Chapter 20

chapter

twenty

ADDIE

"There's more where that came from. All you have to do is say the word."

That's the last thing Owen said to me before sliding my leggings into place over my hips and walking out of the dance studio two nights ago.

And those words have been on repeat in my head ever since.

"Miss Lockhart?"

I hear my name somewhere in the back of my head as if I'm asleep, but really, I'm lost in Owen Land as he leads his class into a series of stretches.

He's touching his toes, his loose hair dangling over his forehead.

Many quietly mind his instruction, while some complain of soreness from running up the bleachers earlier this week.

To those, Owen says, "If your muscles are sore, that just means this class is working."

It makes me smile.

And the fact that his round ass is on display, with his black sweats stretched tightly across each curve, well, that just makes me bite my smiling lip.

"Miss Lockhart?"

I turn back to my students, wide eyes staring back at me from the bleachers. Their books and notebooks are open in their laps and on the seats next to them, the patterns staggered and a bit like a college auditorium–style room instead of the traditional rows of desks we had in my currently destroyed classroom.

"Hmm?" I blink, completely dazed and confused. What in the world were we talking about?

I struggle to force my internal compass to point north when something hits my back and practically launches me into the present again.

"I'm so sorry!" Behind me, on the other side of the volleyball net, a young girl covers her mouth as she visibly shrinks in embarrassment.

Owen jogs over, the short sleeves of his thin shirt nearly fused to his biceps as he pumps his arms forward and backward. He retrieves the ball at my feet while I continue staring at him.

Actually, I'm gawking.

I clear my throat and wave to the girl. "It's fine."

Owen holds up the ball, flashes a smirk that I feel between my legs, then jogs away, calling out to his class to focus on the placement of their strikes. "We're learning the skill of precision and coordination here."

My throat dries as his knowing eyes find mine.

He runs to the other corner of the court as the students resume their volleyball warm-up, and I can't tear my gaze away from Owen.

His hair is free from the confines of a hat, and the strands bounce with every stride.

Each time he lifts his hands to rest on his stocky hips or run them through his hair, thoughts of the other night in the dance studio transport me right back there—in the middle of my class!

Oh, Lord .

This is not the time nor the place to let this man rile me up, no matter how ruggedly, sinfully, frustratingly sexy he is.

"Miss Lockhart?" Mary Ellen raises her hand.

I nod for her to go on, and immediately, her words rush out.

"Cody is comparing Nathanial Hawthorne to some gamer nerd on YouTube . It's an outrage."

"It's symbolism," Cody shoots back.

Mary Ellen scoffs. "A video game has nothing to do with Hester's scarlet letter."

Hester Prynne.

Nathanial Hawthorne.

The Scarlet Letter .

It all comes roaring back as if I've emerged from a coma, and I release the hold my teeth had on my bottom lip.

We're discussing the scarlet letter Hester wore in the novel and the different symbols it serves, but my head drifted off to the PE teacher on the other side of this godforsaken gym.

Mary Ellen continues, "Comparing a YouTuber to one of the most respected authors in history is ridiculous."

"MadGamerMax is influential in his own time. Why do we have to talk about the sixteen hundreds? It's literally old news." Cody fist-bumps the kid sitting next to him.

I open my mouth to add to this conversation—aka do my job. After all, Cody poses an excellent question. It's one I'm frequently asked, and I always have such an insightful response.

But right now, nothing comes to mind except for the parallels between me and Owen to Mary Ellen and Cody. Those points smack me between the eyes.

The way these two go back and forth is excessively familiar, and suddenly, I'm thrust back into high school myself, where I'd often argue with anyone willing to jump into the metaphorical ring with me.

I dominated discussions in my English class with similar passion as Mary Ellen, and Owen was only heard when comparing the pace of a book to the speed of a baseball pitch.

Looking back, he wasn't wrong, and neither is Cody, although I don't know this MadGamerMax person. This line of thinking just lies outside the box, and is that really a bad thing?

