2. Kai
Two
Kai
A minute later, someone taps on my passenger window.
I nearly jump out of my skin.
Ego stands there grinning.
Beside him is Sabrina.
Of course, this is how he knew where I was.
Traitor.
No, make that traitors. Both of them.
I press the button that rolls down the window, and I unlock the door.
“What are you two doing here?”
“Getting coffee before work,” Sabrina says cheerfully.
“You know. Like normal people.”
I narrow my eyes.
“Did you follow me?”
“No,” Ego says.
“We just knew where you'd be.”
“That's creepier,” I mutter.
“You're creepier.”
Fair.
The school doors open.
And then she walks out.
Mary Donahue.
My stomach immediately does something stupid.
Fantastic.
I hate that.
Because Mary is not my type.
Not even close.
Historically speaking, I go for blondes.
Fast blondes.
Women who look like they belong in expensive clubs and know how to order champagne without checking the menu.
Women who don't ask hard questions.
Women who definitely don't teach first grade.
Mary is the exact opposite.
Curvy.
Smart.
Bossy.
Cute as fuck.
The kind of woman who probably owns color-coded planners and remembers everyone's birthday.
The kind of woman who looks at me like she knows exactly how much trouble I am.
Which should not be attractive.
And yet.
Here we are.
She spots me immediately.
Her eyes narrow.
Her mouth tightens.
And suddenly I'm imagining her pointing toward a chair and telling me to sit there and think about what I've done.
Holy shit.
New fantasy unlocked.
My cock gets hard and if my brother and his woman weren’t standing right there, I’d fucking adjust myself.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Maybe I've been doing this all wrong.
Maybe chasing excitement isn't actually exciting anymore.
Maybe forty is creeping closer than I’d like to admit.
Truth is, I’m fucking tired of the rat race.
Maybe a woman with substance sounds better than another weekend fling I won't remember six months from now.
Terrifying thoughts—all of them.
Mary reaches us.
“What are you doing here?”
No hello.
No good morning.
Just straight to the interrogation.
God, she's cute.
“Morning, Firecracker.”
The nickname just slips out.
She notices, too.
“What? I'm serious,” she says.
“So am I.”
“No, I don’t think you're ever serious, Mr. Montego.”
“Fair. But call me Kai.”
Her eyes narrow further.
Behind her, Sabrina bites her lip.
Trying not to laugh.
“Fine. Kai, why are you here?”
I shrug.
“Thought I'd visit.”
“You don’t seem like the type who just visits. Are you thinking about entering the seminary as a second career?”
That is annoyingly provocative and somewhat accurate—not the priesthood part. The me not being a casual drop in kind of guy.
“Sorry, that’s a no to the collar, but maybe I can do better at the stopping by.”
“No.”
Ego actually snorts.
“You're not helping,” I tell him.
“I'm helping myself,” he replies.
Moron.
“Okay, um, I think we all know why this is happening. I-I’ll call Mr. Jonas later and figure something out.”
Mary remains standing there.
Staring at nothing.
Ego and Sabrina drift off into their own conversation, quietly discussing possible donors and alternative fundraising ideas.
But my eyes are locked on Mary.
They stay there.
Which is becoming a problem.
Because the woman is standing in a perfectly normal outfit.
A modest blouse.
A knee-length skirt.
Sensibly heeled shoes.
Nothing remotely provocative.
Nothing that should be turning my brain to mush.
And yet.
Here we are.
Maybe it's the way she's worrying.
Maybe it's the little line between her eyebrows when she's thinking too hard.
Maybe it's the way she immediately starts trying to solve everyone else's problems before her own.
Or maybe I've completely lost my damn mind.
Wouldn't be the first time.
She pinches the bridge of her nose.
Thinking.
Calculating.
Planning.
The little line appears between her eyebrows.
I've noticed it before.
I don't like it.
She looks worried.
And for some reason I don't want to examine too closely, that bothers me.
A lot.
“What?” she finally asks.
Because apparently I've been staring again.
Oops.
I grin.
“I've got an idea.”
Immediate suspicion.
Smart woman.
“No.”
“You don't even know what it is.”
“I don't need to.”
“That hurts.”
“It should.”
I glance towards the school.
Then back at her.
“How much publicity does this fundraiser usually get?”
Her eyes narrow.
“Whatever you're thinking, it's still no.”
Interesting.
Why such quick denial?
“No, to what?”
“No, to whatever terrible idea you're about to suggest.”
“I'm wounded.”
“You'll survive.”
Probably.
“Okay, so here's the thing. The school doesn't just need money.”
“No kidding.”
“It needs attention.”
