Chapter 3
SIENNA
My dining room table is full of activities planned for my class next week. I have three different-colored Post-It notes surrounding my laptop and my can of Coke. When I hear the hard knock on my door, an immediate groan leaves my lips.
God, c’mon on.
I don’t have time for interruptions, and I have a never-ending one with my neighbor, Miss Morrison, who constantly loses her dog. The miniature poodle slides his butt through her gate, and I’m not sure why it’s super confusing, but she doesn’t find a solution to it.
And then she comes over here, frantic with worry, and causes hours of my trying to help her find the little jerk.
With a plethora of excuses flooding my brain to tell her that I can’t assist with her dog’s rescue mission today, they all fall down to the pit of my stomach when I open the door and find Micah standing on my front porch.
All dark, dangerous stubble lining his sharp jaw. Those sky blues seizing my every mindless move and function.
It’s even worse now when we’re not in a public place.
When we’re alone again.
His full-tatted forearm is leaning up against the door, donned in a blue flannel shirt that’s folded up half his elbow with black jeans. And, God…he was one of those yolo moments for me that I can’t erase or regret.
“What are you doing here?” The question comes off a bit clipped, but it’s his fault. He’s at my damn house, and I can’t say that our parent-teacher conference hit off with a bang.
If anything, I insulted him more than helped, and I feel awful about that. But Heath needs some sort of outside support that isn’t him or me.
Then came the tidbit Micah divulged about the mother not being around, and I felt like a class-A asshole and a half.
“I’m here to pick you up,” he replies in that low, delicious dip of his voice that makes butterflies knock stupidly into each other like they forgot how to fly. “Did you forget about our date? You said you had a little red number waiting for me.”
I feel that exact color flush hot across my entire body as I stand stupidly in front of my door.
Honestly, after our last meeting, I thought he was going to throw that date right out the window. I hadn’t heard from him since then, and I figured that subtly spoke for itself that he didn’t want to see me.
I can’t say I wasn’t disappointed, but I understood.
Maybe I did, and he didn’t.
“I didn’t know that was still a thing,” I mutter, having a hard time holding his gaze. “We haven’t—”
“Why would you think that?” I swear to everything holy that this man literally has no idea what kind of hold he has on me with that voice.
The way his swagger sucks me in and holds me in his grasp.
I’ve never been this sexually attracted to anyone in my entire life.
And Micah does it so effortlessly that it scares the living crap out of me.
I puff out my cheeks with held air before saying, “I haven’t heard from you since…”
“I told you I don’t ghost, sweetheart. I show up.”
He did say that and as much as I appreciate that from him, it doesn’t hide the, now, complicated reality.
“But I’m your kid’s teacher.”
He quirks a brow. “I noticed that.”
Okay, he’s really not getting it.
“I’m your son’s teacher,” I repeat more forcefully through the knot forming in my gut. And as much as I love my job—most days—I hate in this circumstance that I am. “And I can’t date a parent. It’s against school policy.”
“Can you fuck one?”
Oh my God.
Memories forcefully flood into my brain of his hands, his lips, the way his blue eyes shimmered with burning desire and lust.
I’ve never had anyone look at me like that before.
And I didn’t want anyone else to.
While I could still feel him for days, I was acutely aware of the line I was treading. That was the way my body veered toward recklessness and endangering my whole mind.
Micah was a gravitational pull.
Not only was he handsome and charming, but he was also funny and a father. A father with a sweet kid who just needed some extra help. A guy who literally made me feel the best I ever had in a span of a night.
He was perfect, physically and verbally, too good almost to believe it.
And I was right.
Because our situation threw a curveball into my plans of seeing him again, but here he is.
Reliable.
True to his word.
Devastatingly killing me with my morals and the rules I’m to abide by.
I’ve replayed having sex in the back of his truck over and over again until I used it as my own personal porn movie in my head when I touched myself at night, thinking of him.
The urge to see him and the excitement of another date were nothing short of the highlight of my year.
Now, that’s dead and gone.
“No,” I say slowly. “However, at the time, I didn’t know that you were—”
“How about we go back to that?” Then he takes it upon himself to open my storm door and remove the protective layer of wall between us.
I feel the instant pull immediately. The way my body hums in pleasure that he’s back and stayed true to his word that he’d see me again. How I want to throw a whole lot of fuck it at my job and go for round two.
“You gonna invite me in, Sienna?”
“I…”
Can’t.
Truthfully, there is nothing more I want to do than allow this man in my house, to touch me and speak all the crazy, dirty things in my ear that he did last week.
It’s a damn miracle that he wasn’t such a creep because I don’t do that. I don’t allow men to flirt shamelessly and fuck me after only knowing each other for a few hours.
My only excuse—and I use that term loosely—is that it was a rough few days. When I caught him staring at me, that cocky smirk on his face that made me feel gorgeous, I thought it was only going to be just that.
I approached him because I had a nice little buzz from too much wine, we talked, he made me laugh, but then he moved forward and kissed me, and my brain and body were on the same page with wanting more.
And more.
And eventually a lot more.
Yet, fate shut that damn door abruptly in my face, and now he’s trying to open it again.
“Just nod that pretty little head of yours if you don’t want to go out”—he shrugs his broad shoulders—“I’ll order in. We can hang out, and I’ll try to keep my hands to myself.”
Geezus Christ.
“Micah…” I already hate myself for what I’m about to say. I’m going to literally have this regret hanging over my head for the rest of my life. “I loved our weekend. I’ll never forget it. But the new information that has come to light stops that.”
“I didn’t plan on putting it in the next mass school email, Sienna,” he replies solemnly. “In fact, I swear I can almost hear you backing out on me right now.”
“I’m not—”
“Good.”
He takes one large step inside my sanctuary and taints it with the smell of leather, patchouli, and him. It’s amazing how a smell can trigger so many memories and cause your body to overload because it’s a damn battle to really put my foot down here.
Especially when he towers over me with something on his white tee beneath his flannel that has something on it, but I’m too mystified to care.
He demands my attention.
That I listen and pay close attention to every single thing he says.
Kinda how I expect my kids at school to act, but that’s normally a bust.
“I’m starving, Miss Vesper. And I’ve been thinking about you all night, every night since you sat on my dick and rode it like you were made for it.” He crooks a thick finger at me, and my dumb ass just moves forward like a robot. I can’t help it. “Now kiss me…and tell me how much you missed me.”