Chapter 4

Quinn – 25 Years Old

I quickly finish puttingthe paint pots on the desks so they're ready for my five-year-olds.

Two years into the job, and I still love it.

Despite my being the youngest here, the staff have been welcoming, and the children are amazing in their own little ways. Watching their eyes light up when they get something right is the best feeling.

I grab the paint tins and start putting the lids on. The school buys them in bulk instead of the squeezy bottles, which can sometimes be annoying—the things are heavy.

I put the lid on the yellow paint as my phone buzzes in my pocket, making me furrow my brow before I check the ID. I swallow hard, seeing it"s Momma, who probably wants me around for dinner to celebrate her birthday.

I feel bad but silence the buzz and place the phone back in my pocket. I sent her a gift yesterday, so that should be enough. Since she and Jack tried to ambush me, I barely see them. I"ve had about three meals with them in the past two years, and there's the odd phone call here and there. Our relationship fractured. I know I should act like the adult I am, but the hurt is deep; in my head, I"m still that little girl.

I sigh, grabbing the red paint lid and putting it on. The kids will be here soon, and within the next few seconds, I can guarantee my phone will buzz again, and I know my brother will try to guilt-trip me.

That"s another call I will be ignoring.

Right on cue, as I put the lid on the paint, my phone buzzes, and yes, I ignore it, grabbing the next paint lid, hoping he only calls once. That hope is dashed; as soon as the buzzing stops, it starts again.

With a sigh, I grab my phone and cancel the call before putting it on silent. I put my cell away in my bag, ready to put the other two paint lids on before the kids come in, not needing them to knock them over. Before I can finish, someone knocks on my door. I turn to see Andrew leaning against the door frame and I wince internally.

I give him a fake smile. "Hi, Mr. Collins, what can I do for you?"

The man is relentless. He"s nearly fifteen years older than me, yet he keeps trying to get me to get a drink with him, which is not happening. I can"t get rid of the man. He teaches fifth grade on the opposite side of the school, yet always seems to find himself here.

"It"s Andrew, darling. Mr. Collins seems too formal," he says with a smirk, trying to be sexy. Yeah, he"s not bad looking, with black hair going silver on the sides, and gray eyes, but he"s also a womanizer.

The man has screwed half the teachers, including the married ones.

"Morning, Mith ‘Anders…." I smile at Zachery as he rushes past Andrew. Most kids cannot pronounce their S"s, so to many, I"m Anders.

Jessie and Shauna, the twin girls, come in next, rushing toward me and giving me a hug, before taking their bags to the little cubbies at the back of the room. Four more students follow, including little Noah. Now, I know I shouldn"t have a favorite child, and normally, I don"t, but Noah is different. As soon as I met him a few weeks ago with his Grams, I recognized him and those eyes.

He was the little cutie who dropped his elephant with the asshole dad.

He"s a little firecracker who hates it when men talk to me, even if it"s a student"s father. He"ll subtly try to get my attention or push between myself and the person I"m talking to, including accidentally standing on the other person"s feet.

It"s odd, that"s for sure.

Noah runs to me, giving me a big hug and a daffodil, making me grin before he takes his bag to his cubby.

Andrew clears his throat, making me realize he"s still there instead of in his classroom.

He asks, "So tonight, I was wondering if you"d like to get a drink with me and see where the night goes?"

See where the night goes? Seriously?

I go to open my mouth to say "thanks, but no thanks" again,when paint is flung across his pant leg, making him gasp as Noah jumps back. I stare in shock. Andrew curses, making the little tykes in the class gasp in shock. Andrew steps to the side but slips on the paint, falling on his ass with a loud thump.

I completely freeze. I want to laugh, I also want to scold, but I"m just frozen in place.

I see movement in the corner of my eye and notice Noah going for the dark green paint to add to the pink paint on Andrew. I quickly snap out of my shock, ignoring the kids' laughter behind me, and jump forward to grab the paint. Still, I"m not quick enough. He grabs it, and then tips it upside down on top of Andrews"s head, making the man shout in horror, all while I stare, eyes wide and mouth open.

Holy….

I blink, rush to Noah, and gently pull him away, knowing I need to deal with him once Andrew is okay.

"Noah, go take a seat, please," I say quietly, and he nods, looking too proud. I go to Andrew, who puts his hand up to stop me from helping him up. It takes several attempts, but he manages to get up, his gaze flashing to Noah, who doesn"t shrink back from the glare, a glare I send back to the teacher. It's wrong that a teacher is trying to scold a five-year-old with that kind of intimidation.

Andrew clears his throat before he says, "I"ll leave you to clean the mess, Quinn, and uh, let you call his parents. I"ll come see you later this afternoon about that drink."

He turns and leaves while I try not to curse him out.

Taking a deep breath, I look toward the kids who are trying not to laugh, and state loudly, "Okay munchkins, in front of you is paper and some paint. For the next twenty minutes, I want you all to paint me something full of color so I can hang them on the back wall, and then I want you to paint a picture for you to take home for your parents tomorrow."

They all grin, then grabs their paintbrushes, while Noah watches the door for a moment before getting his brush.

I swallow the lump of anxiety in my throat. Crap, he"s going to try to scare Andrew off; I can just see it.

