Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Dex
Sayla sucks in a breath, her eyes flashing. Bright blue and utterly irresistible.
“You’re not the boss of me,” she whispers.
I drop my finger, and the bands of my self-control go weak. She gathers her lip under her teeth, and now I’m fumbling for the deep resolve I’ve been drawing on since the retreat. But instead of certainty and willpower, all that flares up inside me is desire.
There’s a heat in my chest, and the ropes of my gut go taut. Like my body’s full of guitar strings begging for Sayla Kroft to strum. “Resolve is overrated,” I say under my breath.
She goes up on her toes, her mouth just inches from mine, like she’s ready for whatever comes next. Like she wants it, too. “What did you say?”
“Nothing,” I grit out.
She eases forward, her eyes zeroing in on my lips. “Well, that’s too bad, because I agree with you.”
“With what?” I groan.
She shuts her lids and whispers, “Resolve is overrated.”
And then our mouths meet.
One of my palms lifts to cup her jaw, the other spreads against her hot cheek.
We’re not going for soft, gentle contact here.
This is a full-on battle of attraction. We’re on the same field, both playing to win.
And any thoughts of losing I’ve ever entertained exit the building.
I’ve completely surrendered to the taste of this woman, as my mouth slants over hers, drinking her in. Draining my will.
Drowning in the sweetness.
I slip one hand behind her head, moving her backward until we hit the wall, but my fingers bear the brunt of the impact, and I keep on exploring every inch of Sayla’s mouth.
Once I’m kiss-drunk on her lips, I slide a heated trail along the jut of her chin over to the base of her ear, teasing and licking at the spot just below where the lobe meets her neck. Sayla lets out a tiny gasp, and that’s all the motivation I need to gather her close and lift her whole body up.
She’s a feather in my arms, pressed against me, holding on for dear life. And as she wraps her legs around my middle, I propel the two of us across the small space over to my desk.
I set her on the edge, and a tower of files topples to the ground, but we ignore the fall. Instead, Sayla arches her back, offering me greater access to the silky skin of her throat.
“Just so you know,” she says, her tone sultry now, “I’m never going to stop talking.”
I detach my lips from her throat, pulling up and away from her. “Look at me.” She slowly opens her lids, and our gazes meet again. “I’ll never stop listening to you.”
She blinks. Inhales. Then she says, “Dexter,” on the exhale, and my name on her lips is the only drug I’ll ever crave.
“Sayla,” I rasp. “Tell me what you want.”
“I want you to kiss me,” she whispers breathlessly.
“I am kissing you.”
“I want more.”
“What?”
“More.” Her voice is low and ragged now.
“I can’t hear you.”
“MORE,” she begs. And my insides liquify.
So I give Sayla Kroft exactly what she asked for.
More of my arms wrapped around her body, more of her lips on mine.
More of me losing myself to her soft sighs.
This connection to her is everything I’ve avoided the past two decades, and all I could ever want in this lifetime.
I feel like I could freeze the world—just like this—and live inside Sayla’s heartbeat forever.
Except for the crackle of the intercom system coming on and Larry Wilford’s nasal voice blaring from the speaker above our heads.
“Sayla Kroft and Dexter Michaels, please come to my office. Now.”
And with that, he’s single-handedly killed the moment. Completely.
No lips left behind.
“What do you think Mr. Wilford wants?” Sayla asks on our way to the administration building.
By now, the buses have all left, and most of the teachers took off after the bell, ready to start their weekend.
In a couple of hours, people will return, flooding the parking lot and streets for Friday night football.
But for now, the campus is deserted. Still, Sayla and I should be careful.
As much as I want to reach for her hand, discretion is key.
We don’t need any rumors about us circulating around school. At least for another week. Until then, everyone’s attention has to be on the accreditation. Not my crush on Sayla Kroft.
“I hope the ringmaster costume I ordered for him fits,” she adds.
“I’m sure the costume’s great.” I shrug. “Wilford probably just wants to thank us for doing such a great job in the lead up to the visitation.”
“Wow.” Sayla huffs an amused laugh. “You’re sure not lacking in confidence.”
I flash her some side-eye. “I didn’t hear you complaining back in my office.”
“Hey!” She swats my elbow. “But since you brought it up,” she glances around, lowers her voice, “we have to promise not to do that again.”
“Well, that could be a problem, Kroft. Because I really want to do that again, as you eloquently put it. We’re way too good together not to.
We managed some Guinness Book of World Records-level kissing back there.
” I nod back toward the science building.
“Do you really want to keep that kind of achievement out of the history books?”
“When you put it that way, I suppose we do owe it to history.” She snickers. “So let’s circle back to this discussion after the accreditation team gives us that four-year pass.”
I let out a groan of protest. “So long?”
