CHAPTER FOUR #2
Grinning, I had to resist the urge to lean into her touch or step closer to her, even though there wasn’t much room to get any closer. “Your kiddo is pretty good too.”
“You’ve won over both my kids. They talked about you nonstop over dinner all week.”
Now it was my turn to grow warm in the face. Well, at least the other cheek. “I’m sure it’s just a novelty.”
“I dunno. The fact that you go out onto the field every day at recess to play Hacky Sack with the kids seems to have really struck a chord with them. And Honor loves that you read Harry Potter to them over the PA system while they’re eating lunch.”
“The last school I was at let the kids watch YouTube videos while they ate. I hated that. So I started reading aloud to my students, and it became such a big deal, and so much more anticipated, that the principal asked me if I’d read to the whole school over the PA system.”
“It’s brilliant.”
My cheek was rather cold now. I gently reached up and gripped her wrist, bringing it and the ice pack down, away from my face. “I think I’m okay.”
She blushed again and glanced away.
“We should probably get back.”
Nodding, she tossed the towel into the dirty laundry hamper and set the ice pack in the sink.
I held one of the double doors open for her and allowed her to go ahead of me.
It was impossible not to let my gaze drift down to the perfect two peach halves of her ass and watch them wiggle and swish as she meandered through the other participants back to her mat.
We reached our mats just as Lotus instructed everyone to come up into baby cobra. Smirking at each other, we joined the rest on our bellies, hands by our ribs, chests proud.
And that’s how the rest of the class went.
Every few poses we’d catch each other’s eyes in the mirror or cast a side glance toward the other person, only to smirk like we had some secret joke that nobody else in the room was privy to.
I liked it.
And fuck me sideways, was it ever a joy, but also pure torture when Lotus had us all face the wall, spread our legs wide and bend forward into a wide-legged standing fold. Naomi’s ass was so close to my face.
I made sure my groan wasn’t audible, and sent a silent thank you to the universe that my shorts were baggy because I was definitely sporting a half-chub.
By the time we said “namaste” on our knees with our hands at heart-center, I was invigorated and a little turned on.
Once the lights became brighter, the room erupted into conversation with people buzzing about putting their blocks and bolsters back and rolling up their mats.
“Hey, Naomi,” four women said to her, giving friendly waves.
“What happened back here?” asked the blonde. She looked vaguely familiar.
“I tried to turn it into a karate class,” Naomi said dryly. “Smacked the new guy across the face.”
Their eyes all went wide as they focused on me.
That’s where I recognized her! The blonde woman was Hollywood movie star Brooke Barker. What the hell was she doing here on the island?
“You okay?” asked the tall Asian woman with the alert, brown eyes and freckles on her cheeks and nose. She inspected my face as a doctor would.
“I think I’ll live,” I replied. “’Tis but a scratch.”
“I know better than to not stagger,” Naomi said, rolling up her mat. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
The four women all exchanged looks and smiled at each other.
“You are the new principal, si?” asked the auburn-haired woman. Her accent was quite thick, but I couldn’t place it.
“I am.” I held out my hand. “Lennox Paul. Do you have children at the school?”
“I’m with Clint McEvoy, and his daughter Talia is at the school,” said Brooke, the first to take my hand.
“Ah, yes. I’ve met Talia. She’s very clever. Very chatty.”
Brooke beamed.
The pretty Asian woman shook my hand next. “And I’m Justine Brazeau. I’m a doctor on the island, and I’m with Bennett McEvoy. His daughters are—”
“Aya and Emme. Yes, I remember them as well. Aya is—”
“A spicy meatball,” said the woman with the accent.
“That’s a great way to put it.” I chuckled.
“My stepsons are Griffin and Jake McEvoy. I am married to their father, Wyatt. I am Ludovica Vitale-McEvoy, but everyone just calls me Vica.” With a name like that it was impossible not to assume she was Italian. “Griffin is also quite a spicy meatball, si?”
“Nothing wrong with a little flavor,” I replied, releasing her hand.
“No Chloe today?” Naomi asked them.
Vica frowned. “No. She caught Silas’s cold, and apparently colds when you are pregnant are even more terrible than a man catching a cold. She has been in bed, unable to eat anything for three days.”
“Ugh! I remember when I was pregnant with Honor, I was so sick,” Naomi said. “Only thing I could keep down was apple juice. I must have drank my weight in the stuff.”
“That’s what I’m giving her,” Justine said with a nod. “Apple juice, and I ended up putting her on an IV last night. Poor thing.”
