Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One

GABBY

Knock. Knock.

I look up from my desk, where I’m eating lunch today, and see Christian standing in the doorway.

“Is it okay for me to come in?”

“Of course,” I say.

He holds up his lunch. “And join you?”

I smile. “You don’t even have to ask. Pull up a chair.”

With that cute smile, he grabs my spare chair and moves it over to my desk, where he takes a seat and starts unpacking his lunch.

I know what you must be thinking—what are you doing? Ryland would hate this. Are you doing this on purpose?

No, I’m doing this because there needs to be separation between me and Ryland. I realized that when we had sex in the shower, and then he got pissed about Christian the next day.

We’re not attached. Ryland has no claim over me. He has said he doesn’t want a relationship. He doesn’t want the distraction, yet we keep falling into a dangerous pattern where I’m going to get hurt in the long run, because I can see myself falling for him.

Falling for him and the feeling being unreciprocated.

And that can’t happen. Therefore, there needs to be separation. My shower’s currently being fixed and should be ready to use in a few days once the tile and everything are set. I don’t eat in the teachers’ lounge anymore because I don’t want any more instances of jealousy. And when it comes to baseball, well, we talk baseball, and I think he gets it.

Because he hasn’t pushed me for more.

He hasn’t talked to me when I take showers.

And we’ve been able to completely separate ourselves, which I truly think is for the best.

This is what it should have been all along.

And now that I’ve had some breathing room, I can focus on something else . . . possibly someone else.

“I’ve missed you in the teachers’ lounge,” Christian says. “I thought that maybe you were avoiding me.”

I’m avoiding someone, but not you.

“Gets kind of stuffy in there, and I like the big windows in my classroom,” I say. “Not avoiding you at all. I’m actually glad you came into my room. I thought about inviting you to have lunch with me in here, but I didn’t want to be too forward.”

He smirks. “I would have accepted the invitation instantly.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says, his cheeks blushing.

“Good to know, guess I won’t make that mistake again.”

“I’d prefer if you didn’t.” He opens up his protein yogurt and starts plopping berries in it.

“Looks like you copied my lunch idea.”

“I did actually. When I saw you bring it last week, I told myself what a great idea it was and that I wanted to do the same thing. Only thing is”—he reaches into his lunch bag and pulls out another yogurt—“I need two.”

I chuckle. “A growing boy?”

“Trying to bulk up a bit. You know, make myself irresistible.” Now my cheeks blush because he’s definitely flirting. “This is where you’re supposed to say you’re already irresistible, Christian.”

“And inflate your ego more than it needs to be?” I shake my head. “I think I’m good.”

“Damn.” He stirs his yogurt. “You’re pretty tough.”

“I’m not just going to hand out freebies, Christian. You have to earn it.”

“Any suggestions on how I earn compliments?”

“Don’t try,” I say with a wink, causing him to chuckle.

“Noted.” He takes a mouthful of his yogurt, then asks, “How has your day been?”

“Okay,” I say. “I felt like my brain wasn’t working very well the first two classes. I kept stumbling over my words and couldn’t explain the math properly. I had to pause a few times and take a deep breath because I was getting frustrated with myself.”

“I’ve had those days. They suck. You kind of just have to move past them and tell yourself you’ll be better next class.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do.” I sip my water. “I’m still getting my footing with this whole teaching thing. I worked hard to get here, and now that I’m here, I feel like I might be trying too hard. I want the kids to like me, which I know they do, but I also don’t want to be their friend because that’s not what I am. But then I can see myself in a few students, and all I want to do is scoop them up and take them under my wing.”

Christian’s expression morphs into one of understanding. “I get it. I had the same issue when I first started teaching. Do you know what I ended up doing?”

“What?” I ask, appreciating his advice on this.

“I learned to let them come to me. As much as you want to help, reach out, and be there for the kids, you need to realize that you can’t force them. They’re just going to resent you, so have the door open for them to walk through, but don’t pull them through.”

“That’s really good advice, Christian.”

He smiles, perking up. “And there’s my compliment.”

“See. Doesn’t it feel better that you earned it?”

“It really does,” he says with a smirk.

“Okay, don’t think I’m weird or anything,” Christian says as he sits at my desk, pulling up a chair without asking. “But I made cupcakes last night, and I brought you one.”

“You made cupcakes last night? You don’t seem like the kind of guy who just makes cupcakes randomly.”

“I’m not, but my nephew came over, and his mom dropped off cupcake mix and icing and told us to have fun.”

