Chapter 10
brIE
The following week, I can’t stop agonizing over that night I ran into Sawyer at the bar. Every time I catch myself thinking about it, I sternly remind myself I don’t care. Then my mind promptly replays the whole thing over again, bringing into focus a new detail.
Like the way the sleeves of his flannel, a surprising choice for him, were rolled up to reveal strong forearms. Or the way his firm hands caught me by the hips when I bounced into him. Or the way he smelled liked chlorine and toasty beer.
Why did I even notice those details?
Now, I watch Sawyer run his hand casually through his hair as he stands on the gym floor in his form-fitting slacks and button-down, waiting for kids to clamber over one another for the perfect seat on the bleachers.
His tie looks like one long hotdog with mustard on it.
I sit at the end of the row of teachers for the school-wide assembly. When all the kids have settled down, Sawyer turns on the microphone to greet everyone. His voice is deep and even, but that night at the bar, it was deeper. Raspier. Like tires crunching over gravel.
Fuck polite and professional. Those standards shouldn’t apply to you.
What does that even mean? If it’s an insult, I’ve heard better. Or, worse?
Immediately after Sawyer said those words and left, I found Dev in the corner booth and got absolutely plastered, barely tasting my food and desperately trying to forget I’m stuck in this town for the next five months and Sawyer Strong is my boss.
It didn’t work.
“We haven’t met yet,” whispers the young woman next to me. “Are you the third grade sub?”
I glance at her as Sawyer’s voice continues to blare out. She looks as though she stepped out of a fairytale. A perfectly curved blond ponytail, large blue eyes, and a matching blue dress that fans out over her folding chair. And she’s tall. Even sitting, she towers over me.
With a tight smile, I whisper, “Yeah, Brie Casey,” and turn pointedly forward again.
Sawyer’s clothes are borderline obscene, stretching over his muscles as he paces in front of the students and gestures to keep them engaged.
Fuck polite and professional. Those standards shouldn’t apply to you.
I give my head a discreet shake. All Sawyer’s doing is trying to get into my head. Be confusing on purpose.
This is what he does.
Just like after that night he picked me up in the rain senior year.
“Oh my gosh!” The teacher beside me reaches for my hand and clasps it tight, clearly in response to something Sawyer said. “He didn’t!”
I focus on his words just in time, delicately trying to extricate my hand from this stranger’s death grip.
“That’s right.” The corner of his mouth twitches as he waits for something to dawn on his audience.
You could hear a butterfly’s wings flutter in the silence. Even the youngest kids are holding their breaths, eyes huge and unblinking, eager anticipation written on their faces.
Sawyer continues, “The brES Jamboree will have a petting zoo this year!”
Everyone in the gym loses their fucking mind. The smallest kids are screeching at the tops of their lungs, the older kids are hugging one another, and even the teachers are whooping and hollering.
Clapping maniacally, the Disney princess next to me leans over and says, “Sawyer’s been working on this for months! He personally met with business owners and farmers around town to help fund it and pull it all together.”
“Really?” My incredulity tumbles out as I turn my attention back to Sawyer.
He watches the gleeful kids patiently. There still isn’t a smile on his face, but there’s a tint of pink on his cheeks that wasn’t there before, visible only because he’s clean-shaven today.
Like he was that night at the bar.
I’ve barely seen him since then. I keep expecting him to show up at my classroom like he did my first couple days of working here, to micromanage me or embarrass me in front of the students or something. But he hasn’t. It’s been radio silence. He’s kept his distance.
Just like I want.
“Ms. Casey,” Sawyer’s voice booms out, startling me.
“Ooh,” the princess coos. “That’s you!”
“I’m sure many of you have seen her around the halls by now,” he continues. “We want her to stay here at brES, so let’s make sure she feels welcome by all of us.”
The kids all clap politely. I catch Lizzie, beaming in the third row, and return the smile with a little wave.
From next to me, the blond claps with more enthusiasm than a cheerleader on her third latte. “Yay!”
After Sawyer gives his closing reminders and dismisses everyone, I hold my finger up to my class, indicating they need to wait patiently before we can leave.
I was locked out of the computer this morning and, though I’m loathe to do so, I need to ask Sawyer about it.
