Page 16 of The Love You Win

“How long have you been teaching?” He only makes the briefest eye contact with me when he asks, focusing on his dinner. I don’t blame him. At least his dinner won’t scowl at him like I’ve been doing.

“Not long at all.” Even though it can feel like ages. “I worked hard to graduate early. Took classes through the summer and almost killed myself getting my masters in an accelerated timeline. But this is only my second year.”

Alex hated how much extra time I spent studying so I could graduate early. It cut into my time with him, and it meant I couldn’t always attend the dinners he wanted me to attend. Being in a committed relationship looked good to the partners of the firms he was trying to get into, which meant he loved to parade me around. I spent so many nights apologizing for pursuing my own goals. Because Chris-Hemsworth-forbid he ever had to attend work events alone. Why did I ever apologize for that? I never asked him to put his dreams on hold for me. Never would.

Maddox watches me closely as my mind wanders. I shake my head to clear my thoughts when I notice his attention on me. “I did my student teaching at Center. I fell in love with the kids and practically begged my way into a job. It can be difficult both mentally and emotionally, but it’s so worth it.”

“You really care about your students.” It’s a statement, not a question, but I get the sense he’s trying to figure me out. That I’m a lowly English teacher seems to have blown his mind.

“I do. They’re great kids. I’m lucky I get to be a part of their lives.” And I am lucky. I think in the two years I’ve taught at Center High, I’ve learned more about tenacity and perseverance from my students than they’ve learned about Thoreau or Orwell from me.

And while I believe literature is important because it opens our minds to new perspectives and thoughts in a way little else can, I’m not blind to the fact that having the time and freedom to get lost in a book is a privilege some of these kids don’t have. So many work part-time jobs after school gets out. Some have to take care of siblings or grandparents. And they do it. Without complaint.

It’s humbling. I don’t think I was ever that strong at their age.

Maddox nods. “I’d be honored to speak at your school.”

“Really?”

“Truly.”

Despite my best efforts to control my reaction, I let out a little squeal of happiness. To think, somehow this amazing moment came out of the worst first date I’ve ever had—maybe the worst date period.

So, maybe I’ll die alone and sexually unfulfilled. Maybe I’ll never make Alex jealous enough to crawl through pig slop in a bid to beg my forgiveness. Maybe I’m just not built for love. I was built to be a fantastic teacher. And right now, that’s good enough for me.

I hold out my hand for Maddox to shake, a genuine smile stretching wide across my face. “Then you have a deal.”

seven

MADDOX

I don’t know what to make of Isla Harding.

I thought for sure the happy, calculating look she gave me meant she was doing the math on how much money she could get me to spend. Between the cash she forked out for this date and the expensive dress she’s wearing, it’s clear the woman values money. Or at least has expensive tastes. So finding out that not only is she an English teacher at a school most wealthy women wouldn’t step foot in, but she wants to use her favor to get me to speak to her students?

I’m stumped. Utterly confused. And I’m looking at my date in a whole new light.

It will be very inconvenient if she ends up being likable.

“So, are you a big hockey fan?” I need to figure her out.

She chuckles as she pushes her salad around. “I’ve never watched a hockey game in my life.”

“Never?” How did she hear about the auction if she isn’t a hockey fan? “Just a hometown sports fan, then?”

“Um, not really. I’d rather read a good book than watch sports. I’ve never seen the appeal.” She wrinkles her nose. “Like, what’s so great about watching a bunch of guys who all think their dicks are the biggest in the room play with a ball or slap things around with a stick? Am I supposed to be impressed by that? And then all the guys just sitting around drinking beer while watching think their dicks are somehow bigger just for watching it. It’s a real sausage fest, isn’t it?”

It’s clear by her expression that sausage fest isn’t a compliment. I’m torn between being completely offended at the way she’s describing my profession and utterly amused.

“And don’t even get me started on the rampant misogyny involved with sports. Women athletes are called all kinds of names by men, and even if you just enjoy watching sports as a woman, you have to prove you’re watching it for the right reasons. Or that you’re an expert on the game. Because if you only casually enjoy watching, you must just like watching men run around in tight pants. As if that’s a crime. Or you’re a jersey chaser or a ball bunny or some other insulting name that implies any woman at a sports game must be on the prowl for a rich husband. That you’re happy to be used as a sexual object because you athletes must have dicks made of twenty-four-carat gold.” Her hands gesture wildly by the end of this speech, her eyes are full of fire, and I am more confused than ever.

“Twenty-four-carat gold is actually really soft.” That’s all I can think of to say. Because I am completely at a loss. Everything I assumed about Isla seems false, and now I want to know how she and I came to be sitting across this table from each other.

My dumb observation earns a genuine laugh from her, and the sound shoots straight to my cock. It’s free and loud and real.

“Exactly. And who wants to chase around after some limp-dicked, egomaniacal man-child? No, thank you.”

Man-child? What the hell? “Wow. Good to know how you really feel about me, Isla.”

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