Throttle (Jack 'Em Up #3)

by Shauna Allen

  The plump, middle-aged secretary smiled at me as she poured her own coffee, showcasing the wide gap between her front teeth and deep dimples. “Good morning, Tori.”

  “Morning, Mrs. Tanner.”

  After doctoring my brew, I sipped and gazed out the window at the line of cars dropping kids off and the teachers who’d been assigned to herd them inside. I’d have to ask about volunteering to help with that every once in a while. It would be a great way to get to know some of the kids.

  I smelled Everett’s cologne before I saw him. He stepped into my personal space, his coffee mug lifted to his lips, his brown eyes smiling behind his glasses.

  I stepped away discreetly. “Hi, Everett.”

  “Good morning. Excited about school starting?”

  “Yes.” And, I realized, I really was. It was a little scary and totally new, and I had no real friends or family in this small town I’d chosen to start over in, but I was strong. I’d adjust. I always did.

  Excusing myself back to my office, I closed myself inside and began sorting through the children’s files that had been left for me from last year. I didn’t expect to see every child in the school, but these ones had been labeled ‘at risk’ for one reason or another, with varying degrees of psychological, social, and developmental problems.

  By lunch time, I’d reviewed the top dozen files, broken up a fight in the hallway, and soothed a scared child.

  “Hungry?” Everett popped his head in my office.

  I glanced up from my computer. “Uh . . .” I checked the clock. “Sure.”

  “We’re just grabbing sandwiches down at the deli. Wanna come?”

  I stifled a relieved breath that we wouldn’t be alone. The way he stared at me sometimes felt a bit creepy. But, he was essentially my boss, so I shoved it aside and tried for professional politeness. I had only been there a few weeks, but I’d already heard through the rumor mill that ever since a nasty divorce, he hit on everything with breasts.

  I nodded and stood to reach for my purse and followed him out. Mrs. Tanner, along with the school nurse, Maggie, a couple of teachers, Everett, and I headed out into the bright Texas sunshine and strolled about half a block to Kevin’s Deli. Inside, I let my eyes adjust to the loss of sunlight as the scent of pastrami and freshly baked chocolate chip cookies assailed me.

  We formed a line and ordered, then sat to wait for our food. I ended up conveniently between Everett and one of the first grade teachers, Angela Delgado. She was lovely, her Hispanic heritage obvious in her glossy black hair and shining dark eyes. She also had an easy laugh and infectious smile. I liked her instantly.

  She sipped her Diet Coke. “Where were you before Baybridge?”

  “Nowhere. I just graduated with my Masters.”

  Her face lit up. “Really? Wow. I graduated last year and moved here because my husband got a job in one of the refineries. What brings you here? Husband? Family?”

  I shook my head. “I just sort of landed here and I like it. I might try a bigger town and school district, or even full-time child psychology someday, but for now, I’m happy right where I am.”

  We were served our sandwiches and Everett leaned in. “We’re happy you’re here, too.”

  I smiled, wishing I’d never agreed to dance with him at the Funky Monkey. I’d obviously given him the idea I was interested. Nothing could be further from the truth. Focusing on my lunch, I tried to keep up with the conversation and ignore Everett by my side, and I nearly succeeded.

  Well, until Trace Berringer walked in.

  I nearly swallowed my tongue as he sauntered up to the counter, his faded jeans and grease-stained T-shirt hugging every inch of his tall body. His dark hair was mussed, his face framed in stubble, and scuffed work boots completed the sexy working man thing he had going on. One of his friends that I recognized from their trips to the Funky Monkey strolled in behind him, wearing the same shop T-shirt and dark-eyed, somber expression he always wore.

  They ordered, oblivious to my scrutiny, and it was all I could do to keep my drool to myself. Seriously.

  Trace said something to his friend and they both laughed, his hazel eyes glittering with amusement. They moved to fill their drinks and wait for their order, and I offered up a silent prayer of thanks he hadn’t seen me.

  I wasn’t usually shy around men, but something about him had me feeling like the insecure girl who’d struck out on her own right out of high school.

  I forced down the last bite of my turkey sandwich as everyone started standing up around me and gathering their things.

