Page 18 of Defending her Heart

“Would fuck-face be a proper noun?”

“It’s universal.”

“Maybe I should drop in on your class. Sounds like I need a lesson in fucking.”

I choke. He chokes. And not in a sexual way, unfortunately.

“I mean...I didn’t mean...”

I hold up my hand to stop him from having to explain. “You suck at apologizing.”

Fuck. Suck. Choking.

Had I known Nash was going to crash my day, I would have packed another pair of panties. Not that I like him or anything. Just because he’s pretty doesn’t change the fact that he’s an asshole.

Nash nods. “I spoke with your principal—”

“The fuck? How dare you tell him lies!”

No one would say I have a clean mouth, but I don’t usually drop the F bomb four hundred times in a ten minute conversation unless I’m wasted. Definitely not in the conference room at my place of employment.

“I wanted to introduce myself since I haven’t been able to make any of the school events this year, and to tell him howmuch my daughter loves her kindergarten teacher. I also told him how kind you were to help my parents out the other day.”

“Oh.” I fold my hands and rest them on the table in front of me, unsure what to do with them. Hug him. Slap him for being an idiot. Reach for the door and flee before I climb him like a koala.

“Seeing you out of context threw me for a loop. We’ve only met a handful of times, and the situation has always been, well, not kindergarten friendly.”

I remain quiet, not wanting to accept his apology but no longer wanting to fight him either.

Nash runs his thumbnail along the grain of the wood in the table. “I’m protective of my daughter. Some may say I’m over protective.”

I can’t fault him there. I’ve witnessed too much child neglect in my job, even working at a private school. It’s not wealth or the fancy vacations that make children feel loved, it’s time and attention. Something I haven’t seen from Paisley’s father.

Now I understand why. Sort of.

“I don’t trust anyone but my family with my daughter. She’s never had a babysitter other than my parents and my sister, when we lived closer. Learning my parents allowed someone I’d never met to take care of her, allowed a stranger into my home, well, it pissed me the hell off. But you weren’t in the wrong.”

“I appreciate your apology.” It doesn’t change the fact that he thinks I’m a slut, but as long as he keeps his personal, incredibly incorrect opinion of me to himself, I can get over it. I’ve been called worse. Treated worse.

I still don’t like the man though.

We sit for a moment in silence. There’s nothing for me to say, and it seems like Nash is out of words, so I reach for the door handle.

“Kendall.”

I raise my brow and give him my teacher's stare.

“Miss Wentworth.” He huffs out another sigh and tucks his hands into the front pockets of his jeans as if nervous. “I was wondering if...”

Oh, lordy. Is he asking me out? Shit. What should I say? If I say yes, does that make me appear cheap and easy like he’d accused me of being? If I say no, does that ruin the possibility of ever seeing his body all the way naked?

Shit. Do I even want to go out with a man who says such horrid things, even if his body puts every Marvel superhero to shame?

“My parents are still ill and I won’t get out of training tonight until after seven.”

On school nights, I eat dinner by six and am in bed by ten, but I can make an exception. Wait. Does that mean I’m going to say yes? I feel my cheeks burning, and I’m not a blusher. I’m usually the one who makes others blush.

He reaches behind his neck and scratches again. The bulge in his bicep pumps up like a mountain peak I so want to climb.

---