Page 19 of Topping the Jock
Okay. So he didn’t want to tell me the real reason. Fair enough. We weren’t friends or anything. Not like I was privy to that information.
“Well, at least you’ll have Bob the Copying Machine to keep you warm at night.”
“Um. His name is Franklin,” Monty said, holding up a hand. “Get it right.”
Seeing a blinking light on the machine, I pointed to it. “Looks like Franklin is out of paper. You should fix that.”
“Oh, I’ll stuff him real good,” Monty said, before grabbing paper from the pack and slowly sticking it into the slot. “Damn, he’s all nice and tight now.”
I cleared my throat. Sherry, the computer lab teacher, had walked into the lounge. Monty flipped around, the smile vanishing instantly as he spotted her.
“I, uh, was just refilling the paper,” he said, pointing to the machine.
“Good job,” Sherry said, looking at him like he belonged in a mental ward.
“I need to get to class,” Monty said in a rush before grabbing the papers he’d copied and fleeing the lounge.
I coughed to cover my laugh. Seeing him humiliated was the highlight of my morning. It more than made up for the embarrassing conversation with him before school started. Payback was a bitch.
“He’s an interesting one,” Sherry commented.
“Very,” I said, grabbing the cup I kept in the lounge and rinsing it out before filling it with fresh coffee. I breathed in the aroma and lifted it to my lips, sighing happily after taking a drink. That first sip of coffee was pure magic.
Once back in my classroom, I went over lesson plans for my next class, getting up once to refill my mug. Monty’s class was on the other side of mine, so in the quiet of my room, I heard his voice mumbling through the wall as he lectured. His class erupted in laughter, and I smiled, wondering what silly thing he’d said to make them do so.
Something strange happened for the rest of the day. When I saw Monty—in the hall between classes and at lunch—I didn’t feel that same bout of anger I usually did. Had I forgotten about the years of bullying? Hell no. Had I forgiven him? Also, no. But I was beginning to see that he’d been right; he really wasn’t the same jerk anymore.
That didn’t mean I liked him or anything, though. Far from it. It meant that, maybe, I didn’t exactly hate him as much as I once had.
I stayed in my classroom for an hour after school just in case a student needed to see me for anything, then gathered my things and walked outside. A whistle drew my attention to the left where the football team was practicing.
Monty stood with his arms crossed, legs apart, and shouted at them.
Too preoccupied with staring at his nice, round ass in his athletic pants, I wasn’t watching where I was going and bumped into a large metal trash can, making an ungodly loud banging sound. And yep, it got his attention.
Monty turned around, expression serious, and then he cracked a smile. I lifted a hand in an awkward wave before continuing toward the teacher’s parking lot right on the other side of the practice field. I felt his eyes on me the whole way.
Stupid Monty. He still had stupid, perfect hair and a cocky smile that hardly ever left his face just like back in high school. Except now I knew even more about him. Like how he was actually kind of funny and easygoing. It made him even more attractive, and it was getting more and more difficult denying that fact.
I got in my car, buckled up, and left the school, avoiding Monty the entire time. Once home, I parked in the garage and went inside my house, finding the aroma of the cinnamon and pumpkin-scented plug-in soothing. Perhaps I was jumping the gun on getting in the fall spirit, but I was ready for it.
As I opened the refrigerator and looked inside for something to cook for dinner, I dialed my dad’s number and put the phone to my ear.
“Hey, kid,” Dad answered. “How’s it going?”
“Just got home from work. Have you eaten yet?”
My dad and I had always been close. That didn’t change as I got older. He came to my place for dinner once or twice a week, and we’d catch up on each other’s lives. He was the only family I had.
“Not yet,” he responded. “Want me to order us something? I can bring it over.”
“I can cook,” I answered, grabbing chicken breasts from the fridge and taking them over to the stove. “Chicken and rice sound good?”
“Yep.”
With my nut allergy, I was hesitant to eat out much. Even in dishes that were supposedly nut-free, cross-contamination was still possible. And I was kind of paranoid. There were only a few restaurants I felt comfortable eating at. When Reed took me out for lunch, I was sure to tell the waiter about my allergy, but mistakes could still happen.
“I’ll bring the beer, then,” Dad said.