  “You ready, Tori?” Everett said, offering me a hand.

  My gaze flew to Trace and his friend, and sure enough, he’d heard. His deep greenish eyes were serious as we studied each other. I forced myself to look back to Everett and stand, ignoring his outstretched hand.

  We headed to the door and I nearly tripped on my heels, fighting the urge to look at Trace again.

  “Hey,” he said as I passed, forcing me to stop.

  Slowly, I pivoted and faced him, pasting on a smile to cover my stupid nerves. “Oh, hey, Trace.”

  His gaze raked up and down my body in a slow perusal, a hint of amusement tilting his lips. “Having a good day?” he asked, his voice sex on a stick.

  The sex I wasn’t having . . . the sex I hadn’t had in ages.

  “Uh . . .” I cleared my throat. Did he have any idea how he got under my skin? At the Funky Monkey, it felt like we were on even ground. Me slinging beer, him a patron. But out here in public, it felt . . . different. Unnerving. “Yup. I am.” Behind me, one of the women let out a cough that wasn’t discreet at all. “Well . . . I’ve gotta get back to work.”

  He nodded, his eyes smiling. “Sure thing. See you around.”

  I mumbled some kind of incoherent agreement, wishing my spine would make an appearance, and followed everyone out the door. Outside, I sucked in a big breath, trying to settle my stomach. How did he do that to me?

  “Who was that?” Maggie, the school nurse, asked, her face lit with interest.

  “He, uh . . .” How did I describe him? A friend? An acquaintance? Someone I knew from my old job as a waitress? None of those seemed to fit. “He’s someone I kinda know from around town.” I stumbled over my words. “No big deal.”

  She peeked back over our shoulders toward the deli. “Well, Mr. No Big Deal is at the door watching you walk away.”

  “He is no—” I shot a glance behind us. Sure enough, there he was, eyes trained on me, grin painted on his face. “Whatever.” I spun around and kept walking, forcing one foot in front of the other. I was being ridiculous.

  “Well, next time we run into him, wanna introduce us? I’d take a taste of that tall drink of water any day of the week.”

  Shocked, I simply stared at Maggie, who giggled. Unjustified jealousy ripped through me, which was stupid. Trace and I had nothing. We weren’t even friends. For all I knew, he had a wife, barefoot and pregnant at home, and was cursed with a roving eye.

  “Well, I’d take the dark one,” Mrs. Tanner piped up. “If I wasn’t married, that is. Always did love those exotic ones. What do you suppose he is? Filipino? Italian?”

  The girls continued to titter on about Trace and his friend as we walked into the school, the air conditioning hitting us with a welcome blast.

  “See ya.” Maggie wiggled her fingers in a goodbye and headed back to the clinic. Everyone else followed suit and got back to work.

  I closed myself back into my office and checked my messages as I got on with my day. I managed to get some work done but, somehow, Trace’s twinkling eyes would not leave my mind. It would seem that I had my first adult crush. Perfect.

  Trace

  Wednesday morning, I managed to get some Cheerios into Ryder and hoof him down to the corner in front of our condo about two seconds before he missed the school bus.

  I watched him trundle onboard, his backpack nearly weighing down his tiny frame. I waved at Mrs. Schafer, his sweet, gr
ay-haired bus driver.

  “Morning,” she called to me, her eyes on her gigantic rearview mirror, waiting for Ry to take a seat.

  I waited until the bus took off, making sure to wave at my little guy, who was making funny faces at me through the window. He was so my kid.

  Back inside, I grabbed myself a Pop Tart, my phone and keys, and hustled outside to head to the shop. I had a sweet little Mercedes waiting for me to play under her hood.

  “Hey, bro.” I nodded at Micah in the back as I made my way into the garage and poked my head into Blake’s office.

  Blake glanced up from his computer screen. “Morning. You starting on the Benz today?”

  “Already on my mind.” I grinned.

  Out of the four of us, Jesse was the motorcycle man, Blake was the restoration guru, and I was the European car guy. Micah was, well, he was pretty much the jack of all trades and the numbers person.

