Rogue Acts

by Ainsley Booth

  “Taubman is a common name,” he said as he ran a hand through his hair. “I wasn’t sure. I didn’t know. But I wasn’t going to search you out. ”

  “Well,” she said, taking a deep breath. “I’m glad you came.”

  Instead of answering her, instead of telling her how glad he’d been that he’d come, he did the smartest thing he’d ever done. He kissed her back.

  8

  Three days before Thanksgiving

  Washington, DC

  Sam had sent her books. Rather, Mr. Shadow had sent her kids books. A ton of different titles, including ones on a list of titles recommended by a famous Jewish children’s librarian.

  There was a letter accompanying them, and he’d inscribed each of the books according to the list she’d given him. He was supposed to have come that day, but the problem with dating an actor was an unpredictable schedule.

  “Okay everybody,” she said. “It’s story time.”

  “I hope I’m not too late…”

  Her heart stopped, as it did every time she heard that voice.

  Black spandex covered his body, the bright blue webbing and piping accentuating the dark colors and his muscles. Stars of David at his wrists and his chest, with the trademark contact lenses that made his green eyes blue and black. She could see the sword that lay across his back, accentuating the look. Mr. Shadow in the flesh.

  Sam was breathtaking anyway, but this? This was special. And he was breaking his cover for her.

  Once the day was over, and they were sitting in her apartment, eating sandwiches and knishes, he looked at her, his green eyes wide. “So?”

  There were too many words and so few of them all at once. “The kids loved it,” she said, focusing on the most important ones. “I’m so glad I sent the letters home last week, and….”

  “And you?”

  She grinned up at him. “I loved it, too. And I loved that you did it for them.”

  And then, because she didn’t know what else to do, she leaned over and kissed him. He tasted like black cherry soda, a pastrami sandwich, and home.

  Epilogue

  December 15th

  For all the focus on Central Park and Rockefeller Center, Deb seemed to like Bryant Park the best. Especially with Sam. It was…interesting, to make their way through the crowds of people, eating fried jelly doughnuts, and lighting candles in his New York apartment with his cousin and his girlfriend. Which also involved remembering to let Toby out of the bathroom after the candles were no longer dangerously attractive for kittens.

  But visiting the Bryant Park winter market with Sam, her sister, and her sister-in-law was the best moment of them all. They were celebrating a brand new distributor for Rogue Acts, and debating the kind of release it would get.

  “I’m so excited for you,” she said.

  “You, too,” Lisa replied. “So many new beginnings.” She looked to her wife and smiled.

  Liz ran a hand over her stomach, and Deb squeezed Sam’s hand.

  “So,” she said. “This is how you tell me I’m going to be an Aunt?”

  Liz nodded. “That and the deposit we just put down for a space in your pre-school.”

  Deb laughed, the excitement in the air palpable. “I think,” she said. “Next year is going to be a good one.”

  “I hope so.” Lisa said as Sam pulled his phone out of his pocket.

  She watched as he stared at it, waiting for him to say something.

  “Holy crap,” he said. “There’s an external corroboration for President Crosby’s notebook.”

  Yes, Deb decided. The coming year would be a good one. And with her family and Sam by her side, they’d enjoy every minute.

  Thank you!

  Thank you for reading Never Again. I hope you enjoyed it!

  Want to hear about my upcoming releases? Sign up for my newsletter!

  If you enjoyed "Never Again," check out my other #Resistance romances! Deb appears in “Truth, Love and Sushi” (Rogue Desire) and Sam appears in “Mr. Klein Goes to Albany” (Rogue Affair).

  Reviews help other readers find books. I appreciate all reviews, whether positive or negative, and thank you for your time.

  This book is lendable! Please share it with a friend.

  Also by Stacey Agdern

  Contemporary

  “A Home for Chanukah” in Burning Bright

  “Playing Her Game” in Going All In

  “Crossing the Line” in Icing the Puck

  “Truth, Love and Sushi” in Rogue Desire

  “Mr. Klein Goes to Albany” in Rogue Affair

  * * *

  Historical

  “Home” in For Love & Liberty

  * * *

  Nonfiction

  Fifty Writers on Fifty Shades of Grey

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to:

  Megan Walski, Jane Lee Blair, Ruby Lang and Cassandra Carr for helping me wrangle this story into place.

  Meara Platt, Isabo Kelly, Jennifer Gracen and Kimberly Rocha who listened to me whine about the ending during a snowy weekend in December. I love you ALL <3

  To David F Pendrys for helping me figure out a last minute superhero costume; may we cross a bridge sooner than we expect to

  My LIRW peeps and the members of the 2017 RWA-NYC board. I am a very proud member of two different RWA chapters. All of you make it worthwhile to schlep to both meetings <3

  Luna for inspiring Toby Devon Rex kittens and Cats are awesome, and thank you to Marnie McMahon (Luna’s mom), Cherylanne Corneille, Emily Arndt and Richard Shealy for answering questions on how to keep a little kitten occupied and how to travel best with a kitten:)

  Russ Agdern and Marisa Harford for everything (including a door that I’m convinced hates me). Yes. That was real ;) And for the adorable Elijah who is the best ever.