With a sigh, I go to my desk to call the janitor…then Noah's parents.

An hour later, after a very awkward conversation with Noah"s dad, who still sounds like an ass and who is late. While the children are in music class next door, I"m collecting the children"s paintbrushes to replace them with number blocks for our math session. Noah remains in his seat, painting another picture for his dad.

When I asked if he could stay with me, he happily agreed, but I don"t know if it was because he knew his dad was coming in or because, well, he knows Andrew keeps walking past my door, the paint still on his face. I have to admit, I want to laugh each time I see him.

I place all the brushes in the sink when I hear heavy boots echo in the hallway. A very large man with deep green eyes, just like Noah"s, strides in like he owns the place. My heart races. The man is basically sex on the legs, right down to the lip ring and silver chain around his neck.

"Daddy…" Noah exclaims with excitement as the man kneels in front of him. He cups his son"s cheek, and I swallow hard, straightening the black blouse I"m wearing, hoping I don"t make a fool out of myself. This man wasn"t nice the last time we interacted.

Whatever….

I walk over to them and clear my throat before stating, "Mr. Mendoza…."

He cuts me off, lifting his hand up to silence me. I raise a brow, but my surprise soon turns into a scowl when he says, "Let me talk to my son." Not once does he look my way. Noah side-eyes me, a little smile on his face when he sees me cross my arms over my chest. I'm not willing to put up with his father"s crap.

I snap, "Well, it looks like your manners haven"t changed, have they?"

His head jerks in my direction, his mouth opening, probably to snap back at me, but instead, it hangs open, and he freezes, confusing me.

What, do I have something on me?

I look down but don"t see any paint or anything, and shake my head. I plant my hands on my hips, stating, "A few years ago, I picked your sons elephant up off the ground, and when I tried getting your attention to politely let you know, you snapped at me and called me a patch chaser, which, by the way, my brother did explain what that means, so thanks for that description of me. And now I call you in here and you snap at me again!"

He winces as he stands, rubbing a hand at the back of his head, the hair on top already ruffled like he"s run his hand through it several times. I raise a brow at him, trying to ignore the way his black t-shirt hugs his muscles.

He clears his throat. "I"m sorry. I didn"t mean to snap at you, and I certainly did not mean to offend you that day, years ago. But I did call out to you to say sorry, and I was, am…."

I nod before looking at Noah, who is grinning…. Hmmm.

"Mr. Mendoza?—"

"It"s Alex," he cuts in, making me furrow my brows as Noah practically bounces on his seat in excitement.

Didn"t Jack say they only offered their government names to the woman they considered their "forever"?

I shake my head and speak forcibly, "Mr. Mendoza, I called you here because Noah?—"

He cuts me off with a wave again, making me narrow my eyes at him but he's not fazed. Instead, he smirks and states, "It"s Alex. What Noah did was out of order, and I plan on punishing him. Is that teacher okay?"

Why does his inquiry about Andrew's welfare seem insincere?

I shake my head again and reply, "He is okay, thankfully, but this kind of behavior is not acceptable. Noah is a sweet boy, the sweetest—" Noah's smirk turns wicked. "But since starting two weeks ago, he has gotten in between myself and any male I interact with. This is the first time he"s physically harmed someone, and this cannot go on."

Mr. Mendoza murmurs, "Good kid," making me narrow my eyes at him before he clears his throat. "I'll make it doesn"t happen again."

Why do I not believe him?

The bell rings, and the kids start running in, distracting me. Noah tugs on his dad"s cut, not vest. Jack states it"s an insult to call them that. Mr. Mendoza kneels as Juliet rushes over to me."

"Ms. Sanders, Ms. Sanders…."

I smile and bend down as she hands me a daisy. I say, "Thank you, Juliet," making her smile, but it soon turns into a grin when I place it in the water with the daffodil.

"Okay, munchkins, please take your seats and get your pencils. It"s time for writing."

They all cheer, making me smile, before I turn my head, feeling eyes on me. I make eye contact with deep green ones and my belly flutters.

He smiles, then rubs his hand over his son"s head. He leaves without another word. I clear my throat, knowing I haven"t properly discussed his son"s behavior. The man was a living, breathing distraction.

I cannot be attracted to a parent. I cannot.

Hours later, I"ve successfully managed to dodge Andrew. I"m not sure how I managed it, but I did. The kids are gone, and I"ve set up my room for craft day tomorrow—that should be fun. After pinning up the ones for the back wall, I hung all the kids" pictures to dry for their parents tomorrow.

I take one last look around before grabbing my bag and heading out. I"m tired, my phone feels heavy, and I can"t be bothered to deal with it. I know my brother will be waiting for me at my apartment, and I don"t have the energy to deal with him. I checked my phone at lunch and had several missed calls. I did check the latest to ensure it wasn"t an emergency, which thankfully it wasn"t; Momma just begged me to come tonight. She had the nerve to tell me to get over it because she did. I was flipping seven, and she knows it"s more than that. She"s just decided to block it from her memory.

Why can"t they leave things be?

With a sigh, I lock the door and head out, but when I get to my car, I halt at the man leaning against a bike right next to it.

I clear my throat, and drawl, "Mr. Mendoza…."