Page 9 of Wicked Rivals

With a tight smile, I turned to Enzo’s social sciences teacher while fighting the urge to storm away.

“Mr. Luka, hi. How are you?”

“I’m well, thank you. Beautiful day, isn’t it?”

“You can say that again,” I said.

Then I returned my attention to the swing set, hoping this “chance to talk” wasn’t code for more of his attempts to flirt with me. Maybe he would just express his disappointment in me for having missed the last night of parent-teacher conferences.

The same thought must have gone through Enzo’s head as he watched us. He didn’t stop swinging, but a thin line darkened between his brows as he scowled at his teacher.

“I… um… I wanted to talk to you about one of Enzo’s recent assignments,” Mr. Luka said.

Good. At least I could mark attempted flirtation off the list, though I tried not to look too relieved.

“Which one?”

“Well, the fourth-grade students have been exploring their personal genealogies in class. You know, their family trees.”

“Mm-hmm… yes, I do know,” I said.

It took more energy than I had not to tell the man to mind his damn business. I knew where the conversation was going.

“Yes, well, he put your name and the name of your grandmother on his tree. The grandmother who used to make me the best cappuccinos at that little café down the street.”

My tight smile quickly soured, and all I wanted was to get out of that conversation.

“Con Amore, yes. So? I hope you’re not about to tell me the history of inherited family businesses is part of the assignment.”

Mr. Luka chuckled, his breath puffing out near the side of my face. He kept grinning while I watched Enzo.

The man stood way too close to me.

“No, nothing quite that detailed,” he said. “But I couldn’t help noticing the paternal side of Enzo’s family tree was blank, and he’s usually quick to complete his assignments in class?—”

“His father isn’t in the picture,” I blurted to make him stop.

But as soon as the words left my mouth, I knew it had been the wrong thing to say.

Mr. Luka’s gaze roamed down my body and then slowly came back to my face, like he was trying to memorize every curve to better imagine what I looked like without my sweater.

“Why is that?” he asked.

“What? I'm sorry, Mr. Luka, but?—”

“Please, call me Donnie.”

His thousand-watt smile probably sent many women down on their knees. But it didn’t work on me. And it never would.

With his overly styled hair, waxed eyebrows, overpriced but poorly tailored suit, and his obvious veneers, he might as well color me unimpressed.

I guessed the man was attractive enough if you were into that kind of thing.

But something about him sent an alarm blasting through my bones, telling me to stay the fuck away.

This was not the type of man I would consider inviting into my life… or my bed.

Donnie Luka pretended to be strong and in control, but from the moment I’d met him at the beginning of the school year, I marked him as a man who would fold under the pressure of any real challenge.

---