Fight for You (Flirting with Forever Book 2)

by Amanda Bailey

  Sawyer looks over his shoulder from where he’s working on his first lesson plan. “What’s wrong?”

  “Shit. Shit. Shit!” I turn in my seat. “I forgot tomorrow is my mom’s birthday. I should have sent her something.” I prop my elbows on my desk with a groan and press my fingers to my temples. Closing my eyes, I rub in slow circles. “Why can’t I keep up with everything? If it’s not one thing I’m forgetting, it’s something fucking else. And there I go with my foul mouth again, too. I’m just awful.”

  Sawyer crosses the room and moves a chair so that it faces me before he sits down in it. “You’re not awful. Look at me.”

  I open my eyes and slowly turn in my chair. He sits before me, legs spread wide and leans forward so he can brace his strong forearms on his thighs. His face is less than a foot from mine and his clean, manly scent makes my head feel dizzy—but in a good way, unless you consider how I probably shouldn’t be sniffing him at all. It can’t be helped, though, and he’s all sea and spice and man. I swallow carefully and draw myself up so our eyes are level. “I’m looking at you.”

  “Okay. So, first. Your mom’s birthday.” He clears his throat and pulls his phone from his back pocket. While I watch, he pulls up a website on his phone and holds it up for me to see. “You’re going to go to this website for this company called SpaDayFinder and send your mom a spa package for a location in the Philly area. She’ll love it, I promise. That’s my go-to whenever I’ve forgotten … and even sometimes when I haven’t. My mom and sisters all love getting treatments.”

  I rake my teeth over my lower lip. “I guess that could work. She does like getting massages, but can’t usually afford them.”

  “See?” He shoots me a smile. “Second.” He leans in a little further as if he has a secret to tell me. “Are you listening?” At my nod, he continues. “You’re too hard on yourself. Here I am, one week in, and I haven’t even taught a single class yet. I’m completely overwhelmed. This job is hard. Really hard. The fact that you do it well, but forget a few things here and there in your personal life?” His eyes get really big and he shakes his head as he proclaims, “Oh. Fucking. Well.”

  I cover my mouth, trying not to laugh. When I think I have myself under control, I agree with him. “Right. Oh fucking well. Third? Is there a third?”

  “You bet. Weird history fact—Andrew Jackson had a cussing parrot. When he died, they actually brought it to his funeral, but they had to take it out when the service started because the poor thing kept shouting obscenities. Your mouth can’t be any worse than Andrew Jackson’s fowl-mouthed bird.” He pauses for effect. “Get it?”

  “Oh my God. I’m dead.” I burst out laughing.

  He sends me a wink and a boyish grin, his dimple popping.

  My heart stutters.

  I suck in a breath, my chest rising. “You’re too much, Sawyer Rivers.” I laugh a little too awkwardly for my liking.

  “I mostly just speak the truth.” His gaze drops down to my lips and mine to his.

  I don’t know how long we sit there like that. Slowly and steadily, we both lean closer. His lips look like they’d be incredibly soft, and I wish I could feel them on mine. Or have them caress my neck. Or maybe skim their way over my breast before taking my nipple between them. Like a warning flare, something bursts to life inside me, warmth flooding through my body, ending in a rush between my legs. My breath hitches, as his dark eyes look into mine—searching, wondering, questioning.

  From outside the workroom, the sounds of someone approaching are like a grenade set off between us, and we both jerk backward in our chairs. Chests heaving, we continue to stare at each other as the knob twists and the door opens. Piper’s too busy arguing with Damon to notice that they’ve interrupted what could have quite possibly been a huge mistake.

  Or something hugely satisfying. You know, one or the other.

  I groan inwardly as shame floods my cheeks, making them hot. I press my fingers to them in an effort to cool them down and turn myself back around in my seat, tucking my feet under my desk. What am I doing? He’s a freaking student teacher. I’m his mentor. I’m going straight to hell for even thinking about him like that.

  “Hey, Had. Hey, Sawyer.” Piper blows past us like a whirlwind, which I guess is a good thing because it means she obviously didn’t pick up on the tension in the room when she came in.

