Page 67 of The Thought of You

He hums as he saunters toward me, and a glint bounces in his emerald eyes like a pinball. That irritating, mischievous twinkle makes me feel as if I’m on display.

“By the way, you promised to keep the ball on your side,” I point out.

“Not my fault you got in the way.”

I scoff. “I was teaching my class.”

“Were you?” He stops a foot from me. “Because it seemed like you were doing an awful lot of staring at the PE teacher instead of discussing Hester Prynne and all… her… naughty ways.”

“Pfft.” The sound slips from my lips more like a purr.

It was supposed to hold more indifference. I’m not supposed to react so easily to the way his words drip with suggestive innuendos, but his slow utterance just sent a heat wave through my nervous system.

“Don’t worry—I won’t tell anyone, Lockhart.” One corner of his lip curls upward. “I’ll simply add it to our growing list of secrets.”

“The other night never happened,” I draw out, but it’s no use. At the moment, I couldn’t convince anyone a tree’s trunk is brown, not with my breathy voice full of weakness.

“If it never happened, then how come I can still taste you?” His tone drops an octave when he says taste.

It’s sensual—so excruciatingly and tantalizingly sensual.

He whistles a tune as he returns to his side of the gym, while I stifle my urge to climb him like a freaking tree right here at my sacred place of work.

I’ve never entertained such a heinous idea, and I wish I didn’t mean it.

Owen Conrad has turned my whole damn life upside down.

“Oh, my Lord, no,” I mutter under my breath as I turn my car off and take in the pink-and-yellow van parked on the side of my house. “It’s fine. She’s probably dropping off Kin’s green beans,” I say, totally talking to myself because I’ve completely lost my mind. “It’s fine. All is well.”

With a deep inhale—followed by a second and a third—I finally step out of the car, tote in hand like a security blanket, and trudge up the steps.

Rain swings the door open, and it’s not just Kin who’s behind her; she’s brought friends, as in plural.

I did not take enough deep breaths before walking in here.

“My baby’s home!” Rain tosses her arms around my shoulders. “You were gone a long time today.”

I sigh. “This is how long I work every day.”

“No wonder you have those bags under your eyes.” She studies me, then fluffs my hair. “But your hair is gorgeous. I love that we look so alike. What did Mr. PE say last weekend—that we could be twins?”

“He says a lot of crazy stuff.”

“I like him,” she says in an airy, singsongy voice. “He’s good for you.”

“It’s funny how you remember what he said about us, but you don’t recall that I told you we’re not together.”

Her eyes widen. “You two had sex!”

The strangers occupying my living room turn their heads, and I’ve never wanted to be a rug so badly. I’d actually prefer to be the paisley rug they’re currently sinking their bare feet into.

I gasp. “No, we didn’t.”

“You let him sip from your sacred garden. I can tell.” Kin winks at me.

“That’s so—how dare—you have some gall—” I open and close my mouth, floundering like a fish on a hot sidewalk.

“I can tell too,” Rain chimes in.

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