Page 32 of Bitter Sweet Heart

I chuckle. “I wasn’t lying. Careful though, they’re addictive.”

She laughs and steps back, but her hands slide around my sides, and she rests one palm on my chest for a few seconds. Her eyes lift, and her tongue sweeps along her bottom lip. “It’s good I don’t get addicted to things easily, then, isn’t it?”

“Good for you, I guess. Not so much for me.”Watch yourself, Waters. “You okay?”

“Much better now. Thank you.” She smiles softly.

“Good. Remember, you have my number, so if you need anything—hugs, self-defense lessons, someone to take your garbage to the curb, more hugs—I’m a few blocks down, and I can run pretty damn fast. Especially when it’s a hug request.” I wink, and she laughs again.

“You are a relentless flirt, aren’t you?”

“Totally.” I nod somberly. “Seriously, though, think about coming to my self-defense class. If nothing else, it’s a great opportunity to beat the crap out of me.”

“I’ll think about it,” she says again.

Ten

Teacher’s Pet

Clover

Three days later, I’m in the middle of dinner prep when there’s a knock on my door. I assume it’s Sophia and her hands are too full to manage the door. While we eat dinner together more nights than not during the week, Friday happens to be our dinner-and-movie date night. I wipe my hands on my apron and head for the front door, opening it with, “You better have the red wine!”

I stop short when I realize it isn’t Sophia at all. It’s Maverick.

He’s dressed like he’s ready for a date: black dress pants, crisp white button-down, tie with the school hockey team logo on it, and a sharp black blazer.

He runs a hand through his hair. “I can hit up the liquor store and be back in ten with some red wine. But you’ll need to give me an idea of what kind, because I only drink it at weddings when they shut down the bar during speeches.”

I chuckle. “Are you even old enough to buy wine?” I know the answer to that, but I don’t think it hurts to remind him there are some lines we can’t cross.

“Ouch. That hurts, Professor.” He presses a hand to his chest and stumbles back a step, then gives me a dimple-popping half smile. He glances over my shoulder, likely checking out the most recent gift basket that arrived sometime this morning. “Am I interrupting? Smells like you’re cooking.”

I smooth my hands over my hips. “I’m just getting dinner ready. Sophia is coming over—my friend who lives upstairs.” Why am I suddenly awkward? And why do I feel compelled to explain?

“That’s good. You gonna watch a movie and chill out tonight?”

“We are.”

“Good. That’s good.” He folds his hand behind his back. “You doing okay? How are your hands?”

“They’re good. Healing.”

“Any other bruises? Sore spots?”

“I’ve got a decent bruise on my hip, but I’ve been using the hot tub out back in the evening, so I’m almost back to normal.” I thumb over my shoulder.

He nods and taps his temple. “Sleeping okay?”

“Yeah. It helps that Soph is right above me.” I point to the ceiling. “Thank you for coming by to check on me, and for your help the other night.”

“I didn’t want to email about it, you know, since they monitor those things.” He taps on the hand railing. “It’s good you ended up filing a report.”

I blink in surprise. “How do you know that?”

“I talked to the guy who owns the mechanic shop.”

“Right.” I vaguely remember him mentioning that he knew the automotive shop.

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