  “Hey, Piper.” My voice trembles as I pick up my pen again to pretend like I’m working. Meanwhile, my brain and my body are at war—my brain knows it would be a bad idea to pursue him, my body just wants him. Period. The evidence of the latter is obvious from the tightness of my nipples and the desire snaking its way through me. I squeeze my legs together in an effort to halt the onslaught of feeling, but it doesn’t stop the throbbing down south in my lady business.

  Sawyer stands beside me and places a hand on my shoulder, squeezing briefly before he lets go and returns to the computer.

  My head feels fuzzy, as if I’ve just woken up. Was that all a daydream? Did I black out? Or had that really almost happened? I’d like to tell myself that we were just sitting close. That’s all that was. Right? And what was with him touching my shoulder like that? It’d seemed almost like a gesture of solidarity—like he’s with me and I shouldn’t worry. That he understands I’m wigging out. That he gets me.

  Chapter 11

  Sawyer

  Willow and I sit side by side on stools at the little bar in Newberry—the same one I’d first seen Hadleigh at before I knew who she was. After what almost happened at school today, I went straight to the bar for a drink, begging Willow to drive the twenty minutes to meet me.

  “Wait, wait, wait. I need a replay of what you just said so I have the proper visual.” Willow snorts as she holds up her hands to get me to pause for a second. “You’re telling me that you were just sitting there, and your lips just kind of accidentally almost put themselves on her lips? What the heck were you even doing sitting close enough that it could have happened in the first place?”

  I send her a side-eye and tilt my beer to my lips, swallowing deeply before I set the bottle down. “I don’t fucking know, Willow. She was having a mini-meltdown about forgetting to buy her mom a birthday gift, among other things. I scooted a chair close to her and sat down to talk her through it.” I grip the back of my neck and take another drink. “Then I told her about Andrew Jackson’s fucking cussing parrot and we laughed about it. When we calmed down, it was suddenly too quiet, and I don’t even know what happened. She leaned in, I leaned in, there was eye contact, and we just kind of hovered there, face to face, breathing each other’s air. All sane thoughts flew right out of my head. She smelled so damn good, like some exotic flower, and had this pink lip gloss on her lips that made them extra shiny and—” I stop to shake my head when I realize I’m rambling. “I couldn’t stop staring. I totally thought I was going to kiss her right then. I totally would have too, except a couple of the English teachers walked in. What the fuck is wrong with me?”

  Willow sits beside me quietly, one elbow propped on the bar, her head leaning on that hand. She shifts on her stool, then rests both feet on the bottom rung of mine. She wears a smug little grin, and I know she’s trying her damnedest not to laugh at my tirade. I’m so glad I can amuse her like this. She glances up as the bartender approaches, holding up two fingers to request another round of beer.

  Finally, she can’t resist any longer. “I have got to meet this chick. She has you all fucked in the head.” She snorts with laughter at the alarmed look on my face. “I’m kidding. But not. Meaning, I’d love to meet her, but I’m not going to force you to introduce me. She must be some woman to have my cautious, calm Sawyer all riled up like this.” She punches me lightly in the arm before tilting her beer to her lips again.

  My brows draw together and I grumble, “Not a chance you get to meet her yet. You’d blurt out whatever was on your mind the second you were introduced.”

  Her mouth drops open in feigned shock. “W
ould not.” She smirks. “Well, okay, maybe I would. But only to tell her what a great guy you are and how she should lock you down while she can.” She laughs. “And what are you afraid that I’ll say? Do you think I’d tell her that you can’t stop thinking about her? That you’ve been moody as hell? Or maybe that you jerk off in the shower to thoughts of her?”

  I raise one brow at that last one and silently shake my head at her.

  “What? You’ve spent a lot of time in the shower lately …” She smirks hard at me.

  She’s not necessarily wrong about any of her points or assumptions, but the stern look that crosses my face is enough to make her realize I’m being serious. “You’re right. I don’t ever stop thinking about her. Not at school, not at night, not at all.”