“That was kind of her,” I say, a sarcastic lilt in my voice.

“Tell me about it. It was a mess, and the biggest challenge was to tell my five-year-old nephew that the batter goes in the tins, not in his mouth.”

“Ooof, did he eat a lot?”

“More than I care to admit, but we made them without eggs. We used applesauce instead, so if anything, he overloaded on sugar, and I just sent him back to his house.”

“So really, she was the one hurting in the end.”

“I don’t know,” he says as he pulls out the cupcakes and pats his stomach. “His mom wouldn’t take any home besides the ones he touched. Therefore, I have a whole bunch, and I’m going to go into a sugar coma if you don’t help me eat them.”

I eye the cupcakes through the Tupperware. “Is that Funfetti?”

“Is there really any other box cake mix that’s worth our time?”

“There isn’t.” I smile. “And just to be cautious, your nephew didn’t handle these cupcakes?”

He shakes his head. “He had his own muffin tin for that specific reason. No one wants tainted, clammy-hand cupcakes.”

“Clammy hands.” I shiver.

“This kid, I swear to God, the clammiest hands you’ll ever touch. I asked my sister if it’s some sort of glandular issue because holding his hand is slippery and wet like holding the fin of a dolphin.”

“Oh God.” I grimace.

“And guess who’s an extreme hand holder?” Christian chuckles. “When he leaves, I spend a solid thirty minutes soaking my hands in scalding water with soap. And I love him, I love him a lot, but God, he needs to air out his hands from time to time.”

I laugh. “Yeah, I don’t do well with that stuff.”

“Neither do I.” He pops open the cupcake lid, and I take one. “Do you have any nieces or nephews?”

“No, I’m the oldest, and my brother, Bennett, is currently pursuing his dreams, so he doesn’t have time to think about a family.”

“Bennett?” he says with a question in his voice. “Wait, is your brother Bennett Brinkman?”

“He is. Was he a student of yours?”

Christian nods. “He was. Pretty quiet but really smart. How’s he doing? I’m assuming still playing baseball.”

“He’s doing great. He’s up in Triple A right now for the Bombers. Killing it of course. We’re really hoping he’ll be called up for the forty-man roster expansion.”

“Hell, that would be amazing.”

“It would be. But if it doesn’t happen this year, that’s okay. He’ll come back here for a few days to hang, and then he’s going to head back to his place. He’s renting with a couple of the guys and working on getting better during the off-season.”

“I can’t imagine how grueling that process is.”

“It’s pretty tough, but he’s always been adamant about making it. There’s no doubt in my mind that he’ll be called up to the big show. The only question is, when?”

“Amazing,” he says. “And your parents, they must be proud.”

I wince because it’s a simple question that shouldn’t cause such deep-rooted anger, but it does.

“They’re not in the picture,” I say simply, not wanting to make things awkward, but of course it does, because how could it not?

“Shit, I’m sorry.” Christian places his hand on mine, his warm palm eclipsing my knuckles. “I should have known better than to assume something like that. I’m sorry, Gabby.”

I offer him a smile. It’s a small smile, but it’s a smile, nonetheless. “It’s really okay. No big deal. Didn’t know my dad, and Mom couldn’t handle us.” I shrug. “Built resilience in us, and that’s why Bennett will make it to the big show. He’s determined to make something of himself. Not sure he’d have such determination if his life was. . . easier.”

“Yeah, I can understand that. Still, I’m sorry.”

“No need to apologize, Christian. It’s really okay.”

“Sorry I’m late,” Christian says as he steps into my classroom with a short, stumpy vase of what looks to be wildflowers. He sets it on my desk, then brings his chair over.

“What are these?” I ask him.

“Those are for you.”

“Why?” I ask, feeling my cheeks blush. I’m not sure I’ve ever received flowers before. Possibly since Nathan accused me of cheating when I bought myself some flowers for my birthday.

“For yesterday. I still feel shitty about bringing up your parents.”

“Oh my God, Christian. I told you it wasn’t a big deal, but this was nice.”

And then because I feel guilty that he feels guilty, I walk over to him and hug him.

I feel the relief in him as he wraps his arms around me. Christian is nowhere as broad as Ryland, something I shouldn’t think about when another man is holding me . But his hugs were all-encompassing. “I’m sorry,” he says softly.

“It’s really okay.” When I pull away, I hold his arms and look him in the eyes. “I didn’t think twice about it, but these flowers are so sweet.”