  Vivi Parish for keeping me going as I wrote, for helping me name my hero and inspiring me. I am so lucky to have a friend like you. <3

  Thank you to my amazing Rogue Acts buddies, as well as Tamsen Parker and AJ Cousins

  And thank you to my parents. To Jane Agdern who teaches me when to speak, and to Barry Agdern who teaches me how to listen. I love you both <3

  About the Author

  Stacey Agdern is an award winning former bookseller who has reviewed romance novels in multiple formats and given talks about various aspects of the romance genre. She is also a proud romance writer. She’s a proud member of both LIRW and RWA NYC. She lives in New York, not far from her favorite hockey team’s practice facility.

  You can find Stacey online at:

  staceyagdern.wordpress.com

  His Neighbor’s Education

  Jane Lee Blair

  About This Book

  Sarah Miller has a great life, alright? She teaches at her low income neighborhood public school, works in her garden, and faithfully attends church.

  She's nonplussed when meeting her attractive new neighbor, a rookie teacher at a charter school, there via a teaching corp, makes her so mad.

  Mark Jones moved to the city to change the lives of inner-city kids, and he wouldn’t mind getting to know his neighbor better, too, even though she put up instant walls when she found out where he works.

  While he flounders in the classroom, she tries to squash the anger his arrival unleashes, and they both try to keep their hands off each other as they experience an unexpected attraction.

  Author’s Note

  I have four children in a Title I neighborhood school, and I’m so thankful for all the teachers out there who do the best they can with what they have. But I am not a teacher, so everything in here you don’t like, blame me, not your local public school teachers.

  The characters of this story are church-going Christians, but this is not an inspirational romance. These characters curse, drink, and have sex (after they are married). Faith is vital to these characters, and their spiritual condition matters as much any other part of them, but the point of this story is not to push a religiou
s message. I wrote this story because I wanted to read about characters whose resistance is compelled and sustained by their spiritual life, just like the people of faith in my corner of the world (and Twitter). I hope you enjoy it, cursing and all.

  To Nikole Hannah-Jones who writes powerfully about education and segregation, and to all the teachers everywhere who love their students and are underpaid and overworked.

  1

  “Oof!” Sarah Miller grunted as she did her patented lift-jump-hurl move to get the trash bag into the dumpster. The lid of the dumpster almost swiped her arm. Ugh. Gross. All she wanted was to be just tall enough so she could hold the lid with one arm and throw the trash bag in with the other. Was it too much to ask, God?

  “You need any help?” A deep slow voice called to her from farther down the brick-paved alley.

  She turned to look at the guy, perplexed. Didn’t he know you weren’t supposed to talk to strangers in the alley? He was walking towards the dumpster with a bag of trash in each hand so presumably he was a neighbor, not quite a stranger. Hopefully not a creepy neighbor.

  “No, I’m good. Thanks, though.”

  “I mean, are you sure? Because while I don’t mind watching you jump and twist, but I can hold the lid for you. Or you can hold the lid and I can chunk all of it in. It’s not a problem, ma’am.”

  Dang, with a voice like that—and saying ma’am? He probably wasn’t from around here. Also, probably not that creepy…right?

  “Okay, I’ll hold the lid.”

  “Thanks. I’m Mark Jones by the way. Just moved in.”

  “Oh really? From where?” He had on a pro football t-shirt, athletic shorts, and sunglasses with a strap around his neck. He definitely looked and sounded middle class, and middle-class people, when they did move into the city, tended to live in the more gentrified areas to the north and west. This—he—was intriguing.

  “Memphis.”

  “Memphis? What brought you to St. Louis city? I’m Sarah, by the way.” She pointed at her yard. “That’s my yard there, with the garden.”

  Her garden was her pride and joy. She loved her students at the neighborhood elementary school a lot, but her garden was what got her through every difficult semester, planning the garden, buying the seeds in the throes of the unpredictable early spring semester which lately—thanks, global warming—veered wildly between much warmer and very much winter temperatures, and then starting seeds and planting while the semester wound down, giving her hope that she could finish the semester, that her students would grow like the seeds, that they would be okay over the summer. Half of them would move, some of them into another school zoning 0r get poached by a charter school’s flashier brochures, and okay, yeah, her school wasn’t perfect, and some kids might do better in other schools. But would they be loved as hard? She wasn’t sure.

  It was August, so the garden was still in the throes of success. Tomatoes, peppers, cucumbers, squash. The zucchini had taken up so much space she was a little scared of it, even if they had mostly succumbed to vine borers already. The tomatoes had already grown out of the space and their cages and seemed to be trying to grow up the steps into her house. And her peppers—she was fobbing them off on strangers walking down the street. She would never make enough salsa to use all those jalapenos. She didn’t have a yard anymore, just a garden and a parking spot for her little compact car, but it kept her sane.

  “Wow, you grew all that?” He did sound suitably impressed. Point in his favor.

  “Yep, it’s my baby, my stress relief.”

  “Dang, that’s even bigger than my grandma’s!”