My new best friend is chatting my ear off while I wait. “PreK nap overlaps with third grade lunch. Want to meet in the teachers’ lounge? My teacher’s aide handles nap so I usually eat my lunch at that time anyway, so it’s perfect. Can you believe our official lunchtime is 10:15? In the morning?”
I hold my hand up, signaling for her to stop, and give her a polite smile. “What’s your name again?”
“Tess!”
“It’s really nice to meet you—”
“Milo,” she trills serenely as she shuffles toward a little red-haired boy, “hands are not for hitting!” She smiles over her shoulder at me and says, “See you at lunch!” before chasing her class out the gym.
That’s one way to make plans.
One lunch won’t kill me, I decide. Besides, I get the feeling Tess will do most of the talking.
I turn, scanning the gym for Sawyer. For a moment, I think I missed him, that he’s already left. But then I see him down on one knee in front of a little boy, a kindergartener by my guess.
Edging closer, I hear him tell Sawyer why he plans to bring his stuffed giraffe to show-and-tell instead of his pet cat.
Sawyer gives the boy his undivided attention. His face is serious and he’s nodding along like there’s nothing more important to him as the boy stumbles through his reasons.
Watching the exchange does funny, annoying things to my insides.
Mercifully, an older teacher calls to the boy. He runs off, comes to a squeaky stop on the gym floor, then runs back for a jumping high-five with Sawyer before running toward his teacher again.
Sawyer stands, planting his hands on his hips as he surveys the students filing out the doors. His eyes land on me as I step toward him. A flash of surprise and something I can’t read crosses his face.
Then, like turning the page of a book, his expression turns bland.
“Can I help you, Ms. Casey?”
I hesitate at his curt tone. It’s not just professional, but cold.
Swallowing, I say, “I think the login you gave me for the computer expired. I’m locked out.”
He looks up at the ceiling. “And that’s why I usually stay away from the computers.” His gaze lands on me for a nanosecond before darting away again. “I’ll send Senora Martinez to your classroom.”
Before I can say thanks he turns on his heel and leaves me in the middle of the gym to pick my jaw up off the floor.
Sure, I might have said something about being polite and professional at school, but I never said anything about treating me like a complete stranger.
A burst of anger surges through me as I remind myself again that this is what he does. It’s psychological warfare. He intentionally tries to mess with my head. Even after fourteen years, he’s still the same person. He’s still the mayor’s son who blithely walks all over everyone else.
But I’m not that girl from the wrong side of town anymore, no matter what he or the rest of Blue Ridge thinks.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I take a quick peek before turning to my class. It’s from Dev. I’ve been so embarrassed about how drunk I got that night, all I’ve texted him since then is cat memes.
Still wanna come on that date to Angelica’s? It’s happening this Saturday.
A date. With Dev.
I take in a sharp breath and motion for my class to follow me out of the gym.
Dev couldn’t be more different from Sawyer. With Dev, I know exactly what to expect. Easy. Reliable. Friendly.
The way he worded the message was a little weird, but that’s Dev. Not concerned by much, and definitely not the kind of person who reads over his texts before hitting send.
I grin. Of course I want to grab dinner. Of course I want to go on a date.
Dev and I get along so well—always have.
He doesn’t ask a lot of questions, and neither do I.
Our friendship has always rested on a firm respect for boundaries.
An escapist friendship, in a way. He knew I wouldn’t ask him about his parents’ expectations or school.
I knew he wouldn’t ask about my dad or money.
We could be great together.
That’s the dream, isn’t it? To be married to your best friend?
And Gia was right, he went from a lanky kid with too-big facial features to a man with movie-star looks, and his voice is like drowning in silky molasses, or whatever she said.
Before stuffing my phone into my back pocket, I glance at the text once more, arching an eyebrow at the last line.
It’s happening this Saturday.
It’s commanding and dominant.
Maybe that’s what Dev is like in bed.
My nose scrunches at the thought of Dev in bed.
Why is my nose scrunching at the thought of Dev in bed?
It’s because I’m at school, I tell myself. Salacious thoughts are inappropriate, and my body knows that.
At that logical reasoning, my enthusiasm for our date returns, and I walk my kids back to the classroom as I draft a reply in my head.