  Blake got back to whatever he was doing as I ambled away to get to work. Usually, I barely registered the scents of the shop—grease, sweat, oil, gasoline—but today, something was strong enough to singe my nose hair.

  Micah uncoiled from under the hood of the Toyota Tundra, can of carb cleaner in hand. Ah. The culprit.

  I hustled to the back corner and unlocked the Mercedes, letting the familiarity of my work lull me. It’d been a rough couple of days. Between school starting and a very grumpy child who did not see the benefits of getting up that early in the morning, having extra work at the shop with Jesse gone on his honeymoon, and running into Tori at the deli . . . my head was spinning.

  Yes, there had been some stressful days, but I’d grown used to most of it since it came with the kid territory. And work was, well, work. But, Tori . . . I had no explanation for why that woman had burrowed so far under my skin. We hardly knew each other. We barely spoke other than when she’d taken my drink orders, we’d never touched other than to dance that once, we were virtually strangers, but somehow, her exotic golden scent had been branded into my brain. And I’d give anything to taste those plump lips. I’d just bet they’re as sweet as cherries. Or as juicy as her sweats proclaimed she was. I smiled to myself. As sexy as she was in her professional businesswoman getup from the other day, I really did prefer the Aerosmith shirt and sweatpants. Or her Funky Monkey uniform. It was a tossup.

  “Ouch! Fuck!” I backed up and shook the knuckle I’d banged on the radiator. I needed to get my head outta my ass and quit fantasizing.

  I wasn’t doing much better that afternoon, scraping my hands raw and banging my head once on the hood. I was ready to roll that Benz off a cliff.

  I checked the clock above the Hooters calendar. Nearly lunchtime. I tossed the socket I had in my hand back into my toolbox and moved to the industrial-sized sink to wash up. As I was drying off with a blue shop towel, my cell began blaring my Sweet Child O’ Mine ringtone.

  Yanking it from my pocket, I glared at the caller ID. Baybridge Elementary.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Mr. Berringer?”

  I cleared my throat. “Yeah.”

  “This is Mrs. Rye, the principal at Baybridge Elementary. We’ve had an issue with Ryder today and I was wondering if you’d be available to come meet with us to discuss it?”

  My heart sank. “What kind of issue?”

  Her pause was palpable, as if steeling herself for me to go off on her. Was it that bad? “Well, it’s only the first week of school and he’s already being very disruptive in class, and today he pushed another child on the playground. Acting out is one thing. Becoming physical is another, and we’re very concerned.”

  I dropped my head as a weary sigh escaped. My poor little dude. No matter what I did, I was beginning to think I was a lousy parent. “I’m sorry about that. When did you want to meet?”

  “We can work around your schedule, but we’d like to do it as soon as possible to best help Ryder.”

  I swallowed, my appetite now gone. “I’m about to leave on my lunch break. Will now work?”

  Papers shuffled in the background. “Uh . . . if you can be here in about forty-five minutes, the kids will be back in class so that should work. I’ll let his teacher and the counselor know. I appreciate you being so willing.”

  I thanked her and hung up, wondering what she meant by that. What parent wouldn’t be willing? I had a hard time picturing someone not being involved in their kids’ lives. Well, they had nothing to worry about with me. I’d do anything for my little man. Though it was the hardest thing I’d ever done, parenting had come pretty natural to me and I knew I had my folks to thank for that. They’d done everything in their power to make growing up ideal for me, my two brothers, and my sister. That was probably why Kristi’s little disappearing act threw me for such a loop. I’d been blessedly sheltered from that kind of thing.

  I found Blake by his latest resto project, a sweet little Jaguar XKS. “Dude, I need to duck out for a long lunch. Gotta take care of some shit at Ry’s school.”

  He glanced up, concern etching his brows. “Everything all right?”

  I shrugged. “Not sure. Apparently something went down on the playground and now I’ve been summoned to the principal’s office.” I tried to make light of it, like I did with most everything that bothered me. No point getting anyone else worried over my emotional baggage.

  Nodding, he studied me. “Okay. Sure. Take as long as you need.”

