Page 2 of Love Me Not

Why were people who could throw or hit or catch a ball so valuable in our society, when those who added real value on a daily basis were taken for granted, ignored, or completely dismissed? And yes, I considered teachers to be in the value adding category.

“A coach across the hall,” I muttered, not bothering to hide my disappointment. “Lovely.”

The big guy gave me a Bambi in the high beams look. “You don’t seem happy about that.”

How astute of him. “I’m not a sports-y person.” He didn’t offer a reply and I proceeded into his classroom. Nearly every desk held a poster, all face down, and one giant sheet-looking thing was draped over four or five desks in a cluster. “Are you planning to hang all of these?” I asked.

“As many as I can fit, yeah.” He crossed the room and placed the step stool close to the wall not far from what I assumed was the map. “If you hold one side up, I can attach the other without tearing it.”

Eager to get this over with, I climbed the two steps and waited for him to hand over my corner. The paper was much thinner than I expected, to the point of being fragile. “This thing is ancient.”

“Not quite,” he said. “About fifty years old. Lift your corner as high as you can reach and I’ll match you over here.”

I wasn’t a petite woman, but I wasn’t runway model tall either. Still, my pride took a hit when Mr. Football was able to extend his corner to match mine without the use of a stool.

“I can go higher,” I said, testing to see how far he could stretch.

“This is good.” He put a small piece of paper over the corner, then stuck a pin through both materials. Coming over to stand by my stool, he handed me a similar piece, which turned out to be a triangle of cardstock. “This helps keep the map from getting damaged. Just stick the pin through both.”

The instructions were unnecessary, but I made sure to face the wall before rolling my eyes. I pressed the pin as hard as I could with my arm extended high above my head, but couldn’t get the leverage needed to penetrate through both the cardstock and the map.

“Need some help?” he asked, seeing my obvious struggle.

“I’ve got it.” This pin would not defeat me. Using both hands, I pressed with more determination, feeling the rush of victory as the tiny point penetrated the wall. “Got it,” I said, lowering my arms. The movement threw me off balance and gravity took over.

Oh, no.

Flailing, I fought to keep myself upright, but backwards I went with a highly inappropriate expletive flying out of my mouth. Before I could brace for impact, I landed in a pair of strong arms and was pressed against a chest that felt more like a brick wall than a human being.

Stunned, I found myself staring into his bright blue eyes.

“Are you okay?” he asked, holding me in the air as if I weighed no more than the map.

“I lost my balance,” I said, pointing out the obvious. The scent of pine and man and a hint of cinnamon filled my senses, while heat gathered where our bodies touched. The fall had clearly scared me into a temporary insanity. “You can put me down,” I demanded, squirming to get my feet on the floor.

He gently set me upright and I stepped back to put more space between us. “Is that all you needed?”

The man had the nerve to look amused. “I can get the rest of these on my own, but I appreciate your help. Sorry about the fall. You sure you’re good?”

“I’m fine.” With one swift move, I folded the stool and carried it to the doorway, intent on returning to my room with what little dignity I had left.

“Thanks again,” he called as I stepped into the hall. Without looking back, I waved in acknowledgement, crossed into my own room and closed the door.

“You fell into his arms?” Georgie whispered over her cup of tea. “That’s such a meet-cute moment.”

We were taking a break in the teachers’ lounge, and despite my better judgment, I shared the details of my morning encounter.

“Don’t start,” I said. “It was more accidental trust fall than a scene from one of your books.”

At fifty-five, Georgie had twenty-four books published, all of them romance novels. Though not my first genre of choice, I’d read them all. Mostly for the laughs. The woman was a natural at comedy, and one bonus of actually knowing her was that I could hear her telling me the stories in my head.

The students had no idea. Some of the books fell into the super steamy category, and for that reason she preferred to keep her writer self and teacher self completely separate. The day a girl walked into class with one of Georgie’s books in hand, I’d evoked my best acting skills to pretend I knew nothing.

An Oscar winning performance, if I did say so myself.

“But that’s what makes it a meet-cute,” she argued. “Plain Jane English teacher falls into the arms of the hunky new football coach.” She whipped out the tiny notebook and pen ever present in her pocket. “This is definitely going into a book. I can’t believe I didn’t think of this before.”

Was that how she saw me? As a plain Jane? The description fit, so I couldn’t really argue. Though I preferred the term low maintenance. I kept my brown hair in a ponytail most of the time, wore almost no makeup—at least not to work—and kept my wardrobe simple.

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