Chapter 8
EIGHT
Addison
W hat in the hell is Ridge doing here? How did he know where I worked?
Did he follow me home from the club after my shift and put a tracking device on my car?
Did he somehow get my last name and research my employment?
Is he really going to this extent just to talk to me?
Is that flattering, or am I completely freaked out?
I didn’t know.
I just knew I was staring at him in the doorway when he said, “Addy …” And I continued to look at him, completely stunned, when he added, “I need to talk to you.”
I turned toward my class of students, my entire body shaking as I took inventory of what they were all doing. Some were in their seats, waiting for me to introduce myself. Some were still trickling in through the door in the back of the classroom. Some were clustered in groups, talking.
The clock on the wall showed that the bell wouldn’t be ringing for another three minutes. But without my supervision and no other adult in the classroom, the kids had the potential of getting rowdy.
I didn’t want to risk that.
I can’t , I mouthed to him.
“Please,” he said loud enough for me to hear. “I only need a minute.”
I was gripping the lip at the bottom of the whiteboard where the eraser sat, my fingers squeezing so tightly that the metal was piercing my skin.
Why did I feel like even though I was fully dressed, he was staring at my naked body? That “Closer” by Nine Inch Nails was playing through the speakers and I was swinging around the pole as the band sang the lyrics about fucking like animals.
“Addy …”
Would he leave without speaking to me?
Am I pushing off the inevitable?
Is this even really happening?
“Ridge—”
“Give me one minute,” he semi-repeated. “You owe me that.”
I owe him?
A feeling came out of nowhere, bolting into my chest. It was strong enough that my hands released the small metal shelf, and I said to the students who were listening, “Excuse me for just a moment,” before I made my way to the hallway.
Despite the spiciness in the air that was building with each step, my breath hitched as soon as I was close enough to really smell him. But that wasn’t the only reaction happening inside my body. There were tingles too. Ones far too strong for my liking.
“What are you doing here?” I kept my voice as low as possible, but I couldn’t hide the urgency and accusation in my tone.
“What am I doing here?” He cleared his throat and touched the knot at the top of his tie, sending me another wave of his scent.
This morning, it was a combination of all three—earthy, salty, and extra sassy.
“What do you think I’m doing here?” he asked.
This was my first day at this school. I certainly didn’t want any administration to be walking the halls and see me talking to an uninvited guest who wasn’t even wearing a visitor pass. This was a place for learning, not putting out personal fires—or whatever this was about to turn into.
“I think you’re upset I didn’t reach out, and you somehow found your way here, and you want to talk about it.”
His hair was slicked and spiked, his beard brushed and trimmed, his lips parted, his blue and navy-flecked eyes gazing right at me. God, I wished he weren’t so hot. I wished he didn’t smell so good. And I wished I weren’t this attracted to him.
“This isn’t the place to have this conversation, Ridge. We can talk about it?—”
“That’s what you think?” He huffed and shook his head. “Do you see the little girl in the second row of your classroom? Ponytail, pink pencil, missing front tooth?”
I looked inside, scanning the children until I came across the one who fit his description. “Yes.”
“That’s Daisy. My daughter.”
His … daughter ?
What?
That’s why he’s here?
The little girl he’d spoken about when I met him was now one of my students?
I felt all the blood drain from my face. “Oh …”
I studied him—the details that I already knew—and then I glanced at Daisy. A name I’d written multiple times over the last couple of days as I got my classroom ready. The eyes, the chin, the same color hair.
My throat was on fire when I looked back at Ridge. “Daisy Cole, and you’re?—”
“Ridge Cole.” He let that sink in. “When I dropped her off this morning, I was worried she wouldn’t find her classroom or wouldn’t feel settled. First grade is a big fucking deal—much bigger than kindergarten. So, I came here to check on her. What I didn’t expect to find was you.”
I was trying to process this.
For my brain to catch up to the reality of his daughter being in my class for the entire school year.
That I’d slept with Daisy’s father only a few evenings ago.
His arms crossed, his jacket tightening around them, showing the size of his muscles. “We need to talk.”
“Not here?—”
“Certainly not here.” His gaze was intensifying, to the point where I not only felt naked, but I felt like he could see the wetness inside me. “I’d tell you to call me, but you don’t exactly have a track record of following through with that.”
That was a whole other thing I needed to discuss with him.
Why was the list of topics so suddenly long?
“I—”
“Why don’t you give me your number, and I’ll call you?” he said, cutting me off.
Fuck.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
That would give me time to get my thoughts straight, to calm my racing heart. I needed to feel less seen because here, at this very second, I felt like a spotlight was over me, and I was breaking out into a sweat.
His phone was already in his hand, so I rattled off my number and added, “I’ll text you during my next break. I promise.”
“I’ve heard that promise before.” He smiled and took another peek inside the class. “Be good to my baby,” he said before he walked away.
I took only a few seconds to stare at the back of him. He wore a suit in cobalt, the same color as his eyes. Brown leather shoes. A hand still holding his phone, the other at his side, fingers dangling. Fingers that I remembered so well—long, thin, extremely experienced, and well-versed in the anatomy of a woman’s body. A stature that was tall, broad, and incredibly sexy from this angle.
Oh God.
This would only be my luck , I thought as I walked back and positioned myself in front of the whiteboard, the bell going off as soon as I stilled.
I waited for the chatter to calm and for all the students to take their seats and for my throat to loosen and cool before I spoke. “Hello, everyone. I’m Miss Lark”—I pointed to where I’d already written my name on the board—“and I’m so, so excited to have you in my class and to teach you all the different things we’re going to cover this year. Let’s start by going around the room, and each of you will say your name and one of your favorite things you did over the summer. Who wants to go first? Raise your hand.”
Almost every hand shot up in the air.
But the one that captured my attention was the little girl in the second row with a missing tooth in front and a puffy-topped pink pencil in her hand. She was adorable—her smile, her outfit, her enthusiasm as she wiggled in her seat.
I aimed my finger at her and said, “Why don’t you start?”
“My name is Daisy Cole,” she said in a mousy voice, appropriate for her age, which only made her cuter. “I’m six years old and in first grade”—she giggled as though she realized she’d given more information than was asked—“and my favorite memory from this summer is when my daddy took me to Disneyland. It was sooo fun. We rode all the rides together, and I got a bellyache ’cause I ate so much ice cream.”