and looks over her shoulder, crying excitedly. “It says Katie Paulson! This is my class!” Her eyes move to the classroom, then to me. “Hi, Mr. Blair.”

  “Hello, Katie,” I say with a smile, repeating the name she just called out. I’m pleasantly surprised she already knows my name, and I start looking at the groups of desks for h
er name tag. I think I put Katie near the front of the class, since she’s new at school and I wasn’t sure what kind of student she’d be. But before I can confirm, my eyes are drawn to her mother in the doorway, and a ringing starts in my ears.

  Katrina is standing there, looking as glamorous and beautiful as ever in her high-waisted blue linen pants and silky white top. Her softly curled hair gets tucked behind her ear as she watches me, her eyes betraying nothing.

  She looks gorgeous. My heart seizes. All the words I could have said yesterday come rushing back to me, but they hit the brick wall of my lips.

  “Trina,” I finally squeeze through my cotton-filled throat. “You…”

  “Hi, Mac.” She blinks, then puts her hand on Katie’s shoulder, who stands frozen between us.

  I clear my throat. “You can hang your backpack on a hook, Katie, then find your name tag on the desks. Your classmates should be arriving soon.”

  Katie frowns, her eyes darting between me and her mother.

  Another thing about young kids—they pick up on everything.

  Shit.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  “Go on, honey.” Trina gives Katie a gentle nudge. “I need to speak to Mr. Blair.”

  Katie, who had been so excited a moment ago, bites her lip as her brows draw together. “Okay,” she drags out, sounding unsure, but she hangs her backpack up on one of the pegs along the wall and starts wandering through the tables looking for her name.

  After hesitating for just a moment, I close the distance to Trina. She stands in the doorway, looking ready to bolt. “Now I understand why you never answered my messages yesterday,” I say, trying to keep it lighthearted and completely failing.

  My chest feels raw, empty. Trina is the first woman I’ve met who’s made me want more. A few minutes ago, I was imagining a future with her. What future can we have now that her kid is in my class?

  I can’t date Trina. It would be completely inappropriate. Not only that, but if the kids ever found out, they could bully Katie. Parents could think of me differently. It would affect my career.

  And when—not if—things between Katrina and me go sour, it’ll be awkward for years. Just like it was with Belinda.

  Which means whatever had been budding between Trina and me…it’s over before it ever really began.

  Trina clears her throat. “I saw your name on the school papers when I got home after…” She glances away, takes a breath, and looks at me again. “That woman yesterday. She was a mom of one of your students?”

  I hate how small her voice sounds. I hate the regret etched into every line of her face. I hate that she feels that way about me.

  But most of all, I hate that she’s right.

  The boulder in my throat makes it impossible to speak, so all I can do is nod. I want to slip my hand in hers and pull her close, but I can’t. So I just stand there, across the threshold from her, looking for the right words.

  She releases a long breath and closes her eyes. When she speaks, her voice is so quiet I barely make out the words. “Did you know?”

  “No,” I answer emphatically, my voice finally returning. “I didn’t realize until right now. I swear. I thought your last name was Viceroy. I would have recognized the name in the class list…”

  “I never took Kevin’s name,” she finally says, lifting her eyes back up to mine. “Look, Mac—”

  A child comes barreling down the hallway, nearly crashing into Trina’s legs. “Mr. Blair! Mr. Blair! I’m in your class!” Ricky is a super-smart little boy with white-blond hair. His father, Rick Sr., hangs out at the Grove sometimes. I extend my hand to the father as Rick runs inside and greets Katie, then starts looking for his name on the desks.

  “Long time no see,” the father says, grinning. His eyes flick to Trina, bald interest written in his gaze. He looks her up and down, and all I want to do is throttle him. I’ve known this guy for years. I’ve had countless beers with him. He’s a friend—and I want to punch him in the face for daring to look at Trina.

  This is bad.

  This is so bad, it’s not even funny.

  I want her, and I can’t have her. But I don’t want anyone else to have her, either.

  Rick, ever the charmer, smiles at Trina. “You look nervous. Sometimes I think the first day of school is harder on us parents than it is on the kids.”

  Trina lifts her hand to tuck a strand of that elegant hair behind her ear, and I notice the way Rick’s eyes flick to her ring finger, noticing the strip of paler skin where her wedding band used to be. His stance shifts instantly, shoulder leaning against the doorway as he flashes a smile at her.

  And I want to kill him. In that moment, I know we’re not so different from animals, because the primal urge to stake my claim on Trina rises up inside me, almost too strong to resist. I’d pummel him in the face just for the way he’s looking at her.

