Chapter 3
Chapter Three
AVERY
In what I’m now referring to as the Before Josh Times, I slept like the dead at the end of every day. But in the After Josh Times, I wake in the middle of each night all… hot and bothered. Which is not only embarrassing, it’s wrong. I lie there, hands pressed to the mattress to keep them away from my private parts, reminding myself that the man I’m lusting over—the man I literally fell on top of —is married. I’m not sure what it’ll take for my subconscious to get the message but avoiding him seems like the best tactic.
It would be easier if he’d stop calling me.
I love being busy, but the new stressors added to my very full schedule mean that everything takes a bit more out of me. Frankly, I usually get a little high from ticking off the many items on my many to-do lists. But this week, my sleep has been compromised, which means that everything else suffers.
I’m lecturing myself on the importance of good sleep hygiene as I push a cart loaded with supplies to the canasta club meeting. When I pass the open door of the art room, catching sight of the man of my dreams in a passionate discussion with Daisy, CPR’s art teacher, I crash the dang cart right into the wall. “Son of a nutcracker!”
“Are you okay, Avery?” Daisy calls.
“I’m fine,” I yell back. “It’s just the, um, fudged-up wheel on this thing.”
I’m crouched on the floor playing fifty-two pickup times ten with the canasta cards when I get a whiff of the scent that makes a beeline directly from my nostrils to my Virginia.
“Here, let me help.” His fancy leather shoes squeak, and when Josh squats next to me, I’ve got a front-row seat for a pair of masculine, muscled thighs straining to be contained by khakis. I have a long-standing policy to avoid sex with men whose thighs are smaller than mine, and Josh definitely passes that test. Not that I should be keeping score.
“I’ve got it,” I protest, even though I’ve stopped cleaning up to watch his large, capable hands collect the playing cards.
“Avery?”
He’s looking at me like he just asked a question which I obviously missed because I was fantasizing about other things those hands might do. Thankfully, when he holds out a stack of cards, I catch sight of that dang wedding ring. “No. I can’t. But thank you.”
Taking the cards and dropping them onto the cart, I hustle away to drop the supplies off before I do anything else I’ll regret. Fifteen minutes later, when I pass the art room again on my way back to the office and Daisy yells my name, I’m surprised by the sharp tone in her voice.
I mean, what’s she got to be mad about? She was the one making googly eyes at Josh while they talked about… whatever they were talking about.
When I pause in the doorway, she grabs me by the elbow, pulls me inside, and shuts the door behind me. “Avery Mills, what were you thinking?”
“Uh… when?”
“When you said you couldn’t meet with Mr. Harmon!”
“Meet with Mr. Harmon? What are you talking about?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Whatever you and he were talking about.”
“What did you think he was talking about?”
“I… uh, thought he was hitting on me.”
“Hitting on you?”
Right. It would be ridiculous that someone like him would flirt with someone like me when whimsical, winsome, willowy art teachers are hanging on his every word. Even if he wasn’t married.
“You have to talk to him.” Daisy gets right in my face like I’ve been staring off into space. Like I probably was.
“Why?” I ask, a little too defensively.
“He’s meeting with all the team leaders.”
I am so confused right now. “Leaders of what?”
“CPR? The place where you work?”
“You mean the department heads?” Suddenly exhausted, I drop into a chair and trace a finger along the table etched with the ghosts of art projects past. “I don’t get it.”
She sits kitty-corner to me. “This is our chance to communicate our priorities while they’re still in the design phase.”
“They who? And what design phase?”
“Trede is planning major upgrades at CPR.” She hops up to grab a folder from her desk. After slapping it down in front of me, she claps her hands with a little squeal. “The new place is going to be awesome.”
“But”—I look around the room as her words begin to sink in—“what about the old place?”
“Oh yeah. I’ll be so sad to say goodbye to these dropped ceilings with stained and broken tiles.” She rolls her eyes so hard it looks painful. “And the busted, out-of-date equipment that never gets replaced.” She flicks a graceful hand in the direction of some old machine that hasn’t worked in so long I’m not even sure what it was used for. “Not to mention the mysterious stink in the kitchen.” She shudders briefly before wagging a finger back and forth in time with her words. “This complex was hastily built in the nineteen seventies and poorly maintained since, and you know it.”
“Yeah, but…” I squirm in my chair, trying to find a defense for our poor old rec center.
“And look at all the things they want to add!” Daisy opens the folder and jabs a finger at a colorful printout. “Look at this mockup for the art room. All that natural light! I could finally teach pottery.”
“You already teach pottery.” Since I manage the programs, I know this is the case.
“For beginners. With only one working wheel and no kiln, all they can do is pinch pots.” She jumps up from her chair and spins in a circle, her skirt swooping around her legs in a perfect swirl. “Just think! We could be excited about coming to work instead of worried that the ceiling will leak or the toilet will be clogged.”
I have to stifle a groan because… she’s right. I guess I need to talk to Josh. I just hope I can do it without rubbing up against him like a cat in heat.