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Things between Royal and me have been, dare I say, pleasant this week. I still can’t believe I found the nerve to ask him over tonight to help me with my lesson plans. It’s not a date, or anything, but I was nervous as hell typing out that email. And as glad as I was he said yes, I was anxious on Tuesday morning, wondering how he would act around me at school.
I needn’t have worried, though. He acted totally normal, or at least, this new normal where he pours me coffee and tries to keep the noise in his classroom to a minimum. I can still hear them having fun in there, but it isn’t as distracting as it was before last weekend.
I groan as I look at my reflection in the full-length mirror for the umpteenth time this afternoon. I’m wearing casual joggers with a matching hoodie that is cropped at the waist, revealing only a sliver of skin when I bend or move in certain ways. I’m not sure it’s appropriate, but I’ve already changed twice .
First, I put on an outfit usually reserved for school days, and I looked too stuffy for a casual Saturday night. Then, I put on a dress for about five seconds before I ripped it off. I looked like I was trying too hard. And now? Now I feel like I’m not trying hard enough.
God, I hate being this anxious about an outfit. This is not a date. It shouldn’t matter what I’m wearing, right?
I study my reflection, again. I look good, and this is perfect for a night in with a coworker, right? Ugh. I’m going to change again. Maybe jeans and a T-shirt would be better?
The doorbell rings, and I bite out a curse as I leave the bedroom. I’ve taken too long. This outfit will have to do. Pausing by the front door, I plaster on a wide smile before I pull it open. My smile fades as my eyes traverse the length of Royal’s body, and my mouth suddenly turns into the Sahara Desert.
He looks too good in a pair of tight-fitting jeans and a maroon button-down that brings out the color of his eyes. The sleeves are cuffed to his elbows, showing off strong forearms sprinkled with dark hair. As I stare at them, my dry mouth floods with saliva. I choke on it and start coughing, breaking whatever spell I was under.
“You okay?” Royal asks, and I realize he’s still standing in the hall, and I have no idea how long I’ve been staring at him like an obsessed zombie.
Coughing again, I step to the side and wave, inviting him to come in. He smiles warmly and steps inside, and I check out his broad shoulders and back as I close the door. God, he looks good. I should’ve left on the dress. I feel like a slob next to him.
He turns back toward me, and I force a smile as I pass by him and head toward the kitchen, asking, “Would you like a beer?”
“Sure, that sounds really good.”
I nod and motion him toward the small table where I’ve left my lesson plan book. He takes a seat, and I grab two bottles of beer from the refrigerator before popping the tops off with a bottle opener. It’s the same brand he ordered at karaoke in Santa Monica, and I had to go to three different stores to find it. His smile when he sees the label makes it all worth it.
I take the chair across from Royal, and we sip our beers as I lay out my plans for Monday. He suggests ways to tweak each subject’s lesson, making them more fun for the kids without being overly obnoxious like his class was prior to last week.
When I look at him in awe for the third time, he chuckles and shrugs. “I’m smarter than I look.”
“I never thought you weren’t smart,” I say. “I just thought you liked playing with the kids more than actually teaching them.”
“It doesn’t have to be one or the other. It can be both,” he says softly, and I nod.
“I see that, now.”
The doorbell rings before he can respond, and I snap out of the trance into which our soft conversation had put me. Standing in a rush, I mumble something about the food being here and bolt for the door. My heart is pounding as I accept the bags of food from the delivery driver and pull a five from my pocket for the tip. He thanks me and spins to leave, and I take a couple of deep breaths to calm myself as I close the door.
I need to stop. This isn’t a date. Royal doesn’t like me like that , and I can’t keep imagining that he does.
“And you don’t like him like that, either,” I whisper to myself before turning and heading back toward the table.
My steps falter when I see he’s cleared the table and moved his chair in beside mine. He watches me expectantly as he takes a sip of his beer, no doubt waiting for me to complain about the new seating arrangement. The challenge in his eyes puts me back on solid footing.
I know this Royal. I can handle this Royal.
“I hope you like tacos,” I say cheerfully as I set the bags on the table in front of him.
“Who doesn’t like tacos?” he asks, his brow furrowing.
“Good answer,” I say, grinning. “I’d probably ask you to leave if you’d turned your nose up at them.”
He laughs and starts unloading the bags while I head into the kitchen to grab us fresh beers, plates, and napkins. When I get back to the table, I pretend to be completely unbothered by his proximity as I slide into my chair. Royal doles out two tacos, each, and we silently unwrap them. My elbow bumps into his, and I mumble an apology, but he only shakes his head like it doesn’t matter and groans as he takes his first bite.
My nerves settle as I start to eat. We’re both dribbling chunks of meat, cheese, and lettuce onto our plates as we take bites, because let’s be honest, there’s no real delicate or tidy way to eat crispy tacos.
I look over at Royal, then laugh when I see some grease dripping down his chin after he takes a large bite. His laughter joins mine as he picks up a napkin to wipe his chin, then reaches over to dab at the corner of my mouth. I freeze, and he drops his hand.
“Sorry. You just had a little sour cream,” he murmurs, and my tongue darts out to wet my lips.
“Did you get it all?” I ask and somehow manage not to flinch at my own flirty tone.
Where did that come from? Jesus, how strong is this beer?
Royal just nods, licks his own lips, then turns his attention back to his plate. We chat a little bit about our upcoming field trip to the zoo, and the tension I was feeling drains away. I declare myself full after two tacos, but Royal snags a third from the bag and devours it while we talk.
Once he’s finished, he stops me from clearing the table and stands, taking our plates to the sink and rinsing them before coming back to grab the trash and leftover tacos. The former goes into the trash can while the latter goes into the fridge.
When he returns and sits next to me, he leans back in his chair and studies me for a long moment.
“What?” I ask after several beats of silence.
He shakes his head slightly and smiles. “Nothing. It’s just…you’re not at all what I thought.”
I smile back at him. “Neither are you.”
Our locked gazes hold for a few more moments, and I’m the first to snap out of it. Clearing my throat, I declare that we should get back to work, and Royal agrees. He pulls my lesson book back over in front of me, and I start to read Tuesday’s plan.
I don’t look up at Royal, but I can feel his eyes on me.
And I don’t hate it.