Page 43 of Defending her Heart

“Who is your precious child?”

The panic in his eyes may go unnoticed to the viper, but I can see it. Hell, I can feel it. He guards his privacy, mostly Paisley’s privacy, with his life. Seeing he needs help, I set the book down in the middle of the circle.

“We’ll finish tomorrow. The rest of you can get your things so you’re ready when your family comes.”

I make my way across the room to Val, ignoring Nash. “Hi, Mrs. Cummings. I haven’t seen you in a while. Weston must be excited you’re here to pick him up.”

Lies. In fact, Weston seemed like he couldn’t care less. Like the little adorable sloth he is, he drags his coat on the floor until he reaches us.

Val doesn’t pay him or me any attention, her heavily made up eyes are still batting away at Nash. He hasn’t spoken, and Paisley hasn’t noticed him yet. The protective mama bear in me is ready to show her claws.

Wait. Not mama. Protective teacher. And part-time babysitter.

“Weston, why don’t you hand your mother your backpack while I help you with your coat.”

Still, Val ignores us. I see why little Wes is in no hurry to get home and be ignored.

“I watched you on TV last night,” Val says, moving closer to Nash. “You’re so good at what you do.”

Oh. My. God. The woman is pathetic. I’m sure she recognizes Nash’s face because, well, he’s gorgeous, and the media has it splashed all over the place, especially in season, but I highly doubt the woman knows a single thing about the game.

“Uh, thanks.” Nash shifts on his feet and avoids making eye contact with her. He has a bag squished under his arm and his body is tense.

I’m not sure how else to bail him out. I zip up Weston and ruffle his hair, then take his backpack from him and shove it at Val. She stumbles at the impact and finally notices her son and me standing less than a foot away.

“Oh. Excuse you.”

“Hi, Mrs. Cummings,” I say again with a grin as fake as, well, everything about her. “Weston is packed up and ready to head home. Have a wonderful afternoon. Bye, sweetie,” I say to Weston, giving him a hug since I imagine he won’t get many at home.

Val opens her mouth to berate me, no doubt, when two other parents show up, clogging up the small entrance to my room.

“Gotta keep the line moving. See you in the morning, Wes.” I greet Mrs. Newton and Freya, Ginger’s nanny. “Paisley, Ginger, and Gabe, gather your things.”

It’s then that Paisley looks up and the smile on her face stretches from ear to ear. She runs to her daddy and he scoops her up, lifting her above his head before resting her on his hip. She smacks her palms on either side of his face and covers him with kisses.

“Hi, Daddy.” She giggles when he tickles her.

Hell, the two of them do things to my insides that I really don’t need stirring up.

“Miss Wentworth, I can’t find my sweatshirt,” Gabe calls from the other side of the room.

I glance at Nash before helping Gabe. By the time the kids have their things and are leaving with their parents, Nash and Paisley are gone. Shit. I didn’t even get to talk to him.

A few minutes later, the last child is picked up and I return to my desk. The bag that was squished under Nash’s arm sits on the edge of it. He wouldn’t have accidentally dropped it over here since my desk isn’t by the door.

I could text him and ask him if he dropped it, or I could take a peek. Like there’s an option. I open the bag and take out a Revolutions jersey with a big 56 on the front andHumphriesstretched across the back.

The dirty look at last night’s game had to be because I wore Miles Buckingham’s jersey. This is either a thoughtful gift since I told him I only owned one jersey, or it’s a sign of possession. I’d much rather the latter, but Nash doesn’t own me. Do I want him to possess me? Hell yeah. In every sexual way imaginable.

If he picked up Paisley today, that means he’s off from work. I don’t want to infringe on his sacred time with his daughter, so I wait to text him. I ponder all night on what to say. Last night when Rowan dropped me off, my plan was perfect.

Now, I’m second guessing myself. Nash didn’t stick around to talk with me. He didn’t even include a note with the jersey. I could be reading into the gifts as thoughtful gestures, as more apologies, or as him wooing me.

I’m totally okay with a nice blend of the three.

Once I’m finally settled into my bed, I pick up my phone and finally text him.

ME:Thank you for the chocolates, flowers, fruit, and jersey. That was very nice of you.

---