Veronica
This morning has been quiet. Unusually quiet.
I love this job in every form it takes. When kids are hurt or hurting, I try to help them find a way through—no matter how impossible the odds may seem. This place is where I belong. It’s who I am. What I do. Everything I care about.
But that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate a morning without drama, a precious few hours when no one is bleeding, crying, screaming, or sick. I count my blessings where I find them in this job, and today is a day to appreciate that. At least, so far.
I am outside talking with the head of the athletic department about a wardrobe expense that the dance team is fundraising for when the final morning bell rings.
When the front lawn clears of students, I stay outside a moment longer, letting the work ahead of me today organize itself in my brain.
Meetings, calls, and emails, of course. But tonight, we have a school board meeting, so I’ll be here much later than usual.
I take a sip from my travel mug and savor my coffee, when I hear the squeal of tires in the turnaround.
I squint across the sun-bright campus and see a huge SUV with blacked-out windows coming up the drive at a speed far faster than the posted limit.
I start trotting toward Manny the Manatee and am just about ready to radio security when the SUV slams to a stop. I keep running to catch up to it and reach the passenger-side window just as Daisy and Holly come firing out of the back seat as if they were shot from a cannon.
“We’re not late!” Daisy yells, trying to convince me.
“You are,” I tell her, arching a brow. I point to the SUV. “Is this…”
“Uncle Hawk,” Holly confirms. “Can we go to class?”
I shake my head and point toward the front doors. “My office,” I say. “You need paperwork and a detention form for this Saturday morning.”
“Oh no,” Holly says.
“Please, Miss Hollifield. Oh my God,” Daisy whines.
The begging starts, but I’m having none of it. I point wordlessly toward my office, and the girls head off, their heads lowered and their spirits considerably dampened.
God, I’m in such a shit mood because of this guy.
This, I have to say, is the part of the job I hate the most. There are always exceptions to the rules of life.
Sometimes, we’re sick or we’re late or we mess up.
There is no excuse, though, for putting kids through punishment and serious consequences like detention for something as preventable as being late.
And if this is the man I spoke to yesterday—that rude, insufferable man who hung up on me—I’m going to tell him that.
Before the SUV can pull away, I pound my palm against the closed passenger-side window. “Excuse me,” I call out. “Excuse me.”
The SUV doesn’t move, and I swear I can hear the string of curse words echoing from inside the truck.
I don’t move. I’ll wait him out. Finally, the passenger-side window rolls all the way down. I cross my arms over my chest in spite of myself. I’m angry, and if I don’t control my hands, I’m liable to start pointing right in this man’s face.
That is, until I get a good look at this man’s face.
Even though we’re a couple feet away, I can see he has a massive square jaw covered in a thick, dark beard.
He’s smiling at me with a full set of very pretty white teeth.
He’s wearing sunglasses that obscure his eyes, and his long, muscular, tattooed arms are stretched out, lazily resting on the steering wheel.
What gives me pause more than anything is what he’s wearing. Over his plain black T-shirt, he’s wearing a leather vest with an embroidered name patch that reads HAWK.
This is Nico Greco.
This is Uncle Hawk.
I don’t know why, but that immediately infuriates me. Maybe he thinks the rules don’t apply to him. Maybe he’s just too…I don’t know…busy with his biker buddies to get these girls to school on time. Either way, I uncross my arms.
“I’m coming around to speak to you,” I tell him, not even bothering to treat him like a parent or peer. I’m going full principal on him. I hold up a finger and motion toward him. “Please roll down that window.”
I storm around the SUV, balancing both my coffee thermos and my fury, but when I round the front of the car, I find that he’s turned off the SUV and has, in fact, rolled down the window.
“Am I in trouble, ma’am?” The words hit me with the force of a Florida hurricane. His voice is like liquid velvet, soft and deep, intriguing and somehow alluring all at once.
My knees go a little weak at his tone, and I widen my eyes. I’ve dealt with thousands of parents in my career. Rich parents, poor parents, entitled parents, and even celebrity parents. I have never had a reaction to a parent—or temporary guardian, in this case—like I’m having to this man.
