Page 1 of Tattooed By Her Silver Fox

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Vi

“Idon’t blame you for taking the late car rider duty today.” Claire bumps my shoulder with hers in the school lounge before she takes a seat across from me and unpacks her yogurt. “I’ve never been one for staying late when I could be home soaking in a tub, but that kid’s father is a DILF if I ever saw one.”

Claire has a way with words and a voice that travels, and she makes no effort to rein in either.

I have to stretch from my seat to close the door leading out into the hallway, so no students accidentally overheard her talking about attractive dads and what she’d like to do with them.

I wait for her to finish making whistling noises before I interject. “That’s not why I volunteered, and you know it.”

“Sure, it isn’t.” She licks yogurt off the top of her container. “If that’s what you need to tell yourself. Not that anyone who’s met Mr. Fox in person would believe you.”

I’ve never met Robby Fox. His son’s been sitting in my kindergarten class all school year, but Mr. Fox hasn’t made an effort to show up for parent conferences or open houses. Heck, getting him on the phone is a challenge. And lately, he’s taken to picking Bash up late.

“Some of us are just more professional than others,” I toss back over the table. “Besides, when I’m done giving that man a piece of my mind, I doubt he’ll be interested in a date.”

“You never know, Vi. Men like him…” She trails off and shakes her head. “Those tattoo-covered biceps could wrap around me anytime, and I can assure you the last thing on my mind would be to read him the riot act over picking his kid up late from school.”

I take a bite out of my sandwich and watch her fake faint into her chair. “Really?” I add when she’s done and sitting up again. “I heard the motor grease is caked so thick on his fingernails they are black.”

Claire’s light blue eyes focus on me for several long seconds in a grim expression before she utters out, “and you have an issue with men who are good with their hands because?”

“Better than liking them for their tattooed arms.” I roll my eyes at Claire, but it’s all in fun. After a morning of nonstop kids, we like to blow off some steam slamming on each other.

Claire waves a carrot stick around as she speaks. We’re both on diets. We never really get off of them, to be honest. Though mine is to help me keep my curves in check while Claire is perfect no matter what she eats.

“You just have a thing against tattoos,” she says before popping the carrot in her mouth.

“No, I don’t.” I have no idea where she came up with that idea. I have a whole Pinterest board full of potential designs. I just haven’t found the right one, or the right place on my body, or the right person to do the ink. “Besides, the whole district rule about dating parents.”

“Well, we’ll see how you fare after late car rider duty today. I’ll place my money on you telling the district where they can stick that rule by tonight.”

I’m about to tell Claire she’s crazy when the lounge door swings open, and Principal Garcia walks in, followed by a group of teachers, and the words crawl back down my throat. I glance at Claire just in time to catch her knowing grin.

I put my sandwich in my mouth and chomp down, knowing I haven’t heard the end of Mr. Fox and his tattooed arms from Claire.

Fox

By the time I pull my Wranger up to the curb of the school, it’s already half after five. The teacher lot has cleared out, and I’m the only car parked at the school’s entrance. Normally I’m on my hog, but now that I have Bash in tow more often, I’m in the jeep most of the time.

I’m late. Again. Robby didn’t ask me to pick Bash up from school until an hour ago, and I was halfway done with a tat I’d spent the better part of the day outlining.

Owning my own shop has been a dream come true, but now that Robby’s living at home and depending on me to help support him and Bash, it’s hell getting in enough hours at the shop to keep my steady clientele happy.

As soon as I ring the bell at the front door and a curt voice tells me to come in, I know I’m walking into a hornet’s nest of anger and accusations. Not that I can blame the school. Since my daughter-in-law jumped ship a month ago, this is the fourth time Robby’s had to call me for pick-up duty, and each time I’ve been...late.

“Be right out,” floats into the room from the principal’s office. I’m sure I’m about to have my ass handed to me again. Not that I blame them. This shit is getting frustrating, and Bash’s school isn’t in our zone, but no one wanted to pull him out mid-year. They’re doing us a favor by allowing Bash to stay even though Robby is now living twenty minutes away.

I’m expecting the usual secretary at the front desk, a prude with a foot-long stick up her ass, but her seat is empty, and the vision that walks out of the office with Bash by her side is anything but a prude.

Her gaze goes right down to my arms crossed over my chest and the shirt sleeves I’ve rolled to my elbows. She’s judging me for my ink. I feel it in her stare.

“I’m Victoria Catto, Bash’s kindergarten teacher.”

She extends her hand, and I’m struck with the feeling of not being worthy of taking it. I’m covered in ink from my fingers to my arms and chest, making a stark contrast to her alabaster skin. And she’s soft to the touch. Fuck, she’s sweet. It’s been a while for me, but damn I’m hard just from shaking her hand.

“Mr. Fox.” She says my name and I throb. That voice. Men have lost their minds over wanting to hear their names cross the lips of women who speak as she does. And I’m now counting myself among them. My name moaned between those lips night after night could be all I need to live on for the rest of my life.

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