“I’m glad you like them, which makes me think I can ask this.” With a bout of courage, he swallows and says, “My sister has an art exhibit tonight, and she asked me to go. I didn’t know if you might want to go with me.”

Oh God, he’s asking me out.

What do I do?

What do I say?

I mean, I like him. He’s nice and kind and thoughtful and?—

“Am I interrupting something?” a deep, dark voice says from the doorway.

As if I’m touching fire, I release Christian’s arm. Ryland’s standing in the doorway looking none too pleased.

“Umm, not interrupting,” I say.

Ryland sticks his hands in his jean pockets, probably attempting to look casual, but the bulge in his pecs and the flex in his forearms are anything but casual.

“Gabby, I was hoping to talk to you about practice tonight.”

“Sure,” I answer, feeling so incredibly awkward.

But why?

It’s not like I’m doing anything wrong.

In fact, I’m doing absolutely nothing wrong. Like I’ve said before, Ryland has no claim over me. None.

And that dent in his brow and the light snarl in his lip should not be directed toward me or this situation. We’re friends without benefits— which means just friends— and that gives me the freedom to do whatever I want. Do I miss the sex? Yes, of course. But this is how it’s meant to be between us, and I’m good with that.

With that rolling around in my head, I turn to Christian and say, “Um, tonight sounds great. I can text you where to pick me up. Just let me know what time.”

“Great,” Christian says, a large smile on his face. “I’ll text you.”

With his lunch in hand, he moves away and nods at Ryland, who barely even acknowledges Christian’s presence as he stares me down.

Not this again.

Wanting privacy because I know what’s coming next, I walk past Ryland and shut the door. When I turn around, he’s standing right in front of me, crowding my space.

“Ryland,” I say with a hand held up to him. “Don’t even start with me on whatever is going through that mind of yours. You’re here to talk about practice, so let’s talk about practice.” Before he can even touch me, I move away and take a seat on top of my desk.

It takes him a few seconds, but when he turns around, he asks, “Are you really going out with him tonight?”

And here I thought he was going to listen to me. “What does it matter to you?”

“It doesn’t.”

“It clearly does if you’re asking.”

“I’m asking because he’s not the kind of guy you should be going on dates with.”

I roll my eyes. “And how the hell do you know who I should be going out with?”

“He’s a serial dater, Gabby. He’s been around the block with every single teacher in this school. He’s just asking you out because you’re another woman to check off his list.”

“Wow, that’s incredibly insulting. Maybe he’s asking me out because he finds me interesting, attractive, and possibly fun.”

“You’re fresh meat to him.”

I fold my arms across my chest. “Unless you plan on talking baseball with me, just leave. I can’t do this runaround with you, Ryland. That’s why I’ve distanced myself from you. And honestly, the past week and a half has been smooth for me. I haven’t been in my head, confused about what you want, what I want. I’ve been able to breathe, and I’ve enjoyed the distance from you.”

He rears back. “Wow, I didn’t know I was repressing you so much.”

“You haven’t been repressing me. You’ve been messing with my mind, and I don’t want to deal with it anymore.”

“I’m not doing it on purpose,” he says back. “Christ, do you think this has been easy for me too? This is fucking torture, Gabby. I don’t like . . . hell.” He pulls on the back of his neck in frustration. “I don’t like being this attracted to you.”

“Well, I’m sorry for the inconvenience I’ve bestowed upon you.”

“Cut that shit,” he says in a stern tone. “You know I’m not blaming you. If anything, I’m blaming myself. I never should have taken that first taste. Now it’s like a goddamn spiral that I can’t seem to get out of. And I don’t know what to do about it.”

“That’s something you need to figure out on your own and not invite me into your personal hell, because I’ve found space. I’ve found a good rhythm to my day. Maybe you should do the same.”

His jaw ticks as he stares back at me. “Have you really found a way to deal with it? Or have you run into the arms of someone else?”

My mouth falls open in shock . . . because the audacity of this man.

“You been sucking someone off on the side, baby? I always knew you were a whore, but I was okay with it because you’re my whore.”

Enough.

Ryland is not Nathan, but his words come eerily close to Nathan’s.

I stand from the desk.

“Fuck you, Ryland. If you really think that’s the kind of person I am, then fuck . . . you.”

And with that, I move past him and head straight for the teachers’ bathroom because if I stay in that room with him any longer, I might cry. And the last thing I want to do is cry in front of him.

I will not be belittled for wanting to spend time with another man.

Refuse. To. Be. Controlled.

Never again.