“I’m sorry, are you what?” I ask, not trusting my ears.
A sensual smile crosses his full lips, and I feel like I’m watching a slow-motion rom-com. His beard looks so thick and soft, it seems to attract the sunlight. His lips are curved, and when he tugs those sunglasses from his face, all I see are swirls of chocolate and long, thick lashes.
I lick my lips and swallow against the sudden dryness in my throat, not sure for a moment whose turn it is to talk. Apparently, my brain becomes mush at the sight of a gorgeous man, because I don’t say a word.
I just blink and stare.
I must be giving him my principal staredown because he shakes his head and whistles through his teeth.
“Fuuuuuck,” he purrs. Actually freaking purrs.
He rests his left hand lazily on the side panel of the open window.
“The last time anyone looked at me like that, I got detention for a month. Now, why do I have a feeling you’re about to inflict a little punishment on me, Miss…
” He trails off and cocks his chin at me. “Miss?”
“Miss?” I echo dumbly, acutely aware that I’m acting like a lovestruck teenager.
I quickly shake my head to clear away the fog, scolding myself and schooling my face into an even more serious frown.
“I’m Veronica Hollifield, the principal of Palm High,” I tell him curtly.
“The woman you hung up on yesterday.” I glare again to punctuate my point.
“And you are Nico Greco? Daisy and Holly’s temporary guardian? ”
He answers me by removing his right hand from the steering wheel and holding it out to me through the open window. “Call me Hawk,” he clarifies. “And what should I call you?”
I look at his hand as though it will shock me if I touch it. His hands are huge, and even his fingers look muscular. I stare at the faded tattoos and mass of scars on his knuckles, which leave little doubt that he works with his hands.
This man is gorgeous and oozing dangerous vibes that have every alarm bell in my head going off.
Brushing aside whatever all this is I’m suddenly feeling, I take his hand and shake it firmly once, then drop it. “Just call me Miss Hollifield,” I say sternly. “Veronica Hollifield.”
Oh God. What am I doing? I am saying the same things and the wrong things, when what I really need to do is say what I’d planned to say to the kids’ guardian.
“Miss Hollifield,” Hawk starts. “I know this can’t look good—”
I cut him off right there. “It doesn’t matter how things look, Mr. Hawk.”
“Just Hawk,” he says, a lazy, teasing grin spreading across his face. “Please, go on.”
“As I was saying…” I scramble to think what I was saying, but the way his lips move when he smiles at me has me just…
“Enough,” I shout it out loud, as much to myself as to him.
“Enough bringing the girls to school late. Mr. Hawk, you may feel like the babysitter who has no actual responsibilities here, but Daisy and Holly will suffer real consequences for being tardy. Like Saturday detention. Like a mark on their permanent record. Notes and paperwork that will follow them throughout their high school careers.”
Even as I’m saying it, I hear my tone and realize how I must sound to this man. Suddenly, it’s as if every whispered rumor I’ve heard about Holly and Daisy comes back to me.
Their dad is the president of a motorcycle gang…the criminal kind.
Their father is terrifying.
He doesn’t talk. He just sort of growls.
Those girls are so lucky to have that new stepmother. She’s bound to keep things safe at home for them.
I suddenly feel like a schoolmarm from an ancient, outdated historical novel. What did I say to him?
Consequences for being tardy…
Saturday detention.
A mark on their permanent record.
I feel my cheeks heat as I consider this man might be a felon and I just threatened him with detentions and tardy slips.
Oh God.
“Miss Hollifield?” He’s looking at me like the wolf who has just figured out that Little Red Riding Hood is home all alone.
I swallow hard, my throat so dry, and fumble my coffee tumbler for a sip. I choke down some coffee, clear my voice, and get back to business. “As I was saying, the girls—”
“Listen. I’m not…” He makes a V with a tattooed hand, then cups his beard and tugs on the end of it.
He’s attractive, of course, but there’s also something else underneath this facade of toughness.
