Eddie didn’t suppose he blamed her. Library was her favorite thing, and he was only her ride. He turned to leave, mildly disappointed without a real reason for it.
Lucy was one hell of a kid. He’d like a couple of kids of his own someday, but a lot of guys thought kids—like carrying metal lunch boxes and wearing a jacket and tie to look nice in the hope of seeing that special someone—were a little old-fashioned. “Hetero-normative brainwashing” was what the last guy he’d dated called it.
As if the desire for a family and a child was beneath Eddie’s dignity.
He knew plenty of guys who didn’t want kids, and that was fine for them. But Eddie liked family. He came from a big one. Growing up, he’d had six different houses to call home and a ton of family at school to keep the bullies away. That was how he liked it.
“Mr. Vasquez.” A rich tenor voice stopped his train of thought—derailed it, actually—and made his mouth go dry. He turned to find Mr. B. Andrew Daley leaning against his classroom door with his hands in his pockets.
How Eddie wanted to be those hands. Since they’d met in September, Eddie’d had the feeling his heart was already inside one of those pockets, clenched tight in Mr. B. Andrew Daley’s lovely, capable hand.
Is there such a thing as love at first sight?
Or had the feeling come on as he’d watched Mr. Daley work?
Daley was always fair. Always patient.
He listened.
He liked kids for who they were, not what society expected them to be.
Daley genuinely cared. He was like a magnet and Eddie wanted to melt all over him like a hot metal blanket.
Eddie cleared his throat and managed a dumbstruck smile as he ambled over to say hello. “Mr. Daley.”
Daley appeared freshly shaved, and his light brown hair was trimmed close over the ears and collar but fuller—a mass of haphazard curls—on the top. He’d dressed in a mouthwatering combination of low-rise jeans, a blue button-down, and a slim V-neck sweater under a navy sport coat. He had a goddamned scarf wrapped negligently around his throat.
In southern California.
It had probably dipped to a chilly sixty-five that morning. Eddie dared a look at Daley’s feet. Oh God. Combat boots. Kill me now. I’m done.
Daley is the hottest man ever.
“How’s teachery things?” Eddie asked stupidly. He breathed in deeply when he approached Daley, who smelled like glove leather and laurel-leaf crowns and Madagascar vanilla.
“Going along fine. Did Lucy tell you she won the prize in Early Library last week?”
“Yeah.” Eddie had the fleeting thought there was nothing he wouldn’t do for a Teacher’s Pet pencil. “She’s so happy. This year has been great for her.”
“She’s my most voracious kid when it comes to books. I’d say she was the best reader in the whole first grade.”
“That’s good to know.” Eddie couldn’t take his eyes off Lucy’s teacher.
“Do you like to read, Mr. Vasquez? I find a child’s love of reading usually starts with family. I only ask because I’ve been rereading Maurice for about the hundredth time and—”
“I don’t, actually.” Eddie felt his face heat. Whatever Morris was, he’d never read it. He never would unless listening counted as reading. “I’d like to, I mean. But reading is for people who have more time on their hands than I do. I have to go to work now.”
Eddie turned to run, but Daley’s voice stopped him. “Wait. I don’t—”
“It’s okay.” Eddie figured his face must match his burgundy shirt. Why had he worn that? It made him look like a thug. “Um…have a good day.”
Daley tilted his head like a cat with a question. “It was good to see you again, Eddie.”
Eddie shivered when Mr. Daley spoke his name. He couldn’t help it. He tried out a jaunty salute that probably looked like a tic, and headed back toward the parking lot.
One of these days, he thought.
One of these days, I’m going to figure Mr. Daley out.
ANDREW WATCHED LUCY’S uncle walk away yet again. On the one hand, Eddie “Cha-Cha” Vasquez seemed interested. On the other, every time Andrew hit on him, he ran off like a possum with a can tied to its tail.
One of these days Andrew was going to throw caution to the wind and just ask the man out.
What’s the worst that can happen?
Andrew genuinely liked Eddie. He treated his niece, Lucy, like gold. Like she was the most important thing in his life. But aside from that, Eddie was pretty forbidding. Big and built and a little bit rough around the edges.
He could break Andrew in half if he didn’t like Andrew’s attention.
Andrew was no fool. Gay pride parades and the eradication of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell and PROP 8 aside, this could still be a dangerous world for a guy who hit on the wrong man. It was only that Eddie stared at him sometimes when he thought no one was looking, and it made Andrew feel licked all over. Kissed. Worshipped even, by dark brown eyes that gave away nothing but a certain hot intensity that made Andrew’s knees weak.
A curious noise caught Andrew’s attention, an odd humming that seemed to be coming from behind him.
