Page 17 of The One Who Got Away

It was him.

I launched into action. I sure as hell wasn’t going to let him teach some poor kid that fighting was something positive.

“But then I bet it felt pretty sucky?” Lincoln asked.

I froze, but I stole a look around the corner and saw the two of them. Lincoln was in a suit. A freaking vision in dark gray with the jacket slung over his shoulder. He was crouched down to the boy’s level. The little boy was in a dingy white shirt, his skinny arms sticking out of the sleeves like twigs. His jeans swallowed him whole, and I could tell from the stubborn jut of his bottom lip that this wasn’t the first time he and Kevin Hartman had tangoed.

Finally, the boy shook his head no.

“Let me tell you a little secret about Kevin Hartman.” Lincoln beckoned the kid to come closer like he was about to tell him something confidential. “Kevin Hartman is afraid of you.”

That made the boy rear back. “Nuh uh!”

“Yeah huh,” Lincoln nodded sagely. “Bullies pick the biggest, baddest, strongest people, and they try to take them down a notch because something is broken inside them.”

I squeezed the strap of my bag, emotion swirling in my chest. As much shit as I gave Lincoln, I knew the thing that set him apart from his dickhead friends was that he was no bully. And they were always on their best behavior in his presence.

The kid stood a little taller, his voice a little stronger. “Whoa.”

“Whoa is right,” Lincoln said solemnly. He reached out and gave the boy a pat on the shoulder. “So you keep being awesome, Tyler. And call him on his sh-” Lincoln cleared his throat and glanced to his right. A teacher’s head appeared at the doorway.

Jealousy flared when I saw the hearts beating in her eyes and the bluebirds fluttering around her head. She was just watching, but it was pretty clear that she was also swooning.

“Call him on his crap,” Lincoln finished, rising to his feet.

The boy did a little salute. “Yes sir.” He darted back in the classroom and the teacher, all brunette and virginal and Mother Theresa with the whole teacher thing, took a step in Lincoln’s direction.

I took that opportunity to cough. Loudly.

Lincoln wheeled to face me, and I smiled at the teacher over his shoulder. She got the picture and ducked back in the classroom.

And what picture does the teacher get? There was never any doubt that Lincoln Carraway was a standup guy and great with kids. That doesn’t change the fact that he left you at the altar.

That voice that usually kept me grounded was getting harder and harder to listen to. Especially with my heart drumming in my ears and lust flooding me with all kinds of thoughts. Like how he looked even hotter in a suit in person than he did in the GQ spread that I bought during a moment of weakness. And how badly I wanted to peel every layer of clothing from his body and do something crazy. Something sexy. Like hike up my skirt and let him slide inside me up against the building. Outside. Away from the children, of course.

My naughty thoughts must have been scribbled all over my face, because one side of his mouth lifted into the smirk that always did me in. That was the smirk that made me skip class and steal away for an afternoon of him and me learning every nook and cranny on each other’s bodies. Learning every octave of each other’s moans. How to take each other to the edge...and beyond.

Like he hit some invisible force field that our past wouldn’t let him cross, he stopped a few feet from me and waited.

“I missed your presentation.” Sadness edged his voice.

I propped a hand on my hip. “I don’t remember sending you an invitation.”

His smirk became a full-on smile, and I knew what he was thinking. Something along the lines of, ‘I don’t need an invite, babe.’

Babe.

God, I missed him calling me that.

I shivered, the chill reminding me that I was doing the very thing I wasn’t supposed to be doing. I was here to give the students of Morgan Elementary hope, not Lincoln.

I sniffed and regretted it because he was close enough that I knew he was wearing a cologne that made it even harder to behave myself. It was something woodsy that reminded me of home, wrapped up in something that was all Lincoln. Sexy, alluring, and...fuckable.

I needed to get out of there, and I needed to get out of there like, yesterday.

“I gotta go.” I kicked myself for sharing my plan, like I needed his permission to leave. He wasn’t the boss of me. I could just...go.

I turned to do just that, and he caught my arm in a way that made me gasp. Not out of fear. Out of possession, like he used to, when he took my wrists and held them above my head and ordered me to tell him to fuck me.

---