They must have read the confusion on my face, so Brooke decided to take pity on me.
“Chloe is with Dom McEvoy, he’s the head bartender and one of the brewery owners.
There are five brothers altogether over there.
However, she’s pregnant, and it’s been a pretty brutal pregnancy so far.
So she’s missed quite a few yoga classes. ”
I nodded in understanding. “Hopefully she’s due soon?”
Justine made a sad face. “Not until mid-July. So she has a couple more months.”
The last woman I recognized but hadn’t shaken hands with yet stood there with an eager look in her eyes. I focused my attention on her and held out my hand.
“I’m Jordana Pedersen,” she said, her gray eyes lighting up. She was very pretty with twin French braids down her back. “My daughters are Georgia and Penelope, and I work at the Town Center Grocery Store.”
I shook her hand and nodded. “Yes, I recognize you from the meeting on Sunday. It’s lovely to meet all of you and put faces to the parents of the children I’m growing very fond of.”
“Oh, and the kids are very fond of you,” Vica said. “Griffin thinks you are the butterfly’s elbows.”
“The bee’s knees,” Justine quietly corrected.
Vica nodded. “That too. Talks about you all the time. I think Wyatt might be a little jealous.”
“Just trying to make a good impression and teach the students that a principal isn’t someone they should fear. I’m on their side. I’m another adult in their life that they can trust.”
All the women—Naomi included—released sighs of relief, their shoulders dropping away from their ears.
“Such a refreshing take,” Brooke said. “The last guy in your position should have been pushed off a boat in the middle of the Puget Sound.”
Naomi and the other three women gaped at her, but only for a second.
“What?” Brooke asked with a shrug. “I’m allowed to say that. Now, I’m not someone who deserved to get pushed off a boat into the middle of the Puget Sound, even though it happened to me.”
“Dark humor is a form of trauma recovery, I suppose …” Justine muttered.
Oh, it most definitely was. I only said about a third of the weird shit that popped into my head regarding my own traumatic past. The rest my therapist advised me to either write down—and then burn—or just not say out loud because people might think I was unhinged.
“Anyway …” Jordana said, shaking her head but smiling, “I’d say it was a mighty successful first week at the school. Happy kids mean happy parents, and my kids are definitely happy that their principal doesn’t yell at them for laughing.”
Naomi’s head bobbed vigorously beside me. “Amen to that. Otto was a monster. A rabid raccoon would have been an improvement over him.”
Everyone snorted.
“I’d like to think I’m at least half a step up from a rabid raccoon,” I said. “I’m certainly not afraid of water.”
I had the women chuckling, but eventually, they said their goodbyes—besides Naomi—and headed back out to the lobby.
I hadn’t even realized it, but Naomi and I were the only two people left in the studio now. Even Lotus had left, probably to see the rest of the guests out.
With our mats tucked under our arms, we silently, awkwardly made our way to the now-open double doors. She glanced at me and smiled shyly. “Are you sure your cheek is okay?”
“You don’t have any rings on, or long, pointy nails, so I doubt there’ll even be a bruise. And if there is, I’ll tell the kids I walked into a tree branch or something.”
Her lashes fluttered as she smiled sweetly. “Where’d you learn to Hacky Sack so well? Austin has been gushing about your ‘mad skills’ all week.”
I lifted one shoulder before sliding into my flip-flops.
She did the same. “I was in foster care from age thirteen to eighteen. My two foster brothers, one the same age as me and one two years older, were big into Hacky Sack. We used to go outside in the driveway for hours and practice. It’s a nice way to shut your brain off. ”
I could see her doing some mental math in her head, and I was sure she was trying to figure out how old I was and when I had my kid.
I didn’t lie to my students when they asked me how old my daughter was—however, I was grateful that they didn’t ask me how old I was.
That was something I would have lied about, and I really hated lying.
“I’m sorry you were in foster care,” she finally said. We waved goodbye to Lotus and headed out into the warm May sun. The last remaining dewdrops of the night before clung to all the grass blades and wildflowers sprouting up around the yurt, and as the sun hit them, everything began to sparkle.
“You know what? I’m not. It was a much better situation that the one I was in, and my foster family was incredibly kind. I’m still very close with all of them. It was the best solution to a really crappy problem.” My inner dark passenger—as my therapist called him—laughed.
Way to downplay what really happened there, bro. Crappy problem? It was a bit more than that. Thirteen years of neglect. Seven years of sexual assault. Attempted murder. But sure, let’s go with “crappy problem.”