Page 74 of My Kinda Player (Summer Sisters 5)

“Oh, I already brought her something. Poppy seed muffin,” Bryce brags and indicates the other white bag.

I stand in my place, praying the floor opens up and swallows me whole. Could this get any worse?

“I didn’t think you liked poppy seed?” Sawyer asks innocently, but I can see the evil gleam in his eye and hear the underlying tone in his simple statement.

Yep. It could definitely get worse.

“It’s fine,” I mumble quickly, looking for the exit. “I really should get–”

“Wow, flowers too? Is it a special occasion?” Sawyer asks, his tone stopping my heart like a lethal injection.

He sounds hurt.

He sounds…jealous.

Why is he jealous? He has no right to be when he’s the one who hasn’t contacted me in three days. I’ve messaged him, but do I get a return text? Hell no. So why does he have this look in his eyes like someone ran over his family puppy or something?

“Um, no. No special occasion.”

“Well, I’ll see you later, AJ. I should get back to my classroom before the bell,” Bryce says with a smile. “Later, Randall.”

Sawyer offers him a head nod and watches him exit.

The silence in the room is deafening. After a couple of tense seconds, our eyes finally collide once more. My God in Heaven, this man can bring me to my knees with just one look. Every dirty thing he did to my body this weekend plays in fast forward through my mind, and if I’m not mistaken, the way his own eyes dilate and turn a deeper shade of sapphire, I’d say he’s recalling the same things.

“Am I too late?”

“What?” I ask with a silent gasp.

He steps into my personal space and slides his hand up my arm, leaving a trail of goose bumps in its wake. “Please tell me I’m not too late, Alison. Tell me I haven’t fucked this up.”

“Fucked what up?” I ask, desperately needing him to clarify.

“This.” Again, he touches me. “Us.”

“I’m not sure there was an us to begin with. It was a fling,” I say, trying to find my conviction, but probably coming up short.

“Oh, Alison,” he whispers, his words soft, yet seductive. “There is most definitely an us. You were never just a fling. Never a one-night stand. You’ve always been more,” he states with so much belief, I feel the righteousness in his voice, feel it in his words.

I open my mouth to reply, but am cut off. “Miss Summer, could you help me–”

Spinning toward the door, I see Kaylee Smith, an eighth grader who I’ve been helping with her work. I jump back from Sawyer, the connection of his hand to my arm severed.

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt,” the young girl says with a blush.

“No, Kaylee, you’re fine. Come in and we can go over a few things before the bell rings,” I reply, reaching for the first coffee cup I can find. Unfortunately, my hand hits the vase, causing it to wobble. Sawyer’s there with his quick hands, diving for the flowers before they can tip over and crash to the floor. “Nice save, Mr. R,” the girl coos, completely smitten by the hot PE teacher.

See, even young teenagers aren’t immune to his hotness.

Sawyer rights the vase of flowers and turns his head toward me. Quietly, he asks, “Can I see you tonight? I know you have…plans with Bryce, but I’d really like to apologize and hopefully explain a little of what happened Sunday.”

His eyes hold mine and don’t waiver when he speaks. I have so many questions and there’s only one way to get the answers, so I give him a head nod. He seems to visually relax and offers me a relieved smile. Before he heads to the door, he grabs the white bag off my desk. Not the one he brought, but the other one. “Danish,” he says softly, pointing to the bag he brought and is sitting in the center of my desk.

With the other bag in hand, he heads to the door. “Oh, hey, Kaylee? Do you like poppy seed muffins?” he asks, flashing the girl one of those smiles that she’ll probably dream about for much of her adolescent years.

“Eww, no, Mr. R.” Kaylee wrinkles up her nose and giggles. “Those are gross.”

“That they are, Kaylee. That they are,” he says, dropping the bag into the garbage, throws her a wink, and walks out of the room.

There’s nothing but silence left in his wake. “He is so hot,” Kaylee mumbles.

“He’s your teacher.” Sure, I’m stating a fact, but it’s not like I can argue with her.

“Mmhmmm. I love PE.”

I clear my throat and reach for the teacher’s math book. “Let’s get started.”

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