  I mean—what the fuck?

  A slow, long breath moves into my lungs, then back out. I need to get a fucking grip.

  But how am I supposed to make sense of this? The first woman I’ve ever wanted is officially, completely off-limits.

  Bringing my attention back to the two parents, I hear Trina let out a weak laugh that sounds nothing like her. “I know. You’re happy they’re out of your hair for the school year, but it’s still hard to see them walk away.” She glances inside the classroom, past me as if I’m not even there, to where Ricky and Katie have their heads bent over the desk, playing with building blocks I’d left out to keep the kids busy until everyone arrives. Trina shakes her head and smiles at Rick. “Especially when it seems so very easy for the kids.”

  Rick laughs, ever the charmer, then glances at me. When he sees the thunder in my face, his brows twitch together, but he doesn’t comment. He glances at Trina. “I was about to get a coffee at the Four Cups Café. Would you like to join?”

  That’s it. Fuck my career. Fuck my job. I’ll fight this man right here in the hallway and throw my future away. I’ll piss on all the years I spent building my reputation, because there’s no way I’m watching another man ask Trina out right in front of my face. No fucking way.

  Not after what happened this weekend. Not after I felt her wrap her arms around me on the back of my bike. Not after I met her ex-husband and saw the hurt in her face. Not after I realized that I want to fix that for her, show her that we could be better together. I want to be the man to make her laugh. I want to be the man by her side.

  “Mr. Blair! Ricky said you have a motorcycle.” Katie jumps up, eyes wide. “Is that true?”

  “It is true, Katie,” I say, lingering near the door even though I should go to the students. But my mind is a mess. My palms itch to curl around Trina’s body and keep her close. My throat feels raw from holding in all the aggression I want to hurl at Rick.

  “I’d better let you go,” Trina says to me. “We can continue our discussion at another time.” Her voice is…cold. Not waiting for me to answer, she squares her shoulders and paints a false smile on her face before glancing at Rick. “My sister is a co-owner of the Four Cups Café. She’s expecting me, actually.”

  Rick grins hungrily, then sweeps his arm down the hallway in an after you motion. I watch the two of them walk away together, tasting nothing but ash on my tongue—but there’s nothing I can do about it, because Trina is officially off-limits to me until the end of the school year at the earliest.

  And judging by my past experience? This is only going to get worse.

  Then another child comes to the door, and it’s my turn to paint a false smile on my face.

  Today is going to be a long day.

  23

  Jen

  Here’s the thing. Amanda—Fallon’s ex—is really nice. This is the second time she’s been in Heart’s Cove, and she’s super excited about my recipe book. Apart from my friends, she’s basically my number one cheerleader.

  Take this morning, for example. She came to the café and found me in the kitchen to show me
preliminary layouts for the final book. She’s lined up food stylists and started talking about media appearances.

  She believes in me.

  And I feel like a total jerk for resenting her.

  I stock up the quickly emptying display cabinet with a fresh batch of croissants, then head back to the kitchen where Amanda is sampling my banana bread.

  She looks up when I arrive. “The addition of cardamon is genius, Jen. This is some of the best banana bread I’ve ever had.”

  I can’t help smiling. People tell me my baking is good, but it’s different having an actual professional tell me I’m good enough. Good enough to make it in this industry. Good enough to be a real, published pastry chef. Recipes like banana bread are so easy to me that I can whip one up in minutes—but she’s made me realize that not everyone has that skill.

  “It’s a pretty basic recipe.” I shrug.

  Amanda puts her slice of banana bread down and brushes her fingers off. “You need to stop doing that.”

  I frown. “Doing what?”

  “Knocking yourself down when you speak. You have to get comfortable promoting yourself.”

  I scrunch my face up, and Amanda laughs.

  “Actually, that reminds me. There’s a good promotional opportunity happening right here in Heart’s Cove next year.”

  My stomach sinks. I don’t have a good feeling about this. “Oh, yeah?”

  She stares at me for a beat, as if she’s trying to gauge what my reaction will be. She pushes her blond hair over her shoulder and gives me a beaming smile. “There’s a TV show filming here next year. A baking competition! And it’s for semi-professional and professional bakers.”

  Anxiety ratchets up inside me. “What?”

  “Filming lasts four weeks. You’ll be partnered up with a teammate of your choosing, so we just need to find someone to join the competition with you. If your book is out and your social media is set up, it could provide a lot of free publicity. People will absolutely love you. It’s perfect, Jen.”