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Monty:OH GOSH. That was SO embarrassing. I’m sorry. I probably just made this so darn awkward for you. I’m sorry.

Monty:I don’t know why I apologized…TWICE.

Monty:I’m so stupid.

Monty:Just ignore me. Pretend I don’t exist. We’ll just forget the other night happened and go on our merry ways in three…two…one. GOODBYE FOREVER, ROBBIE!

Three

Monty

I haven’t beenable to stop thinking about Robbie since I ran out of that bathroom.

I ran right to Denny, my twin sister, and demanded we leave. She didn’t argue, just grabbed her purse and got us a cab. I didn’t mention Robbie once the entire ride home.

When we got back to the apartment we share, I showered and crawled into bed…only to awaken three hours later from one of the hottest dreams I’ve ever had and an ache between my legs.

The same dream has been on repeat for days.

I’ve been kicking myself for two reasons: not getting his number and not staying.

I finally told Denny about it yesterday, and that conversation went exactly as I had expected.

She didn’t believe me.

On one hand, I can’t blame her. It isme, after all. I’m not known for making out with strangers in bars, let alone letting them…you know…dothings to me.

It took about twenty minutes of convincing, and eventually I had to unbutton my pants and show her the fading bruises on my bum.

That set her off on a whole new tirade that took a good five minutes to talk her down from. The bruises came from the sink, not Robbie.

When he first approached me, I was ready to reject him based on his appearance alone. He stood so tall above me that it almost scared me, and his tattoos made him look…menacing.

Then he flashed a bright white smile and I melted.

Don’t even get me started on his deep, rumbling voice. It’s so…sexy. I don’t think I’ve ever personally heard anyone with that heavy of a baritone. It’s warm and inviting but a smidge authoritative, a whole different level of hot, especially with his massive, muscled arms wrapped around you.

There’s a commotion outside my door and I peek out the window.

A classroom full of kids goes rushing by with Mr. Donahue—or Brandon, as us adults know him—following closely behind. They’re on their way outside for whatever creative activity he’s come up with this time.

“Oh, hey there, Miss Andrews. What are you doing here today? School doesn’t start for another month.”

He slides up next to me, and I can’t help but compare him to the last man who stood this close to me—Robbie.

They’re nothing alike, and not just when it comes to looks.

From what I’ve gathered about Brandon in the few short weeks I’ve been attending the weekly new teacher luncheons, he tries too hard to be liked, has no qualms about lack of personal space, and is crushing on me…hard.

Though he is the exact type of man Ishouldbe interested in—professionally dressed, manners out the wazoo, would never take a strange girl into the bathroom and touch her in her most private spots—I’m not.

The last guy that was “my type” turned out to be the worst thing to ever happen to me.

I take a step back, hoping he doesn’t notice, and give him a polite smile. “Just taking a few pictures of the room so I can start buying some supplies and decorations.”

“I bet your room is going to be beautiful because”—he waves a hand my way—“you know.”

I don’t, but I say nothing. I simply nod and point toward my room. “I’m going to get back to it. Just wanted to see what all the noise was out here. Better catch up with the kids.”

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