Is he trying to apologize? “I’m in a little over my head here,” he admits, looking me right in the eye.
“They were late again, and I know that’s a problem, but I’m taking care of them.
Good care of them, and that’s what they need right now.
I didn’t realize this caretaking gig came with such a strict time clock. ”
I don’t know what to say to that. I mean, with any other parent or guardian, the words would come out effortlessly. Setting an example. Establishing a routine. Commitment to the basics that will set the student up for success.
None of that comes out of my mouth. What I say instead is, “Okay.”
I have a PhD in Education, and faced with a stunningly gorgeous, tattooed biker, I blurt out, Okay.
I sigh deeply. It’s been a long time since I engaged with a man who wasn’t a dad or my dad. I clearly need to consider getting out more. For now, however, I need to get inside that school and get on with my workday.
But first, I have to get this man out from under my skin. Although, honestly, when I think about saying goodbye and sending him on his way, something in me hesitates. Like I actually don’t want this incredibly awkward conversation to end.
“Well, would you?”
The question breaks me from my thoughts. “I’m sorry. Did you say something?”
“Dinner?” He raises his brows at me. “Come by around six, and you can see for yourself. I may not be able to rush them through makeup and hair in the morning, but they are safe and cared for. I’m doing right by those girls.”
There is something so earnest in his voice. Something that I recognize. He’s looking for support and possibly even approval.
Maybe he is in over his head with the kids. Maybe it’s none of my business. Maybe I should just write up a tardy slip and letter to the parents and get on with my day. But something about this man has me nodding my head.
“All right,” I say. “I’ll come by.”
“Can I text you the address?” he asks. He holds his phone out to me. “Put your cell in.”
I stare at his phone like it’s a bomb about to go off. I think back to yesterday and the tardy forms.
“You, uh, actually already have it. I texted you the tardy form from my cell phone. Like you’d asked.”
He’s unlocked it, so I swipe the touch screen and look for the message that came from me. I see he’s entered a contact for my name: School Bitch.
I press my lips together and show him the contact like I’d show a cheating student the evidence of their crime.
“I’m the School Bitch.”
“Ah, fuck me.” He runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “Right. About that. I—”
I hold up a hand and focus my attention back on my contact.
I change School Bitch to my name—Miss Hollifield—but then quickly revise my contact.
A shimmer of a smile is on my lips when I hand him back the phone.
I’ve changed my first name to Miss Hollifield and my last name to School Bitch.
It’s long, but he gets the message, I’m sure.
When I extend my arm to hand his phone back, his fingers brush mine, and I swear I nearly drop my coffee. My knees go weak again, and a spark of something raw and fierce fires its way along my skin.
“See you tonight, Miss Hollifield?” he asks. He turns on the engine and looks back at me. “We good?”
I stare into his deep brown eyes, watching as he replaces his sunglasses and puts his hands on the wheel.
“Unless I’m not free to go?” he asks, a smirk in his voice.
There is something sincere about his apology and something very honest and raw in the way this man is flirting with me. There’s no question. The curve of his lips. The sensual grin. The fact that he may be a little embarrassed about calling me a nasty name in his phone, but he’s not that sorry.
He’s cocky and confident. And the way he’s looking at me melts me even through those ultra-dark sunglasses that he’s put back on in slow motion. Ugh, he’s hot.
“No, no, of course. Right. Go right ahead. Good day,” I stammer like a freshman who’s finally able to say two words to her senior crush, and none of them are the right ones. “I mean goodbye, Mr. Hawk.”
I stumble away from the SUV and head over to Manny’s statue. I watch as the biker drives at a much slower speed down the driveway than the breakneck pace he drove coming in.
A light sweat breaks out on my upper lip and at my hairline. I pinch my pressed blouse between two fingers and try to air myself out. Why the hell am I sweating?
Somehow, I have a dinner date with my students’ temporary guardian. A gorgeous, dangerous, sexy temporary guardian. Now this, I must say, is a career first.
What could possibly go wrong?