Wilde for You. Dawn AtkinsЧитать онлайн книгу.
teach here?” she asked.
“I’m the assistant principal. I’m new.”
“Me, too. But I’m a teacher. Well, not quite. I have an emergency certificate.” She stepped closer to him and he caught more of her special scent—vanilla, cinnamon and something peppery. “They needed a science teacher and I had tons of science credits, plus I love science—I was a volunteer at the zoo, and I’ve always contributed to the Sierra Club. So, I got the job. Of course, they didn’t have another applicant, but, oh, well. Listen to me babble. How’d you end up here?”
“Long story.” He didn’t care to lay out the details of his fall from grace. She looked as good as he remembered. Short and compact, pixieish, with a heart-shaped face, small nose and pretty mouth—features that made you expect her to be sweet, but he knew she was mouthy and irreverent, with a lusty laugh that managed to charm despite its decibel strength, and green eyes that glinted with mischief.
Nothing she wore was immodest, not even her stretchy red top, but she was so sexy she had to be violating codes all over the place—dress codes, morality codes, building codes, whatever. She was one big violation.
He couldn’t help checking out her ring finger and found just a silver peace sign.
“Man, how long has it been?” she asked.
“Must be six, seven years.” He tried to sound cool, but he could have figured out exactly how long ago that make-out session had been. It had been two days before Christmas, and they’d drank a couple of beers, talked a long time—finishing each other’s sentences—and then they’d gotten personal and there had been that mistletoe….
“Yeah. Finals, right? Christmas time.”
“Yeah. Christmas time.”
Her eyes told him she remembered the moment, too. And with pleasure, judging by her soft smile. “Whatever happened with you and Sylvia?” she asked. “I moved out just after you and I…after that night.”
“Nothing,” he said. “I think she married an electrical engineering professor.” The guy she’d stood him up for, which made him feel less guilty about kissing Cricket. He’d slept with plenty of women in college, but he never overlapped.
“I lost track of her after I moved out of the apartment,” Cricket said. “Too much temptation to party. I had to hit the books, resuscitate my GPA.” She scrunched up her nose. “I hated hitting the books.”
“I remember,” he said. She’d been studying biology when he’d joined her on the couch while he waited for Sylvia and they’d commiserated about GPA pressure and the stifling nature of lecture halls, moving on to discuss a global sweatshop protest they’d both attended, then to their beliefs on social issues—poverty, ecology, the proper role of government.
The words flowed easily, as if they’d known each other for years. They’d disagreed some—Cricket was more black and white in her beliefs than he was—but with humor and mutual respect. In short, they’d connected. Intellectually, emotionally and, um, sexually. Somewhere in there, she’d started drinking his beer. Then let it slip that she thought he was cute.
And he’d told her she was pretty, and she’d mumbled something about mistletoe, cupped his face with both hands and kissed him…like he was some exotic fruit she wanted to get every juice from.
He’d kissed her right back, a tsunami of lust pounding through him. She’d tasted of beer and peppermint and smelled of cinnamon and vanilla and spice—fresh with a winter bite. She’d slipped onto his lap and he’d held her tight. She’d felt delicate, but springy. Strong and hot.
There was something not to be missed about that encounter. Like snow in Tucson. So rare you had to drop everything and run outside to let the flakes fall in your mouth. Come to think of it, they’d been nowhere near any mistletoe….
“Me, too,” she said, taking another step forward. “I remember, too.” Electricity zinged between them. He could swear the jungle vines swayed in the static. “We had a great talk. And everything…”
She was looking him over, head cocked like it had been that night right before she’d kissed him. Then her gaze dipped and snagged on something.
His left hand. The gold band gleamed under the fluorescent lights like a treasure.
“You’re married?” she said. Did she sound disappointed? And why did he hope so?
“Um, yeah. Absolutely.” He twisted the ring with the fingers of his other hand.
“How long?” she asked.
“Two years.” Forest and Anna thought that sounded like enough years to be solidly married and not attract newlywed jokes.
Cricket nodded slowly. “Kids?”
“No.”
“But soon?”
“When the time is right.” This was true. He did want kids. After he had a real wife, of course. “You’re not married?”
“Are you kidding? I’m just figuring out what I want to be when I grow up. When I’ve got that handled, maybe I’ll find someone. When I’m ready to hibernate.” She shrugged as if that were unlikely, then tilted her head again. “Is it good? Marriage, I mean?”
“Sure,” he said, the lie giving him a twinge. It would be good, he was sure.
She’d obviously picked up his discomfort because she said, “Really?”
“It has its ups and downs,” he said to cover his hesitation.
“Yeah. Same with any choice. The pros and cons and ups and downs. I hate that.” She bit her lip, then seemed to cheer up. “Anyway, I’m happy for you, Tucker. Really.” Her expression warmed, calling back the intimacy of their evening together all those years ago. “She’s a lucky woman.”
“I don’t know about that,” he said.
“Oh, I do. You were a great kisser.” She elbowed him playfully in the side.
“I’d say that was all you.”
“Team effort.” She sighed. “That night was something, huh?”
“Yeah. Something.”
“I couldn’t believe how much I blathered on and on.”
“We had a lot to talk about.”
“Yeah. A lot.”
They stopped talking for a long moment. The beat of attraction thudded in Tucker’s ears.
He’d thought about looking her up after Sylvia and he broke up, but they were near graduation, and he’d been disturbed by how powerfully Cricket had affected him. He’d felt out of control, the way he had in high school. Besides, he was too tame for her, he was sure.
With a start, he realized he’d held Cricket’s gaze way too long for a married man—even one experiencing ups and downs in his marriage. “Anyway, that was a long time ago.”
“And now you’re an administrator. Wow. I would have figured you for an ACLU attorney or some intellectual rabble-rouser.”
“I considered law, actually, but education is important. It’s a way to influence the next generation.”
“Sheesh, that sounds ancient. The only generation we’re old enough to influence—or even talk about—is the Pepsi one.”
“How’d you get into teaching anyway?” he asked, not liking how she made him feel like an old fogy. “Weren’t you studying nursing?”
“Turns out blood makes me faint. It’s, like, a reflex. I catch sight of red and everything goes black.” She shrugged. “Kind of lame, I know.”
“You can’t help your reflexes,” he said.
She