Page 46 of Connectio
He reaches down and tilts my chin up. “You think that’s all I want?”
Again, I swipe his hand away. “It’s all any guy wants.”
* * *
The driveback to school is quiet until I break the silence when we both climb out of his truck and shut our doors.
“Thanks for driving me home to get changed.”
His eyes don’t find mine. “No sweat.”
“I mean, you didn’t have to do that, but you did, so thank you. I appreciate it.”
“Like I said, no big deal.” He presses his lips together, reaches into the back tray of his truck, lifts out his toolbox, and walks away.
“Okay then,” I murmur. I guess I deserved that. Shit!
Pivoting to walk in the opposite direction back to my classroom, regret washes over me, and for some stupid reason, I feel bad for turning him down. Well, maybe not for turning him down, but more so for calling him rude, lewd, and crude. It was overkill. And despite him being those things at times, telling him so was perhaps a bit harsh, given he was doing me a favour in the first place.
Damn it!
Turning back around, I’m about to jog over to him and apologise, when the bell rings, and he raises his hand to acknowledge a guy climbing out of a truck with an excavator loaded on the back. Tap That Plumbing is printed along the rusty white panels. They slap each other’s back, and I can’t deny I’m impressed Will owns and runs his own business. The man might be a player and a bit of a joker, but he’s clearly hardworking and successful, and I’m glad that’s paid off for him.
Deciding to just let it go because I’ve no time to linger and wait for him to finish with the other guy, I rush to my classroom just in time for fifth period.
“Nice to see you changed your shoes,” Oliver says as I follow the children inside.
I don’t say anything, instead give him a half-smile. I already feel like an idiot for wearing them in the first place.
“Why’d you wear them?” Oliver probes.
I shrug. “I don’t know.”
“Seems odd.”
“Why?”
“Because you’ve never worn anything like that to school before.”
“Sure I have.”
It’s a lie; I haven’t.
Oliver shakes his head, a suspicious but playful grin on his face as he claps his hands and announces, “Bums on the mat, eyes on me,” to the class.
The kids all sit cross-legged, except for Hannah and Jacey, who stand by my side and continuously inform me Jet went out of bounds not one but three times.
“Take a seat, girls,” I say, dismissing their tattling. If I had a dollar for every time one of my kids dobbed another in, I’d be a very wealthy teacher.
“Okay, everyone. Who’s ready to make some music?” I ask, eyes wide.
They all cheer, which doesn’t surprise me. Behind Sport and Art, Music is their favourite subject.
“Good! Now, Mr Murphy isn’t here today, so I’m going to take you to the music room and teach you instead while Mr Bunt marks your math tests.”
“You can’t teach Music, Ms Hanson,” Jet so accurately points out.
“Sure I can.”
