Page 100 of Can't Text This

“Thank you,” I say politely, pretending to take a sip through the straw as he watches me the entire time. Ihatesweet tea.

“Are you nervous for tonight?”

“A little,” I say honestly. “Mostly worried the parents are going to look at me like I’m stupid or something.”

“They won’t. Besides, even if things go south, you get to do it all again next Wednesday for the other half of the parents.”

“Ah, yes. Very considerate of the district to do, but also twice as nerve-racking.”

He laughs. “Very true.”

Tonight is night one of parent-teacher meetings, and night two is next Wednesday. The district is very aware of how many working and two-household families there are these days and want to ensure every parent can meet with the teacher, hence us having two separate events and me having to endure speaking in front of a room of adults twice.

I’m so nervous about it that I wasn’t even able to eat all my lunch, and Ilovechicken fingers.

“You’re going to be a great first-year teacher, Monty. I just know it. You have this…certain air about you, like this was meant to be your thing.”

“I…wow. Thank you, Brandon. That means a lot coming from you.”

I want to eat my words the moment I say them, especially when his cheeks flush.

I go to tell him I didn’t mean them in any way other than friendly when my phone buzzes against the counter, interrupting me.

“Python?” Brandon asks, glancing at the screen. “Is that a code name for someone?”

I snatch my cell from the counter and quickly stash it in my purse. “It’s…uh…kind of, yes.”

“A boyfriend?”

The question takes me off guard.

One, it feels so personal, and he shouldn’t be asking me questions like that.

Two,isRobbie my boyfriend? How do I explain what he is to me?I let him do dirty things to me every now and again but he’s not my boyfrienddoesnotsound like the appropriate answer…at all.

I rack my brain, trying to find a better, simpler answer.

“You know what? That’s none of my business. Sorry I asked.”

I blow out a relieved breath. “He’s not my boyfriend. It’s complicated.”

“Complicated? Ah, I’ve had one of those—many of those, actually. Want to know something interesting about me?” He waves his hand, beckoning me closer like he’s going to tell me a secret. “I used to be engaged.”

I sit back at his statement, surprised.

“Yep,” he says, taking another sip of his soda. “We were two months shy of getting married, invitations sent, venues booked, RSVPs noted—all that fun stuff. Then I caught her in bed…with our former gym teacher.”

I gasp at his reveal, and the sadness sinks into his eyes.

It’s a sadness I am all too familiar with.

“I’m sorry, Brandon. I can relate to that on many levels,” I admit.

Our eyes connect, and we share a moment of understanding.

Maybe all his advances aren’t so much advances as a pursuit of friendship. Maybe I’m reading this whole thing wrong.

I hope I am.

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