  “So, what the hell is the hold up, then, Sawyer? You haven’t been so affected by a woman in a long time. Hell, maybe ever. I don’t remember you acting like this about Tara or any other girl.”

  “I can’t afford to fuck this up. She’s my mentor. At the very least, pursuing her would probably be frowned upon.”

  “And at worst?”

  “She could be reprimanded or maybe even lose her job. Hell, I don’t know how it works.”

  “What about your future career? I think it’s amusing that you are more concerned for her career than yours. Telling, Sawyer. Very telling.”

  I accept the fresh beer from the bartender and take a deep pull from the bottle. With a sigh, I meet Willow’s eyes again. “Did I tell you neither of us has brought up that night when we saw each other here? I almost did that first day, but then thought better of it. I don’t know if it means anything that she hasn’t said something or not.”

  “You want my take?”

  I nod. “Always.”

  For as much as Willow pushes my buttons, she’s a good friend to me and she knows me better than anyone else does. She’d never intentionally do anything to hurt me, no matter how much fun she has spouting off at the mouth.

  “I’m pretty sure she’s got to be more worried about the whole situation than you are.”

  “I know she is. She’s avoiding me like the damn plague.”

  Willow holds up a hand between us, palm out. “Think about it, though. She’s in a position of power. Thrice over.” She stops to sip on her beer.

  “What do you mean, ‘thrice over’?” Who even says thrice? Only Willow.

  “See if you follow me. First, she’s responsible for you. She has definite power there. She has to fill out reports about your progress, and she turns them in to your advisor, right? She holds your future in her hands. Things go south, it could be horribly messy.”

  I nod. “I’m following so far.”

  “Second, she’s a bit older than you.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “But nothing. You’re technically still in college and for that reason, it seems odd to people, even if you are only, what? Not even two years apart in age? You have that baby face working against you. You’ll have your fair share of people thinking she probably shouldn’t be robbing your cradle—especially when you combine the assumed age difference with your work relationship.”

  I roll my eyes. “Okay. I still don’t think the age difference is that big a deal, but whatever. Third?”

  “She’d be in a relationship with you … and my guess is you are a different kind of guy than she probably is used to dating.”

  I frown. “Now you’ve lost me.”

  “To be fair, she probably hasn’t figured this one out yet because she doesn’t know you well. I’ve been your friend long enough to know what you’re like when you’re with someone. Would you agree?”

  “Yep. And you’re nosy as hell, so you know things about me I don’t tell anyone else. Go on.”

  “Okay, then. Here’s what I see—you’re the kind of guy who is always going to listen to what she wants and put her first. And if she ever said it was a no-go for whatever reason, you would respect her decision. You wouldn’t be happy about it … but you wouldn’t attempt to push her if you thought she was hesitant. You’d put her in the driver’s seat of a relationship every time.” She wrinkles her nose and reaches out to pat my hand where it’s resting on the bar. “Because you’re just that damn sweet. She doesn’t realize it yet, but she holds all the cards with you.” She shrugs. “Think about it from her point of view—even if you only take into account the difference in age and the fact that she’s your mentor. I bet she feels guilty, or even ashamed, about having feelings for you. I don’t know how you overcome that.”

  I finish my beer as I think about what Willow has said. She knows me better than to expect me to respond right away. And she’s right. Everything she said makes sense. My honest assessment is that Hadleigh and I are both likely putting off a conversation that we need to have out of fear—fear that we want something that maybe we just can’t have.

  Chapter 12

  Hadleigh

  When I arrive at school on Monday, Sawyer is already in my classroom, doing some prep for his very first class. “Good morning.”

  He glances up at me with a quick smile. “Hey. Good morning. Give me just a sec to finish up here.” He goes right back to whatever he’s doing. He’s so damn focused, I begin to wonder if he approaches everything he does with such care and concentration. My mind immediately goes to very naughty, very dirty places.