  She grimaced at that comment. Being compared to old ladies was her favorite. “Well, it’s not that big, being here in the city.”

  “Yeah, but that must be a lot of work!” He was visibly impressed as they walked towards her lot.

  “It’s so good to dig in the dirt though.” Even if the soil probably could use some serious remediation. One hundred twenty years of urban living left a mark. “You want any peppers and tomatoes? I’ve got more than I can eat.”

  “Do you can or freeze? That’s what my grandma does.”

  “Well, I mostly try to just get rid of it.”

  “I don’t even have any kitchen stuff yet, so it’d probably just go to waste. But thanks for the offer.”

  “You’re welcome.” She waited to see if he was going to point out which almost row house was his, but then figured she’d just drive north out of the alley and see which car had Tennessee plates. That wasn’t creepy or intrusive, no. Their shared neighborhood was an old one in the city. The tall brick houses or duplexes were close together, just room for a walking path and a strip of grass. The back lots had postage stamp lots. Her block was doing okay, but close by there were slews of empty or abandoned buildings, tumbling down, but in her opinion, still beautiful because of the details the original builders had lavished on them.

  “What do you do in the city?” She wanted to know.

  “I moved here to teach.”

  “Oh my gosh, where? Me too!” Most of the teachers at Sarah’s school lived in the suburbs, some of them even in Illinois. As far as she knew, the staff hadn’t been finalized yet—what if he were her co-worker?

  “Wolf Charter Schools. I just started with USA-Teach.”

  Sarah hoped he couldn’t see her face fall. That meant not only was he probably a lot younger than her and not her co-worker, he was also her worst enemy. She probably needed to spend some time dealing with whatever caused that fierce surge of anger, but charter schools and USA-Teach made everything at her under-resourced neighborhood public school so much harder.

  “This is your first year? Do you feel ready?” She wasn’t sure if her tone came off like a helpful veteran or an inquisitor.

  “Well, I’m having stress dreams, but I worked really hard during our summer prep. I guess you don’t really know if you’re ready until you’re in front of the classroom.” That was actually a good answer.

  “Well, I had to student teach before I graduated, so yeah, when I started my teaching job, I had already been in front of the classroom.” Gah, she couldn’t believe it. A helpful, charming, and she allowed herself to admit, good looking man was her new neighbor, and she not only philosophically disagreed with his reason for relocation, she was being an asshole to him.

  “Ohhh.” His eyes were immediately hooded. “You’re one of those.”

  “What?”

  “We’ve been warned about you. The public-school only people.” He smiled as he said it. Did he think this was a game?

  “And we don’t have to be warned about YOU because we’ve seen the damage done to our schools and our students already.” She was surprised at the vehemence of her words. This conversation wasn’t going to get better. She should let the man throw his trash out before she started to yell at him for no good reason.

  She held the lid up. “Here you go!”

  He swung the trash in. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “So, I’ll see you around the alley?”

  She let the dumpster lid fall as he asked her. “I guess.” She really shouldn’t be this grumpy about a new neighbor—he was probably good-hearted. He was definitely good looking. Memphis, just down the river.

  “Bye.” She threaded her way through the tomato branches reaching into the sidewalk and managed to walk up the stairs to her door without looking back or stepping on any plants.

  2

  When Sarah backed her car out of her parking spot in the back, ready to go to church, and not even late for Sunday school, she was thrilled (she wasn’t) to see a Chevy truck with Tennessee plates just ahead of her in the alley. Either her neighbor was going to get coffee or maybe he was going to church. Hopefully not her church.

  She squelched that ungenerous thought.

  Then she had to squelch a lot more because though their routes did diverge, he stopped completely at every stop sign.

  Yeah, it had been
an adjustment for Sarah when she moved into her grandma’s neighborhood to find that everyone practiced a rolling stop, but she had adjusted very quickly. Mark had not yet figured this out. How long had he been here? Had he said? Anyway, because she was a Christian, she wasn’t going to be the person that honked, sped around him, and gave him the bird, but she kinda wanted to. Well, someone would surely initiate him soon. Good thing she was going to church. He turned off at the major street a few blocks up, and she kept following her “secret” route to church that had fewer stop signs.

  Like a good church member, she parked in the drugstore lot to leave more spaces closer to the church open for visitors or disabled folks. As she walked the length of block to get to church, she saw it. A big ol’ truck with a Tennessee plate, badly parallel-parked a few houses down from the church. He was just a little bit in the road. And yes, Mark was at her church, on time for Sunday school.

  She cracked her knuckles and rolled her shoulders. Everything cracked and popped. She couldn’t be a dick to somebody who went her church. Well, she shouldn’t be a dick to anyone. She was going to have to apologize. Dammit. But they didn’t have to be friends, right?

  He was still in the foyer, talking to the greeter while she headed up the stairs to the Sunday school room. She kept her head down, hoping they’d both not notice her.

  Nope. “Hey, Sarah! How’s it going?”

  The greeter was a too-friendly seminary student who was apparently a morning person. Not too friendly like icky too friendly, just too happy for nine o’clock on a Sunday morning.