Page 101 of Home to the Hollow

Goody.

Boys

We still haven’t talked about the day at State U, but that’s mostly because I’ve been running around hell’s half acre. Midterm projects have been kicking my ass, and the time I’ve spent explaining to parents that students’ grades in art are absolutely part of their GPA is horrifying. Some kids are there because they want to learn or love to create, but there are almost as many who chose this as an arts elective expecting the same ‘pass if I see you in class’ attitude my predecessor must have had. I don’t work that way, and the demands of the small town elite won’t cow me.

Don’t want to fail? Do your work and show up.

I won’t penalize someone for not being gifted in visual arts; everyone learns differently and I measure success not in perfection, but in the joy of creation. However, sitting in class and acting like a 90s cartoon with the clay or snickering during figure drawing is not the path to my good graces. Teddy offered to intervene with some of the football parents, but I refused. Students and parents alike need to recognize my authority in the classroom and respect my judgment. Otherwise, I’d be stuck bowing and scraping to some mercurial shitheads whenever they feel like tossing a barb my way.

I had similar problems with my private lessons. Britannia isn’t as snarky; in fact, she’s been damned near silent for the past couple of weeks. She comes in, works on her projects, cleans up, and leaves without saying much of anything. I’m not sure what happened—maybe she grew the hell up. I thought the change in behavior would mitigate the stress of running the studio and teaching while hunting for clues for the mysterious shit we research in my garage.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case.

Once Britannia was off her bullshit, other students started acting like their shit smelled like roses. The Barrington twins and their friend, Ariel Nancy Behle, have been torturing me with snide questions, muttered remarks, and ass-sucking attitude. I’ve spent weeks hearing the perennial junior high school taunt—the ‘whore’ cough.

Luckily, I know very junior high girls don’t know their asses from their elbows, and expecting them to understand the complexities of polyamorous relationships would be ridiculous.

Besides, they’re repeating what their mothers are saying. I can’t blame them for being jerks; you can’t make excellent decisions when you’re only provided half of the information.

The stress from managing their bullshit for two weeks is weighing on me, so when I pull up to my house to find a crew of short, gruff people carting building materials up my front lawn, my jaw drops. Edgar is sitting on the porch with a bourbon, watching them in the waning light of the evening like a feudal lord. The imagery is giggle-worthy, but the activity is not. I have zero interest in putting up with a bunch of builders whacking away at my place while I try to relax and decompress.

What the actual fuck was he thinking?It’s a school night, and while he doesn’t have to be up early, the rest of us do. I’m going to murder him.

“Teddy!” I call as I stomp onto the porch. “What in the name of Colonel Sanders is going on here?”

His grin spreads as he stands, walking to the edge of the verandah with his glass in hand. “Tilly, thank hell you’re home. The pup and doc are in the backyard, and the Irish git is playing Halo on the Xbox. He’s a sore loser, and I had to come out here before we had a tussle.”

Rolling my eyes, I cross my arms over my chest and tap my foot. “That doesnotexplain why there’s a small contingent of dwarf-like people hauling two-by-fours across my lawn at six pm!”

Edgar arches a brow, taking the steps one at a time to move towards me. At first, I don’t realize why he’s moving so slowly, but then I take in his appearance. He’s clad in a tight white compression shirt and his loose grey ‘coach pants’. The athlete’s muscles he works so hard on are on full display, and my eyes widen as I watch him come down the stairs so slowly I can see everything—and I meaneverything—move. Licking my lips, I open my mouth to chastise him again, but nothing comes out.

“Something wrong, drugar?” he asks, his face a picture of faux innocence.

Thatmotherfucker.

He planned this to the tee, knowing I wouldn’t be able to yell at him when he looks like a fucking football god. I mean, I could give a red randy shit about sports, but watching Teddy play shirts and skins with his buddies is on the shower playlist. It’s lady porn, and the scent alone is enough to make you lose your underwear.

“Uh… no. I would like to know… why…” I mutter, blinking my eyes and shaking my head to clear the lust fog that seems to filter through my system. “Why… house.”

His laugh is deep and masculine, and if I could glare, I would. “Why house, huh? Mostly because we don’t sleep outside in the weather, Tilly. Everyone needs shelter,” he chuckles, stepping in front of me and running his fingertips over my flushed cheek.

Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes and fight the animal part of my brain so I can focus. I don’t know what this man does to me, but every cell screams for him the second he comes into view. I feel like there’s an invisible tether between us that draws me, and when it tugs, I have no choice but to obey. “The supplies.”

“Oh!That,” Teddy says, lifting my chin and waiting for me to look him in the eyes. “Well, we need to expand the house before everyone moves in. Your parents had more land than I realized, and the boys and I are working on adapting the place to accommodate our pack.”

My eyes narrow. “Expand how?”

He drops a kiss on my lips and pulls back, holding out his hand. “Come see. It’s pretty amazing, if I say so myself.”

Isn’t he being charming? That’s not suspiciousat all.

But I take his hand, letting him lead me down the front walk to the driveway. He stops, looking up at the second floor, and I blanch. We can’t add another floor to a house this old. What the hell were they smoking? I mean, I don’t know when it was built because I remember a little of my childhood, but I’m over thirty and…

“Stop thinking so hard, Tilly. I can practically hear it.” Ignoring my frown, he gestures at the facade. “We considered going up, but it’s not new enough. Plus, I think it would ruin the look. So we decided we’re going to go out and back.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Like I said, I didn’t realize how much land your parents had, but it butts up against Jamie’s. I figured it out the other night when—uh, when we were out all night. The pup reminded us that if we all move in here, we’re going to have our own places to contend with. None of us were keen to sell, so he and the doc decided they’ll convert their place into a full-fledged clinic—human and animals. It’ll free up some space on Main for more small businesses—which Doyle talked to Nelia about. She loves the idea.”

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