She guffaws. “They’re coming next week.”
“I repeat. So long?”
“You managed to keep your lips to yourself for the past three years.”
“That’s only because you were covered in barbed wire.”
She scrunches her nose. Man, this woman is adorable. “I guess I did have some defenses up.”
“And hand grenades ready to lob.”
“Sorry about that,” she chirps.
“You don’t sound sorry,” I chuckle.
“Anyway, once you’ve moved over to Harvest High everything will be easier.”
This part catches me off guard, but I try not to miss a step. “Huh.” I rub at my beard. “Why is me leaving Stony Peak a part of the equation?”
“Because once you’re at the other school, you won’t technically be my coworker anymore.”
“And that matters because …”
“Because not dating colleagues is a boundary I set years ago. After my mom … Well. You know. I’m sure you understand, after everything I went through.
” She takes a beat. “What I’m going through.
Her workplace drama still wreaks havoc on my life.
And anyway, next semester’s only a couple months away.
” She smirks. “Surely you can control yourself until then.”
I clear my throat and pick up the pace. I’m not prepared to discuss my future plans right now. Especially since they don’t include a job change.
Sayla skips along next to me, trying to keep up as we approach the building, so I slow down and hold the door for her. “After you,” I say.
“Thank you, kind sir.” She curtseys, and I ignore the tightness in my chest as we make our way down the hall.
We’re almost to Wilford’s office when he pokes his head out the door.
“Thought I heard you two.” He gestures for us to join him, and we head inside, settling into the same seats we took the day he told us we’d be going to Camp Reboot.
That feels like a lifetime ago, even though it’s only been a few weeks.
Still, so much has changed between Sayla and me since then.
And I’m grateful for everything that’s happened.
For what might still grow between us. I can only hope she’s willing to reconsider her stance when she finds out I’m not transferring schools.
“I was glad to see you were both still on campus,” Mr. Wilford says, sinking into his chair. “But I’m not surprised. You’ve really gone above and beyond these past few weeks. I’m very grateful to you both.”
I cut a look at Sayla and offer her a quick nod. Yep. He brought us in to thank us.
“I wanted to talk to you about something else before next week,” he says.
“Is this about the grant?” she asks. “I thought you weren’t going to make any announcements until after the visitation.”
“Yes, well. I wanted to give you both time to process my decision.”
She leans forward, expectantly, one hand on her knee, the other holding a clipboard.
I can practically feel the energy vibrating off her, and my pulse picks up, too.
Wilford officially informing Sayla that her department will get the money should go a long way toward reminding her where my priorities lie.
Yes, I want to stay at Stony Peak. But I can still put her first in other ways. I have already. And this will be the best reminder.
“As you know, this choice hasn’t been an easy one,” Wilford says. His hands are folded on his belly, and I notice the button above his belt is undone.
Heh. Full circle.
“A lot was riding on my decision. Not just for the future of this school, but for my future with the district. As principal, it’s my job to demonstrate the ability and willingness to do whatever it takes to make Stony Peak thrive.
The home of the Gray Squirrels is my baby, so to speak.
I’m this school’s parent. And being a parent sometimes means having to make difficult choices.
Especially when the alternative is getting sent to Vista Middle School. ”
“Right. No tweens for you,” I say.
Wilford grimaces. “Perish the thought.”
“We appreciate how hard this has been for you,” Sayla chimes in. “And I think I speak for Dexter as well when I say we’re both prepared to respect your decision. Whatever it is.”
“Yes.” I bob my head. “Of course. Exactly what she said.”
Wilford lifts a hand, tugs at his tie. “I’d been hoping Bob and Hildy would weigh in after the retreat, but they were—frankly—useless.”
“No, no.” Sayla shakes her head. “What they did for us was extremely helpful. Dex and I made so much progress there. We’ve been able to work together so well these past few weeks because of Camp Reboot. So thank you very much, sir, for encouraging us to go.”
“Well, you’re welcome, of course,” Wilford says. “And I’m glad you think the retreat was a help, Ms. Kroft.” He adjusts his tie. “I must admit, that makes this moment a little bit easier for me.”
I draw in a breath, preparing to act like the grant going to performing arts is news to me. Wilford has no idea I already spilled the beans to Sayla, so finally having this out in the open will be a major relief.
“On the other hand,” Wilford continues, darting his gaze between Sayla and me, “one of you will leave here disappointed. And I wish that weren’t the case.
Nevertheless, I want to assure you both that all hope is not lost. Yes, this grant will be a tremendous boon to one of your departments.
And we may not receive another FRIG this large for several more years.
But we will make do. We always do.” He takes a beat. “So without further ado …”
I glance at Sayla, and her lips part in anticipation.
“The FRIG goes to the athletic department,” Wilford says.
Oh, frig.