9. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Cat

I slouch in the chair at the small desk in my temporary room, rolling my shoulders to ease the tension. The soft glow of my laptop screen illuminates the dimly lit space as I prepare for my last parent-teacher appointment.

We used to do these in school, but after the pandemic, schools and parents opted for virtual conferences. My eyes flick to the clock at the bottom corner of the screen. I still have ten minutes before the meeting.

I take a sip of lukewarm tea, grimacing at the taste. Note to self: herbal tea bags do not improve with age. While waiting for my next call, I check my email. There’s a new message from my landlord, and I click it open.

Ms. Alonso,

I regret to inform you that the repairs to your apartment are taking longer than initially anticipated. The damage from the fire was more extensive than we first thought. It’ll be at least another two months before the building will be habitable . . .

"Fuck me.”

Guess I should forgive Wyatt for ambushing me with this whole situation. Sleeping on the couch and living out of a suitcase in Nora’s living room well into the summer . . . not an option. Not when they are planning their wedding.

At least here, I have my own space, my own bedroom, complete with drawers to put my clothes in. My toes curl in the soft, plush carpet. Some days I wish this was my permanent room.

While adjusting to living in the house took some time, and in some ways I still walk on eggshells, this room is mine. He barely comes down this way, and if he needs me for something he tends to text.

That man. One minute he's infuriating me with his brooding silence and judgmental looks. The next, he's offering support without hesitation. Like a few nights ago, when I told him about my grandmother.

Speaking of my abuela, I reach for the pamphlet the doctor gave me on dementia. I’ve read it over a few times along with the assisted living brochures. Never in a million years did I think this is what I’d be researching and learning about during my free time.

A lump forms in my throat. I'm not ready for this. I'm not ready to lose her, not like this. Not when she's been my rock, my constant, for so long.

An alert pops up on my screen, jerking me out of my spiraling thoughts. Time for the next conference.

I take a deep breath, plastering on my best "teacher smile" as I join the virtual classroom. "Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Alvarez. How are you tonight?"

The couple on the screen smile back, but there's a tightness around their eyes that immediately puts me on alert.

"We're well, Ms. Alonso. Thank you for meeting with us," Mrs. Alvarez says.

At this time of the year, most parents are familiar with the curriculum, so these conferences tend to be short for those students who are doing well. Like Sophia. She’s one of my brightest students.

But there is one obstacle I still haven’t fully solved with her. “I was hoping you might be able to provide me with some insight as to why Sophia doesn’t like to participate in class. She’s insightful and smart. And she has no problem speaking one-on-one with her classmates and teachers. But in any other circumstance, she shuts down.”

Sophia’s parents give one another a look before turning to face the camera. Mrs. Alvarez sighs, her shoulders slumping slightly. "Last year, Sophia had to give an oral report on our family. Some of her classmates . . . they weren't very kind."

Mr. Alvarez huffs. “Even told her she was too white to be Latina.”

My heart clenches at that. I know exactly what that feels like. The sting of not fitting into the neat little boxes people expect you to. Too white, too brown, too loud, too quiet. It’s like you’re always too something for someone.

I take a deep breath, steadying myself before I speak. "I'm so sorry that happened to her. Kids can be cruel sometimes, and it’s not fair that she had to go through that. And I want you to know that in my classroom, we celebrate each student for who they are. I’ll make sure Sophia knows that her voice matters here."

Mrs. Alvarez nods, but worry is still etched into her face. "Thank you, Ms. Alonso. We don’t want her to feel like she has to hide who she is."

"She won’t," I say, my voice firm. "I’ll work with her. We’ll find a way to make her feel comfortable participating again. She’s too brilliant to stay quiet."

Mr. Alvarez clears his throat, his voice gruff but filled with gratitude. "We appreciate that. Sophia’s a good kid, but she’s sensitive. She takes things to heart."

I nod, understanding all too well. "I’ll keep an eye on her. And if you notice anything at home that might help me understand her better, don’t hesitate to reach out."

Mrs. Alvarez smiles, though it’s small and tired. "We will. Thank you again, Ms. Alonso."

"Have a good night."

As the screen goes dark, I lean back in my chair, letting out a long breath. It’s moments like these that remind me why I became a teacher in the first place—to be the person I needed when I was younger, to make sure kids like Sophia don’t feel as if they have to shrink themselves to fit in.

But it’s also moments like these that weigh heavy on my heart. Because no matter how hard I try, I can’t protect them from everything. I can’t shield them from the world outside my classroom.

I close my laptop and stretch my arms over my head, groaning as my spine pops in several places.

Time to check on the kids.

I pad down the hallway, the hardwood floor cool under my bare feet. In the living room, Mason and Stella are sprawled on the couch, eyes glued to some cartoon on TV.

"Hey, guys. Everything okay out here?"

They nod without looking away from the screen. I shake my head, smiling. At least some things are normal.

"I'm going to take a bath. Just knock if you need anything."

Another set of distracted nods. I'll take it.

Back in the bathroom, I turn on the water and add some bubble bath as the tub fills. The sweet scent of lavender fills the air, and I inhale deeply. Just what the doctor ordered. Some alone time to relax.

After stripping down, I climb into the tub, the water lapping against my skin as I let out a slow sigh. But as I close my eyes, my mind starts to wander, and it doesn't take long for it to find its way to Leo.

Fuck, that man is infuriating. But fuck if the image of his tented joggers hasn’t been haunting me for days. Days. The man is packing.

And the way he got all controlling and growly when I stepped on the ceramic shard . . . Fuck, I’m wet just thinking about it. My grandmother wasn’t wrong when she called him a Viking.

That raw, primal energy is there. Just beneath the surface of his controlled exterior and fucking hell, do I want it to snap.

My hand slides down my body, tracing the curve of my breast, my fingers lingering on my nipple. Viking Leo's touch would be rough and demanding. A soft moan escapes my lips as I pinch and roll the sensitive peak between my fingers, feeling a throb of pleasure between my legs.

Then it wanders lower, skimming over my stomach, my hips, until I'm touching myself. My fingers move in slow, deliberate circles, building a steady rhythm that has my breath hitching and my heart racing. I picture Leo's body, hard and muscled, poised above me, his eyes locked onto mine as he pushes into me, filling me completely.

A low, guttural sound tears from my throat as I imagine the feel of him moving inside me, the friction of our bodies driving us both to the brink. My hand moves faster, the pressure building, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter in my core.

"Fuck, Leo," I whisper, my voice ragged and desperate. I'm so close, so goddamn close. I can almost feel him, almost taste him. And then, with a final, shuddering cry, I come undone, my body convulsing as waves of pleasure crash over me.

I slump back against the tub, my chest heaving. Bad move, Catharina. Yeah, getting off to Leo Hartman while I live with him is fifty shades of wrong for many reasons. Hell, I don’t even know if he has a girlfriend. The man never goes out unless it’s with Wyatt or the team.

Not that it’s any of my business. I’m here temporarily and have my own problems to deal with.

Grumpy, uptight Leo Hartman and his monster erection are not one of them.