Chantal chimes in, "Actually, The Scarlet Letter is still relevant. Women are judged left and right for their sexuality and supposed sins. Dragged through the mud until they're blue in the face."

"Exactly!" Mary Ellen bursts. "But just like Dimmesdale, men hide behind their power, insecurities, and long history of escaping public criticism. They're never vilified for their indiscretions."

"Not until Taylor Swift came along to rip them in half." Chantal reaches up to high-five a proudly smiling Mary Ellen, and my heart soars.

This is the kind of moment that reminds me why I love my job so much.

My goal is to eventually progress to hold the coveted position of principal, but that's not to say it'll be easy. Missing these moments with these scrappy and mindful kids will be gut-wrenching, to say the least, which is why I rock back onto my heels and soak it all in.

I fold my arms over my chest as the students continue back and forth, and I only jump in when we veer off from a lively discussion and onto the cusp of chaos, as Cody brings up MadGamerMax's ex-girlfriend who may or may not cyberstalk the apparently famous YouTuber.

"All right!" I clap my hands, and their attention snaps to me in sync. "Let's stick to the novel, okay?"

For the rest of class, we keep the discussion focused without interruption from the volleyball game, and my eyes drift to Owen a total of six times for the hour, which is better than yesterday's count of thirteen.

By Monday, I hope to get down to three, until he's no longer driving me insane, but deep down, I know those goals might not be reasonable.

The quick blow of a whistle and the stampede of hurried footsteps that follow from Owen's class dispersing into the locker rooms to change alerts me—we have five minutes left.

It's been his MO all week. The first time he blew the whistle, I jumped out of my skin and threatened to flush the damn thing down the toilet.

It didn't stop him from doing it again and again. It's a habit, as he claimed, but I haven't brought it up again since the first day. The truth is, I surprisingly appreciate the last call, of sorts. It lets me stay present for the discussion without worrying about checking the time so often.

I don't need the clock when I have him.

"I think that's a good place to end what was a rather impressive discussion. Thank you all for participating." I pace in front of the bleachers.

I have just enough time to remind the students of their reading assignment for the next chunk of The Scarlet Letter when the bell rings, and my palms have never been sweatier.

"Good job today." I clap like this is the end of a show, and I internally roll my eyes at myself. I'm officially losing it.

Once the coast is clear, I shake my wedgie loose and smooth the front of my pants down, vowing not to pace again for the rest of the day. These high-waisted trousers inflate like I unleashed a parachute in them.

"Is this dance new?" Owen's voice sounds from behind me, and I snap upright, freezing as if he caught me with my hand down my pants. "I must've missed it the other night."

I turn around, using my finger to swipe the loose hair stuck to my lips. "I call it the bad-decision dance. Like it?"

He hums as he saunters toward me, and a glint bounces in his emerald eyes like a pinball. That irritating, mischievous twinkle makes me feel as if I'm on display.

"By the way, you promised to keep the ball on your side," I point out.

"Not my fault you got in the way."

I scoff. "I was teaching my class."

"Were you?" He stops a foot from me. "Because it seemed like you were doing an awful lot of staring at the PE teacher instead of discussing Hester Prynne and all… her… naughty ways."

" Pfft ." The sound slips from my lips more like a purr.

It was supposed to hold more indifference. I'm not supposed to react so easily to the way his words drip with suggestive innuendos, but his slow utterance just sent a heat wave through my nervous system.

"Don't worry—I won't tell anyone, Lockhart." One corner of his lip curls upward. "I'll simply add it to our growing list of secrets."

"The other night never happened," I draw out, but it's no use. At the moment, I couldn't convince anyone a tree's trunk is brown, not with my breathy voice full of weakness.

"If it never happened, then how come I can still taste you?" His tone drops an octave when he says taste .

It's sensual—so excruciatingly and tantalizingly sensual.

He whistles a tune as he returns to his side of the gym, while I stifle my urge to climb him like a freaking tree right here at my sacred place of work.

I've never entertained such a heinous idea, and I wish I didn't mean it.

Owen Conrad has turned my whole damn life upside down.

