Page 36 of Stone Promises

Mallory stares at the orange ball as it rolls off the driveway and lays to rest in the bushes. “I can’t believe you won.”

“Believe it, baby,” I say, smiling from ear to ear. Although if I’m being totally honest, and I hope I am, I’d say she had something to do with it. I look at my watch. “You have exactly one hour to get ready. Now find me a red pen so I can play teacher.”

For the next sixty minutes, I transform into Chad Stone—school teacher. I have a ball grading dozens of papers that are dated all the way back to Monday. Was she really so distracted by me that she hasn’t been able to do anything since then?

For a while, I wonder what life would have been like for us if I’d have stayed here and followed that dream. Would we still live in this town? Maybe even in one of these houses? Life would be so simple. So perfectly normal. No. I love what I do. I just don’t always love the crap that comes along with it.

I hear her heels click on the hardwood as she comes downstairs. I put the papers away, happy that I’ve made a good dent in them for her. When she comes around the corner, my heart stops. “Uh, Mal . . . if you don’t want this to be a date, don’t wear shit like that.”

My eyes travel the length of her from head to toe. She has another green blouse on, this one darker than the one she wore to Ethan’s. It makes her eyes stand out. But tonight, instead of jeans, she’s wearing a black skirt. Ashortblack skirt. I can see her shapely legs. Legs that beg to be wrapped around a man. And that man better bloody well be me.

“You didn’t say where we were going, so I hope this will do,” she says.

I tamp down my boyish fantasies about fourth-grade teachers in sinfully short skirts. “You’re gonna kill me, Ms. Schaffer.”

Mallory rifles through the papers I graded, smiling as she flips from one to the next.

“What?” I ask. “Didn’t think a college drop-out could grade a bunch of nine-year-olds’ math problems?”

She shakes her head laughing. “It’s not that.” She flips one of the papers around and points to the upper corner. “I just didn’t think a big movie star would draw smiley faces on them.”

“Well, I didn’t have any of those gold star stickers. Do they still use those?”

“Not so much anymore, we use stamps and, um . . . smiley faces,” she says, rolling those gorgeous emerald-green eyes.

“Ha! See—I’msoan awesome school teacher. I missed my calling.”

She straightens the pile of papers and puts them back in a folder. “No, you definitely did not miss your calling.”

Now I’m the one smiling. “Oh, really? Are you telling me you’ve seen my movies, Ms. Schaffer?”

“Don’t call me Ms. Schaffer, it’s kind of pervy.”

I laugh. “Answer the question, Mal.” I walk over and stand in front of her. “Have. You. Seen. My. Movies? Simple question.”

“Not the new one,” she says, still refusing to outright admit anything.

“So you have? And what aboutMalibu?I know you watched season one, but after . . . did you watch the others?”

She looks anywhere but at me.

“Come on, Mal.”

She scrunches her nose, putting a cute-as-hell wrinkle in it. “Okay, fine. I watched them. All seventy-two episodes. Are you happy now?”

She pouts, heading for the door but I grab her hand and pull her back to me, landing her so close, our faces are only inches apart. I get a good whiff of her incredible scent. God, she evensmellslike a school teacher—fresh and clean and innocent, yet so damn sexy. “What’s the name of your perfume?”

She narrows her eyes at me. “It’s called ‘Desire Me’. Why?”

Of course it is.I repeat it over and over in my head so I don’t forget the name.As if.I’ll need to know it later, for when I send her a gallon of it. “Just curious, that’s all. It’s nice.”

“Thanks, I like it, too. Are you ready to go? I thought you were starving.”

I open the door for her and eye her legs as she walks through. “Yes, I absolutely am.”

We load up in the backseat of the car and I tell Cole where to take us. “The Pizza Garden on 5th, please.”

He punches it into the GPS as Mallory squeals. Good, I was hoping that was the reaction I’d get. “Still your favorite place?” I ask.

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