Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Hazel
H urried footsteps across the gravel walkway between the sports fields and the teacher’s lot herald Principal Britt’s arrival on the scene.
They also narrow my options. Door number one is near certain job loss and humiliation.
Door two is a month on the arm of a man who thinks he can buy out of his reputation for being a stuck-up jerk.
Rock, hard place, me.
“Fake dating?” I clarify.
“Uh, yeah. Keep it simple.” He doesn’t add the last word of the saying, but I hear him loud and clear. Keep it simple, stupid . Because in Jeremiah Graley’s head, we’re all stupid.
“Fine. Okay. You pay the repairs, and I’ll get everyone to think we’re madly in love and you’re the nicest teacher on campus. Because that’s believable. Okay. Yes. I can do this.” I’m rambling, but nerves and anxiety are staging a pirates-versus-ninjas battle in my guts right now.
There are a million ways this could go wrong and few outcomes that won’t wreck me. Chicken shit that I am, I’m choosing the one that will delay the inevitable crash and burn.
“Exactly what is going on here? Mr. Graley. Ms. Miller. Explain why my vehicle is damaged and rather than remedying this atrocity, the staff members responsible are malingering and chatting as though there’s been no harm!
” The ranty tirade rises in pitch and volume until Principal Britt is nearly vibrating with rage.
His typical red face has gone nuclear purple, and his eyes are watery with fury.
I’m an adult, I remind myself. I can handle his immature tantrum and tell him what happened. Especially since, with Jeremiah’s help, I can afford to fix the damage.
The internal lecture does nothing to calm my inner freakout meter.
“Relax, Ted. It was a simple accident. One you’re partially to blame for, I’d add. Look at how far into Ms. Miller’s parking stall your truck is parked?” Jeremiah’s calmly spoken chastisement has our boss blustering even more. Maybe, allowing him to help me was a bad idea.
Before Principal Britt manages to launch into the attack I see mounting, Jeremiah continues.
“Bet the insurance company would find you at fault, actually. Fortunately, Ms. Miller convinced me there’s no need to call the police to make an accident report.
In fact, she’s generously offered to pay the repair for the scuff on your bumper and cattleguard. Isn’t that so kind of her?”
I swear butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.
The moment feels surreal. Not only is Mr. Ambivalent Condescension himself warmly cupping his hand over mine where I’m white-knuckling the window opening of my car, but he’s handling Britt like a seasoned pro.
I can’t help but wonder if I somehow stumbled into an alternate reality.
Has Jeremiah had this hidden depth all this time?
Because the man confidently maneuvering our boss into a position where he has to accept monetary compensation instead of the blood he obviously wants is a revelation.
The revelation brings with it a whole other host of panicky realizations. Because this guy, this quietly confident guy who dominates my blowhard boss without raising his voice or wasting any time? This guy’s got my lady parts radar pinging wildly.
I tune back into their conversation in time to hear Principal Britt agree to email me the bill once he’s taken his truck to the local repair shop.
Not only does he walk away without the screaming fit I expected, but he thanks me for being so considerate.
If nothing else serves to convince me I’ve dropped into a timeline in another dimension, that does it.
“See? Simple,” Jeremiah asserts as if he didn’t just accomplish the impossible.
I look around the parking lot. Most of my colleagues took the opportunity presented by our little drama to sneak out without coming under Britt’s fire for any number of slights. Real or imagined. With Ted Britt it doesn’t make much difference.
“Yeah, simple. So, um, thanks?” Now that the shockingly anticlimactic chaos is over, my brain’s slow to catch up.
“Anything for you, Bam-bam. Now, I like Thai food on Fridays. How about you? Dinner at The Yellow Door ?”
I ignore the ridiculous nickname and focus on Jeremiah’s offer of dinner at my favorite restaurant. Is it a lucky guess he picked it? Given that I bring leftovers from there for lunch probably twice a week, it might not be as flattering as it feels.
“Sure. Yeah, that’s probably the perfect spot for us to start convincing people we’re a couple. A few of us usually head there for early dinner on Fridays. Actually, if you go there on Fridays, too, it’s kind of surprising I’ve never run into you.”
Yup, cue the nervous rambling again.
My awkwardness is my most reliable personality trait.
Folks seem to think it’s adorable. I’d much rather be a calm type of woman.
I huff a frustrated breath because at twenty-five, I know it will never happen.
Which is fine. Totally fine. I am who I am, and who I am is a girl about to have dinner at my favorite place with my fake boyfriend-coworker, so my other coworkers decide to like him.
What could go wrong?