  I thanked him and ducked out to my Chevy in the parking lot. I rifled around in the backseat, coming up with a clean shop shirt, trading it for the greasy one I had on. I still had some grease under my nails, but they weren’t too bad. I checked my face in the rearview mirror and used my thumb to get a smudge of oil from my cheek. Good enough.

  I made a quick pit stop at McDonald’s for a burger then made my way to the school. Running a nervous hand through my hair, I trudged inside and stood in front of the secretary’s desk as she handled a phone call. I let my eyes wander around the front office. God, all schools must be the same. Fluorescent lighting, the scents of paper and cleaner, plaques of their awards peppering the walls.

  The secretary ended her call and gazed up at me. “Hello . . .” She smiled, then her eyes seemed to light with recognition and her smile grew. “May I help you?”

  Where had I seen her before? “Uh, yeah. The principal called and asked me to meet her.”

  Nodding, she picked up her phone again. “Name?”

  “Trace Berringer.”

  She turned her attention to the person on the line. “Mrs. Rye? I’ve got a Mr. Berringer here for you?” She listened for a moment then nodded and hung up. “They’re waiting in the conference room for you. Follow me.”

  Her pantyhose swished as we made our way down the pale gray carpeted hallway. We passed a few open doors, but it looked like the rest of the office staff was out. Finally, we got to a closed door and she gave a brisk knock then opened it and indicated for me to go inside.

  I choked back the anxiety that was crowding my throat and took a couple of steps inside. A fifty-something woman in a pantsuit stood and met me at the door.

  “Mr. Berringer. Thank you for coming. I’m Linda Rye, the principal.” She offered her manicured hand, making me inwardly cringe at my greasy nails.

  “Nice to meet you.”

  “Please. Sit.” She indicated a chair at the head of the table.

  As I was making my way around the table, she sat and started on introductions. “Mr. Berringer, this is Ryder’s teacher, Angela Delgado, and our counselor, Tori Waters . . .”

  I didn’t hear another word as my gaze zipped up from my chair and across the room to shocked gray eyes.

  Holy. Fucking. Shit.

  Tori

  Holy . . .

  I stopped my brain in its tracks, killing any potential inappropriate slips of the tongue.

  But, seriously? Was the universe messing with me? Out of the millions of men in the world, how had Trace ended up here in my conference room?

  I saw
the shock in his eyes that must’ve mirrored mine, so I quickly schooled my features and rose to shake his hand, forcing myself to act cool and professional. After all, we were here to deal with a troubled child.

  His child, apparently.

  Child = mother = I’m a sucker. I knew he was too good to be true.

  He accepted my handshake with a little dip of his head. Relief slid through me that he was playing along. I wasn’t sure how I’d handle being called out as the waitress from the Funky Monkey who used to wear outfits to rival Hooters and flirt for tips.

  As we took our seats, his eyes stayed locked on mine. If anyone else noticed, they stayed quiet. Suddenly, the door opened and Everett bustled in, his tie loose around his neck.

  “Sorry I’m late, guys. We had a minor incident on bus 93 . . .” His words trailed off once he spotted Trace. “Oh. Uh, hello. I’m Vice Principal Myers.” His voice was distinctly cooler as recognition filled his face. He obviously didn’t like Trace, and it was apparent that the feeling was mutual.

  Trace lifted his chin in acknowledgment and I braced myself for the pissing contest that was apparently brewing. Luckily, Mrs. Rye started the conference.

  “Thank you again for coming on such short notice, Mr. Berringer. I know it’s only the first week of school, but we’re all very concerned with Ryder’s behavior and want to find a way to help him be successful this year.”

  Trace cleared his throat and sat up taller, his slightly wrinkled shop shirt straining across the broad expanse of his chest and biceps. “What happened today?”

  Mrs. Rye inclined her head toward Angela. “I think his teacher can answer that best.”

  His serious gaze focused on her.

  Angela flipped open a manila file and began spreading papers out in front of him. “Well, for starters, here are the assignments he’s handed in so far. As you can see, he’s either made a failing grade on all of them or just simply not finished.” She studied Trace with compassionate brown eyes as he studied the papers, lifting one to read what his son had written. “Then today, at recess, another boy said something to him, I’m not sure what, and he got very angry and shoved him to the ground.”