Page 36 of Interpreter

“Oliver can spell,” I interrupt her, but she only shrugs, never stopping.

“Take Coach Murano. He’s slept with the entire second grade hall.”

“No, he hasn’t.” He probably wants to, but there is no way he’s made it that far. I think he started at the kindergarten hall.

“He has.” Her eyes are hard. “Trust me. The man, as creepy as he is, has skills.”

Oh my God. “Please tell me you didn’t.”

She did. If her nonchalant shrug didn’t say it all, her crooked grin filled in the rest. “Gretch,” I whine. “Why?”

She looks behind her, seeing how much farther before Oliver reaches us. “I don’t have a Pe, Milah. You don’t know what it’s like to be lonely.”

My mouth snaps closed. That might be the most honest and heartbreaking thing Gretchen has ever said to me.

“Gretch, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

She waves me off. “Don’t. Just trust me and go over there and get to know him. For some reason he hasn’t been able to take his eyes off of you since he got here.”

Slowly, like I’m not trying to catch Tim sneaking a peek, I inch my eyes over in his direction, and sure enough, he’s watching us.

“Oh no! What if he saw you toss your slushy on me? He’ll think I did it on purpose.”

“Maybe he likes that kind of desperation in a woman?”

“Gretchen!”

Her laugh draws the attention of the couple next to us, and I almost want to make a break for the car, but Oliver makes it to our blanket and I know there is no escaping what I’m about to do next.

“Oh no, Ms. Iglesias.” Gah, his little voice melts my frustration.

“It’s okay, Oliver,” I soothe, squatting down in front of the little boy. “Ms. Ross tripped.” I glare at Gretchen standing there all innocent. One day, I’m going to repay her for this little stunt. Even if I have to do it from Costa Rica. “We can go sit with Mr. Lambros.” I hope.

Oliver follows my finger and finds his friend and then takes off.

“Guess Oliver thought my idea was good.”

I send my friend an “eat shit” look and let out a sound of pain that reverberates between us before I follow after Oliver and change my mind about sprinting for the car. When I approach, Oliver is already chatting, sitting alongside Aspen who seems to be fascinated with the boy and his animation. He’s had way too much sugar, I just know it.

“Ms. Iglesias,” the man that nearly caused a spontaneous orgasm earlier when I painted the ridiculous owl on his face, drawls out, his voice teasing. Nice to see his confidence is back. That smugness was muted when his breath was on my neck. My breasts ached as his eyes kept darting between the fabric and my skin, while the rising flush on my cheeks reminded me that I was seriously attracted to this man.

“Mr. Lambros,” I counter.

His perusal of me is burning as he lazily takes in the purple stains on my shirt. “Have an accident?”

Kinda. I accidentally admitted to Gretchen that I was interested in him.

“Gretchen tripped,” I explain, doing this little “I don’t know” maneuver that I’m sure makes me look stupid.

“Hmm…,” he muses a moment before standing, reaching back, and tugging his T-shirt over his head, leaving him in his plain white undershirt that, if possible, looks sexier than the plain navy-colored one he’s offering me.

“Oh no,” I wave him off. I can’t possibly put on his clothes. I’m not slutty by any means but wearing a man’s clothes make mine come off. Don’t ask me why. It just does. It’s like offering me a whole bag of mint M&M’s. I will be your friend and enjoy sleepovers with you. Naked. For several days.

“Take it,” he says, extending that muscled arm in my direction once more.

I swallow. “That’s okay. I’m fine. You keep it.” There, that wasn’t too bad. It wasn’t like I said fuck no or anything. It was polite and didn’t give away that I would go with him tonight if he put—

“What are you doing?” I shriek.

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