Page 11 of The Run Home
I shook my head, irrationally irritated with him. He annoyed me any day, but now he annoyed me for Kinsley’s sake too. When I answered him, the snark in my tone was unmistakable. “It’s amazing the effect you have on women, big dog.”
Gigi burst out laughing and exited the room, saying she was getting some water to wash down the cookies. Boon glared at me, looking good enough to eat in a pair of worn jeans, Texas Outlaws T-shirt that stretched across his chest, and a pair oftennis shoes that didn’t look like the ones they sold to the general public. I stood up, intent on getting out of this house as quickly as possible now that Boon was back.
“Don’t fuckin’ call me that,” he groused.
I batted my eyelashes. “Would you prefer bat boy?”
He came around the coffee table and blocked my exit, his arms folded over his chest. “What is your problem, Fletcher?”
I stood toe to toe with him. “My problem isyou.”
Gigi materialized, startling me. I wondered why I hadn’t heard her come back in the room. She held out a water bottle and I took it. “Thank you.”
“If it wouldn’t have ruined my couch, I would have brought the hose in here and hosed you both down,” she drawled.
Boon scoffed, and I barked out a humorless laugh. “Oh please.”
“Whatever.”
“Thank you for the water, Gigi. See you around.” I nudged Boon out of my way with my forearm and walked around him. I heard Gigi hiss something at him behind my back.
“Thanks for the cookies,” Boon called after me in a monotone, clearly forced to say it by his mommy.
I laughed, opening the door. “They weren’t for you, big dog.” Then I shut the door and walked back to my house, feeling good. I’d gotten in the last word and it made my freaking day.
The rest of the weekend flew by, which always happened, but especially this one as I dodged catching sight of Boon next door whenever possible. Monday arrived bright and early and blessedly cool. I donned black cigarette pants, a light blue button-up shirt topped with a tan sweater with crystal buttons, and a pair of ballet flats. Mom’s tiny diamond earrings graced my ears and a chunky watch I’d gotten from an estate sale years ago adorned my wrist. My tote bag was heavy with papers, my computer, and a paperback I kept meaning to read.
I made sure I had enough time to stop in at the break room to fill my coffee mug, a daily habit of ten years now. Lydia was already there at the coffee station, so I joined her, doctoring up my coffee. The warning bell rang and I lifted my cup in a cheers-to-the-workday type of thing. The door to the break room opened, letting in the cacophony of noise out in the hallways.
Boon stood in the doorway, looking spiffy in a navy-blue polo shirt and khaki shorts that showed off his tanned, muscled legs. Lydia elbowed me and I jumped back as my coffee spilled on my shirt. I ripped my gaze from Boon and gave her a death glare. Setting my mug down on the counter, I had to button up my sweater to cover the stain. Dang. Hadn’t even made it to first period before spilling on myself.
I was all too aware of Boon flittering around the break room like the gosh dern mayor of Blueball. What was he doing here? I got my coffee mug back in hand and had a plan to beeline it out of here before I had to speak to him, but as I looked up, he stood right in front of me and Lydia.
“Ladies.” He tipped his head. Lydia just stared at him, neither impressed nor annoyed. Just…curious. Boon was undeterred, turning his attention to me. “Shae. So lovely to see you here.”
It was Monday, I had a stain on my shirt, and I was about to be late to my class. In other words, I had zero patience to deal with this man today.
“What are you doing here?” I hissed.
Boon just smiled. An ominous kind of smile.
“You’re looking at the new Blueball High health teacher and head baseball coach.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Boon
I was prettysure nothing in the second half of my life would give me the same thrill as playing ball in a packed stadium. The roar of the crowd, the shit-talking with the other guys, the adrenaline hit when the ball bounced my way and I leaped into action to make the out. That crack of the bat, the feel of it when you knew it was a homer. Goddamn, it was all addictive as hell. To give it up after it was all I knew my whole life left me feeling like I was having withdrawals.
And then I ran into Shae Fletcher.
I don’t know what it was, but seeing her in her prissy little sweater buttoned over yet another stain on her shirt, glasses perched on the tip of her nose, pretty mouth pinched into a look of disdain reserved just for me…it all gave me that dopamine hit that baseball used to.
Her long lashes blinked repeatedly behind the glasses, like she was absorbing the news of me working here at the high school. Or had something in her eyes. The woman next to her, one of the women who’d been at Shae’s house over the weekend,looked me up and down with a straight face before emitting a snort I wasn’t quite able to decipher and walked away.
“Oh, great. We’re hiring whiffle ball–brained buffoons now,” Shae grumbled, swiveling on her black shoes and stalking away from me.
“They’re actually baseballs, not whiffle balls,” I called after her. Her bouncy reddish-brown ponytail swished side to side as she pranced away, her shoulders scrunching up higher at my remark. She didn’t bother to slow down or reply. The grin taking over my face felt triumphant.