"Oh, my Lord, no," I mutter under my breath as I turn my car off and take in the pink-and-yellow van parked on the side of my house. "It's fine. She's probably dropping off Kin's green beans," I say, totally talking to myself because I've completely lost my mind. "It's fine. All is well."

With a deep inhale—followed by a second and a third—I finally step out of the car, tote in hand like a security blanket, and trudge up the steps.

Rain swings the door open, and it's not just Kin who's behind her; she's brought friends, as in plural .

I did not take enough deep breaths before walking in here.

"My baby's home!" Rain tosses her arms around my shoulders. "You were gone a long time today."

I sigh. "This is how long I work every day."

"No wonder you have those bags under your eyes." She studies me, then fluffs my hair. "But your hair is gorgeous. I love that we look so alike. What did Mr. PE say last weekend—that we could be twins?"

"He says a lot of crazy stuff."

"I like him," she says in an airy, singsongy voice. "He's good for you."

"It's funny how you remember what he said about us, but you don't recall that I told you we're not together."

Her eyes widen. "You two had sex!"

The strangers occupying my living room turn their heads, and I've never wanted to be a rug so badly. I'd actually prefer to be the paisley rug they're currently sinking their bare feet into.

I gasp. "No, we didn't."

"You let him sip from your sacred garden. I can tell." Kin winks at me.

"That's so—how dare—you have some gall—" I open and close my mouth, floundering like a fish on a hot sidewalk.

"I can tell too," Rain chimes in.

"You said we had sex, which we did not, so you were wrong."

"But Kin was right."

"That's beside the point."

"Aha! So you admit there is something between you and Mr. PE."

My cheeks are on fire. I'm dangerously close to needing to dunk my face into a sink full of water.

"Oral pleasure is still sex, baby," Rain adds. "Any physical, animalistic act that awakens our inner goddess?—"

"Please stop." I hold my hands up. "I'll give you anything to stop that sentence. I'll give you this bag if you promise to never finish that sentence."

She grimaces. "This bag is rather gaudy."

"You can't have it, anyway. It contains my life." I angle my body away from her and pat my tote, as if she's hurt its feelings. Given how emotionally supportive this thing has been, I wouldn't immediately dismiss the notion, either.

"Your life should not be able to fit into a bag. Am I right?" Rain shifts her attention to her friends, then glances back at me. "Why do you chain yourself to such a small life in one place, with uncomfortable clothes and a single bag to show for it?"

"You know I didn't mean literally. It was a hyperbole." In the corner of my eye, I see Kin lifting his hand, and smoke billows over him. "Are you burning sage?" I cringe.

"I need to cleanse the negative energy in here. Otherwise, I'm going to hang in the van."

"There's a grand idea," I mutter and cross my arms over my chest.

"Go to sleep! You can wake up once we leave!" Kin calls out to the ceiling.

I turn to my mother, my nerves pinched between exhaustion and extreme irritation like a thumb and forefinger. "Is he talking to this supposed negative energy?"

"Of course. Don't you?"

"Well, I don't have any pets, so who else would I talk to?" I flash a sarcastic smile. "Speaking of leaving, when will that be exactly?"

"Don't tell me you're in a rush to get rid of us." Rain tsks. "That's no way to treat the person who gave you this house, is it?"

I purse my lips as my head spins. It's the same looney tune and fight with her each time she decides to pop in unannounced. When she was here for the chili dinner, she didn't stay here. I don't know that she stayed in Sapphire Creek at all.

But when she does stick around the house, her visit ranges from two days to two months. I never know with her.

The last time she showed up was probably six months ago, which was the longest stretch between overnight visits. I should've known this would happen, because why wouldn't it? This week has been full of surprises.

"I'm actually going out of town for the weekend, so the house is all yours," I announce.

"You are?" Rain pulls back, clearly shocked. "With Mr. PE?"

"His name is Owen, and no," I call over my shoulder as I shoot down the hall, mentally organizing a list of toiletries, clothes, and shoes I need to pack.

Oh, and I need to figure out where the hell I'm going.