Mary folds her arms.
Which unfortunately pushes her breasts up against that blouse.
My gaze immediately drops.
Shit.
Her throat clears.
My eyes snap upward.
Caught.
Again.
Her expression says she absolutely noticed.
Fantastic.
Now Sabrina is smirking.
Ego is trying not to laugh.
And I want the ground to swallow me whole.
“What kind of attention?” Mary asks.
“The useful kind.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It absolutely is.”
“No, Kai. It isn't.”
I grin because she's using my first name now.
Progress.
“Look, let's assume for a second that Jonas had absolutely nothing to do with this.”
Her mouth twists.
She doesn't believe that.
Neither do I.
But neither of us can prove anything.
Yet.
“Fine,” she says. “Let's pretend.”
“Good. Then the permits are just delayed.”
“Revoked.”
“Temporarily revoked.”
Mary groans.
“You're impossible.”
“Thank you.”
“It wasn't a compliment.”
“I'll take it anyway.”
Sabrina actually laughs.
“The point,” I continue, “is that permits can be revisited.”
Mary still looks skeptical.
“By whom?”
“People who suddenly realize a lot of voters care about something.”
Now she's listening.
I can tell.
So is Sister Agnes, who's somehow wandered back into earshot.
“Money gets projects built,” I continue. “But public pressure gets permits approved.”
Ego nods.
“He's not wrong.”
I point at my brother.
“See? Even Mr. Sunshine agrees with me.”
“Don't call me that.”
“Pfbbbt.”
Okay, so blowing a raspberry at my brother isn’t adult behavior. But whatever.
Mary is chewing on her bottom lip now.
Thinking.
And Christ—that pouty little expression should be illegal.
“Okay,” she says slowly. “Suppose you're right.”
“I usually am.”
She ignores that.
“How exactly are we supposed to get enough attention to influence city officials?”
A slow smile spreads across my face.
Because now the idea is fully formed.
Ridiculous.
Scandalous.
Possibly brilliant.
Which describes most of my best ideas.
And every one of my worst ones.
“What?”
Mary immediately looks suspicious.
Very suspicious.
“What are you smiling about?”
“You.”
Her eyes widen.
“No.”
“You don't even know what I'm going to say.”
“I absolutely do.”
I laugh.
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“No, you don't.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Then say it.”
Mary points at me.
“You're about to suggest something stupid.”
“That narrows it down to roughly ninety percent of my ideas.”
Ego loses the battle and starts laughing.
Sabrina too.
Nobody is on my side.
Story of my life.
I lean against my truck.
“We fake date.”
Silence.
Complete silence.
A child drops a backpack somewhere.
A bird chirps.
The universe itself seems to pause.
Mary blinks.
Once.
Twice.
Then laughs.
Hard.
“Oh my God.”
“See? You love it.”
“I absolutely do not.”
“Liar.”
“Kai.”
“Mary.”
“That's insane.”
“People eat this stuff up. A romantic, jealous misunderstanding causes backlash no one expected, and now the kids are suffering, please help—who wouldn’t eat that up?.”
“We are not celebrities.”
“No, but you're a beloved first-grade teacher and Our Lady of Grace is important to this town.”
She points at herself.
“That’s right, you. See I'm the bodyguard who punched a councilman because he was flirting with my girl—the internet will love this.”
The smile she's trying to suppress nearly escapes.
I see it.
Victory.
“That's not a selling point.”
“It's absolutely a selling point.”
“It absolutely isn't.”
“Firecracker, half the tri-state area already knows who we are.”
Her eyes narrow.
“I hate that nickname.”
“You absolutely do not.”
She hates that I'm right.
I can tell.
And somewhere between teasing her and watching her fight a smile, I realize this isn't really about publicity anymore.
Not entirely.
Because somewhere between the Valentine's dance and today something shifted.
I don't know when.
I don't know why.
But suddenly I don't want the fast blondes.
I don't want easy hookups.
I don't want temporary.
What I want is this woman.
This particular woman.
The one glaring at me.
The one trying so hard not to smile.
The one who worries about children, and fundraisers, and permits, and everybody except herself.
Firecracker.
That’s exactly what she is.
Maybe fake dating is a terrible idea.
Maybe it’ll blow up in my face.
Maybe she’ll tell me to go to hell.
But if pretending to date Mary Donahue helps save her school, gets that gym built, and gives me an excuse to spend time with the most fascinating woman I’ve ever met?
Well.
I’ve done dumber things.
Hell.
I mean, I punched a councilman three days ago and I’ve been sitting outside a Catholic grammar school all morning, just trying to figure out what to do next.
And I think I’ve found it.