Page 25 of Tangled

“Fuck, a year? And I here I complained that I only get it twice a week,” he jokes, but his laughter falls on deaf ears. I donotfind this funny.

Drew rubs his chin in thought as he circles around my classroom, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose before trying to reason with me.

“I agree no one should know, but does that mean it has to be just a one-time thing? There’s obviously something there between the two of you. She may have looked like she wanted to murder you, but all I felt was sexual tension.”

Yeah, I felt it too. The woman may be trying to convince me and herself that she can’t stand me, but all I feel is her denying her attraction. I mean, we obviously slept together already, so there’s no doubt that she felt the same way about me physically that I did about her. The woman was fire and ice, singing my flesh before offering relief in the form of a mind-numbing orgasm.

And that night I had no other thought than to accept that it was a single occurrence. But now that I know who she is and we’ll obviously be near each other, I can’t help but wonder if she’d be down for a repeat. I’m definitely not looking for a relationship, but the sex was too good to pass up again.

“Nah, I get the feeling she’s more angry that we ended up being co-workers, and then I saved her from some bugs.”

“Why is she here anyway? I mean, math teachers are scarce, especially ones that know their stuff and look like her. There has to be a reason why she took a job this far into the school year.”

Drew has a point. It’s not very often teachers change jobs in the middle of the year, or any time into a school year. Something must have happened that brought her to Emerson Falls. But no sooner do I realize that, I shove the thought from my mind.

It’s not my business. She’s not my business. I may want to fuck her senseless again, but no good can come from digging deeper than that. I learned my lesson with letting women in.

“I hate to burst your bubble, Sherlock, but I have no desire, nor the time, to figure out why she’s here,” I say, glancing up at the clock as I realize the bell is about to ring, signaling the start of our next classes.

“Well, shoot me for trying to nudge you in the right direction.”

“And what direction is that?”

Drew tilts his head at me. “Come on, Kane. It’s been three years since Natasha. I know she fucked you up, but are you going to just be alone forever because one bitch broke your heart?”

“I didn’t know you cared so much, Dr. Phil.”

Shaking his head, Drew begins to retreat from my room. “I’m not saying it has to be with Olivia—although, you could do a lot worse,” he wiggles his eyebrows at me. “I just hate to see you waste the best years of your life because you’re punishing yourself and anyone else for what your ex did to you.”

One drunken night I divulged the entire history of my relationship with Natasha to Drew. I barely remember the conversation, but I’m pretty sure I threatened him within an inch of his life if he brought it up again.

“You’d better go before I make it so you and Tammy can never have kids, Drew.”

He laughs at me while walking out of my door. “She’d kill you before you ever got the chance to touch me. Don’t be a dick, Kane. It’s not becoming of you.”

“Kiss my ass, Drew,” I fire back, just as the bell rings and students infiltrate the halls.

I know Drew is right, but fuck if it doesn’t make me apprehensive about letting a woman get further than just sex. Sex is easy. Sex is safe. I can shut off my feelings and just focus on the wet heat of a woman clenching my dick.

But that was before Olivia Walsh sucked me in and spit me out. I wasn’t ever supposed to see her again.

Funny how the universe had different plans.

Chapter 13

Olivia

“Okay, you know it’s a school night and I had to rip the talons of my offspring off of my legs to get here, so this better be good,” Amy says as she grumbles through my front door and throws her purse on my couch. Her oldest just started kindergarten this year, which I’ve heard changes the parenting game tremendously.

“Oh, it’s good alright,” Clara declares from the kitchen where Perry, her and I are huddled around a pitcher of margaritas and chips and salsa.

“I at least made you food. And I have margaritas,” I try to soothe my friend as she makes her way into the kitchen to join us.

“No tequila for me, thanks. I think I’ve learned that lesson.”

“It’s different when you take shots. Mixed in a margarita with the combination of all the sugar, it won’t hit you as hard,” Clara pipes up while taking a long draw of the frozen concoction and then smacking her lips in appreciation.

“John had to take care of the kids on his own until noon on Saturday so I could sleep off my hangover. When I finally emerged from our room, the house looked like the Tasmanian Devil paid us a visit. I went from hungover to fully enraged. Then John and I got in a huge fight. I can’t handle that again.”

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