Andrew turned in time to see a woman wearing a filthy pink tracksuit amble up to the door of the next classroom over. She was thin to the point of emaciated, and her silvery hair was matted and oily. She’d gripped the door handle and pulled it hard, but the room must have been locked. She fumbled some keys out of her pocket and tried each one unsuccessfully.
Andrew made his way toward her as he asked, “Can I help you?”
She turned her blank gaze on him. “I can’t seem to open my classroom.”
Andrew recognized the woman as a teacher who used to substitute back when he’d first started teaching at Taft. “Mrs. Henderson?”
“My key doesn’t work,” she muttered, frustrated.
Parents dropping off early bird kindergarteners had started staring. Andrew felt an unreasonable irritation with them. Obviously there was something really wrong with the woman. She didn’t need people gawking at her.
Andrew stepped closer so he could talk to her without letting his voice carry to the parents and other teachers whose curiosity was aroused. That was when he noticed the smell coming off Mrs. Henderson’s clothing.
The scent was faint, but it was rank.
The closer he got, the less bearable the odor was—like something between unwashed human and rancid meat. Even as Andrew’s gut twisted, he tried to keep his face neutral.
“Mrs. Henderson, are you all right?”
She frowned. “Why, of course. I—”
“Do you think maybe you could wait in my room with me while I make a quick call?”
“I need to get ready.” Mrs. Henderson tried another key. “The children will be arriving any minute.”
A murmur went through the crowd of gawkers. The older kids hid laughter behind their hands. Andrew understood the impulse. Sometimes uncomfortable things made him laugh too, but he couldn’t stand seeing anyone laugh at someone in Mrs. Henderson’s condition.
“Maybe you could come inside while I call the office,” he offered. Thank God she let him lead her into his room where he could close the door on the outside world. He dialed the number for the school secretary.
To Mrs. Henderson, he said, “Have a seat for a minute while I see if the office can get things sorted.” He left her there and stepped back out while he talked to the office staff about getting a police officer and maybe paramedics because something obviously wasn’t right. At the very least, the poor woman looked like she needed a decent meal.
When Andrew reentered his room, he discreetly started opening windows. Had Mrs. Henderson been living on the street? What was that smell?
“Someone’s on the way to unlock the door right now. In the meantime, can I get you a bottle of water?”
She accepted water and some graham crackers, accepted that he was telling the truth.
God, he hated lyin
g to her.
Andrew sat down and waited with her, hoping the police would get there before he had to open his classroom for the children. Andrew and Mrs. Henderson gazed at one another in awkward silence while he tried to figure out something to say besides, Mrs. Henderson, what the hell happened to you?
Stay tuned, for Eddie: Grime Doesn’t Pay, with even more bonus material, coming August 20, 2019!
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About the Author
Z. A. Maxfield started writing in 2007 on a dare from her children and never looked back. Pathologically disorganized, and perennially optimistic, she writes as much as she can, reads as much as she dares, and enjoys her time with family and friends. Three things reverberate throughout all her stories: Unconditional love, redemption, and the belief that miracles happen when we least expect them.
If anyone asks her how a wife and mother of four can find time for a writing career, she’ll answer, “It’s amazing what you can accomplish if you give up housework.”
ZAM loves to hear from readers!
www.zamaxfield.com
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Also by Z.A. Maxfield
Novels
Crossing Borders
Drawn Together
Family Unit
ePistols At Dawn
Gasp!
The Pharaoh’s Concubine
Rhapsody For Piano and Ghost
The Long Way Home
Home the Hard Way
The Bluewater Bay Novels
Hell on Wheels
All Wheel Drive
The Plummet Series
Plummet to Soar
Hawai’i Five Uh-oh
Three Vlog Night
The My Cowboy Series
My Cowboy Heart
My Heartache Cowboy
My Cowboy Homecoming
My Cowboy Promises
My Cowboy Freedom
Honky Tonk Hellion
The Stirring Series
Stirring Up Trouble
All Stirred Up
The Brothers Grime
Grime and Punishment
Grime Doesn’t Pay
The Deep Series
Deep Desire
Deep Deception
Deep Deliverance
The St. Nacho’s Series
St. Nacho’s
Physical Therapy
Jacob’s Ladder
The Book Of Daniel
Novellas
Lights! Camera! Cupid!
Blue Fire
Fugitive Color
Through the Years
Holiday Stories
A Picture Perfect Christmas
I Heard Him Exclaim
Lost And Found
Secret Light
What Child Is This?
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Jack: Grime and Punishment
Copyright © 2013 by Z. A. Maxfield
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Jack: Grime and Punishment (The Brothers Grime Book 1) Page 22