  A wave of lust rolls its way right through me, unbidden, and I set the pad of paper and pen that I’d brought with me for my observation of his class on the desk in the back of the room. I swivel around and watch as he double-checks that everything’s ready. His absorption in the task at hand is damn adorable. My eyes can’t stop their slow perusal of him. He looks ridiculously handsome up there in his dark-gray dress pants and crisp, white button-down—complete with the rolled sleeves, of course—and I’m suddenly glad I’m not one of the students because I’m not sure how much attention I’d be paying to the actual lesson today.

  As far as Sawyer’s readiness to take over this period goes, it’s one of my US History classes, and I know he’s going to be just fine. Over the last week, he’s added a lot to our class discussions, and I’m confident he’s ready for it.

  But as far as things that I wasn’t ready for, well, I didn’t know I’d still be all twisted up over almost kissing him last week. Between that and the text messages I’d gotten from him over the weekend, I don’t know what to do with myself. Ever since I nearly put my mouth on his, I’ve been a mess, and worse, I’ve been strategically avoiding personal interactions with him. All day Friday, whoever else happened to have been in the workroom was drawn into my conversations, effectively stopping Sawyer from bringing up what had happened between us. I swear, I’d chatted with Brian Schmidt, the AP European History teacher—and our department chair—more than I had all of September through December combined. He’d been the buffer I’d desperately needed, and for that, I’m grateful—not that he knew why I was taking a particular interest in Napoleon, Louis XVI, and Robespierre all of a sudden.

  I flick my thumb over my phone screen, selecting my text message app and looking at what Sawyer had sent me one more time.

  Sawyer: Hey, Hadleigh. I just wanted to say I’m sorry.

  That first text alone had set me on edge and made me feel awful. I remember thinking, Why is he sorry? This is on me. I’m supposed to be the responsible one here—the mentor.

  Me: What? What for? Are you not going to be in class on Monday or something?

  Sawyer: No, no. I’ll be there, and I’ll be ready to teach first period.

  Sawyer: I feel a little weird about what happened in the workroom on Thursday.

  He’d waited for me to say something—anything, I’m sure—but I’d been frozen in place as I read his texts. I’d felt a little weird, too. But I’d also been so turned on that I was ashamed of what I’d almost done. But then …

  Sawyer: I take full responsibility. I was out of line.

  Me: No. Don’t. I tell you what—let
’s get through Monday, and we’ll talk about it later.

  Sawyer: Fair enough.

  I tuck my phone into my pocket before I take a few deep breaths. Time to be an adult. I give myself one last mental shake and walk to the front of the classroom where Sawyer is looking over his lesson plan. “All ready?” My voice sounds funny, but I continue, “Anything I can help you with before students get here?”

  He shakes his head with a small smile. “Nope. I think I’m actually on top of things.”

  As I gaze at his soft-looking lips, my mind boomerangs me back to that night at the bar when I’d first set eyes on him, our attraction instant and undeniable. I blink, and there he is in the office, offering himself up to me for the next eight weeks. I blink again, and his face is close, so close to mine, and all I can think about is kissing him and getting his big hands on me as soon as possible. One last blink brings me back to the present, Sawyer’s amused eyes on me. Of course I’d been half in a daydream and have no way of knowing if it was three seconds or three minutes that I’d been standing here, speechless. I swallow, and my gaze flicks to his dark brown eyes. “Good. I’m glad. I’ll just be in the back. Watching.” I point over my shoulder at the other desk as the warning bell rings and students begin to amble into the classroom.

  Throughout the class, my eyes remain glued to him. Every few minutes, he looks up at me and winks to make sure I’m paying attention. When he does this, I smile back as best I can and try to control the flaming heat in my cheeks. Does he know he’s affecting me like this? Who knew a wink could make my insides turn to liquid heat between my legs?

  I’m in so much trouble. I shouldn’t feel this way. The power imbalance is just too messy. And I don’t even know what would happen if we acted on the electricity sizzling between us. Would I find out Sawyer is just like all the other guys I fall for? My instinct is that he’s not, but there’s only one way to find out if I’m right … and that could cause all sorts of problems for us here at school.