Page 14 of Waiting for Friday Night

“I thought you didn’t care.”

“I don’t, but you’re talking about it, so I guess you want me to care.”

“I don’t want you to care. You brought up the conversation and I’m finishing it.”

She reached for the instructions he’d put down and a pen. She read where he’d stopped. “One big challenge is making sure everyone understands the schedule change.”

“I guess he’s your type, huh?”

Halle sighed and met his gaze. His eyes were dark, piercing even, and they didn’t waver as they met hers. That was something she appreciated about him; he didn’t break eye contact when he spoke. He watched, listened. She’d at least give him that. Quinton Evans gave you his full attention when you spoke to him. Which could be considered attractive.

“If you must know, yes. He is my type.”

“Hmm.” He watched her for a second; she expected him to say more, but instead he slid over the legal pad on the table and a pen. “The new schedule is going to cause some problems. Parents who have to get to work early may drop off kids at the front door of the middle school now that middle school is starting at eight thirty instead of eight. For kids with special needs who will need to have someone at the school when they’re dropped off, this could cause some conflicts.”

Halle nodded. “That’s a good point.”

“You sound surprised that I’d make a good point?”

“Not surprised, just glad to see that you’re thinking outside of your box.”

He leaned an elbow on the table and met her eyes again. “It’s not outside of my box. My younger sister is a paraplegic and in a wheelchair. Back home our middle school started at eight and kids couldn’t be dropped off until seven fifteen. But my mom had to be at work at five and my dad didn’t get off work from his shift job until ten. So, she’d drop me off at the school with my sister and I waited with her until the teachers arrived.”

Halle’s face heated and her stomach twisted in knots. She was an asshole. “I’m sorry for assuming.”

He shrugged. “No need to be sorry for the facts of my life. I just know the change in schedule can have consequences others may not have considered.”

He looked down at the paper and wrote: have someone at the school to meet kids with special needs. His handwriting was bold and messy. Completely opposite of his neat and controlled appearance.

“What is your type?” she blurted out.

The words landed like a brick on the table between them. Heavy and awkward. She had no idea why she asked. She didn’t care about his type. Except, she would assume he was into supermodels and actresses because he was a former professional athlete. Just like she’d assumed he’d have neat handwriting or wouldn’t think of the school schedule outside of how it affected his football team. She might be wrong, and suddenly, she was curious to know more about Coach Quinton Evans.

He stared at her, a line between his brows and confusion in his dark eyes. Halle held up a hand to stop him from answering. “Forget I asked.”

“I don’t have a type,” he said right after.

Halle cocked a brow. “Does that mean you’re a man who dates all types of women?”

“I am someone who doesn’t limit his possibilities to a person that meets certain criteria. You never know what makes a person tick until you get to know them. Why would I say I only date women with X type of personality or who look a certain type of way, when someone who is completely different is the right person for me?”

She was once again surprised by his answer. “Are you serious?”

“I am. I’ve been underestimated my entire life. Why would I underestimate someone’s potential?”

Again, his gaze didn’t waver as he spoke to her. His deep voice resonated with truth and confidence. “You think I’m limiting myself by having a type?”

He lifted one broad shoulder. “Only you can answer that. But I mean if you rule out a guy simply because of some arbitrary trait then...yeah. Maybe you are.”

“Or, maybe I just know what I like and who I’m compatible with.”

“If that’s what you want to go with.”

“It is what I’m going with.” Damn, did she sound defensive? She did sound defensive.

He shifted forward in his seat. “Cool with me.”

“Good.” She pointed to the paper. “Let’s finish this.”

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