by M. A. Stone
Joker
Bid On Love Series: Bachelor #3
M.A. Stone
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Other books by M.A. Stone
About the Author
Prologue
“Well folks, tonight we have a special treat. We have a human-interest piece delivered to us by Norfolk’s own Nadine Marks. You may have remembered us following her at our sister station, WKAL, when she did a week long new series on Healing Heroes and their amazing rescue dogs. Tonight, she joins us with local Pretty Boy High School teacher, Jacoby Garcia and his ninth-grade class, at the Richmond National Battlefield Park. All week long, these lucky teenagers and their teacher have been learning all about the Seven Days Battle. Let’s hand it over to Nadine!” said the portly news anchor with his hair coiffed in a steely gray comb over and his skin bronzed from an obvious spray tan. (At least that’s what I saw on TV later that evening, and again when I watched it on YouTube, repeatedly).
Nadine, her blonde, blunt pixie cut, slender frame and elfin features, not too sharp but soft enough, made me grin at how much she’d changed since we were kids running around like a bunch of hooligans. Now, she looked every bit the professional, her frame covered with a light, camel colored jacket, pink shirt and black pants; while I looked like a doofus standing next to her in my regimental uniform of the Confederacy.
“So, tell me, Jacoby, why the Civil War?” she asked, and I snapped out of my trip down memory lane, to focus on her question.
“Why not? The kids are learning about two Union campaigns, Gaines Mill and Cold Harbor. Standing here on the grass, seeing what the soldiers saw…being apart of the landscape is so much better than learning from a textbook in a classroom,” I replied. Nadine smiled, her features softening as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, microphone gripped in her left hand.
“It’s refreshing to see a teacher so dedicated and wanting to give his students a hands-on approach to learning,” she replied. I nodded.
“It’s really the best way! I mean, they get to see everything first hand. The re-enactments are the best and so exciting! Much better than watching it on TV or reading about it in a book!” I replied loudly.
“I admire your enthusiasm, Jacoby. I understand you had to do quite the bit of convincing to get the kids to even be allowed to come on this week-long trip to a location that’s just a few hours from their high school. Can you tell me about that?” she asked. I opened my mouth to answer her question and felt all the blood rush from my face. My eyes went down to the patch of grass at Nadine’s feet.
“It’s a hornet’s nest, Nadine,” I told her, my voice sounding cracked and soft; like I was going through puberty all over again. She smiled, one dimple popping out perfectly. Nadine cocked her head to the side coyly and missed the insect that buzzed past her face.
“Surely it wasn’t that hard to convince parents and the administration to let high school students come on an educational field trip?” she asked with a laugh. I shook my head and whipped off my wide brimmed hat, tossing it in her direction. Nadine raised an eyebrow, her mouth turning down in a frown, but still didn’t move. What started out as a few winged sentries coming to check out the ‘intruder’ turned into a steady stream of angrily buzzing winged stinging machines. The students behind Nadine noticed and hurriedly moved away, alerting the attention of my oldest brother, Bryce, who’d volunteered as a chaperone for the trip. Nadine cocked her head to the side and shot me with a puzzled expression. Soon that expression turned to one of shock and pain.
“What the . . .” she cried out. She waved her arms in the hair, not releasing her grip on the microphone.
“I told you, it’s a hornet’s nest! You’re standing on a hornet’s nest!” I yelled as she began to get stung; her cries of pain turning into curses. Live, on-air curses.
“I thought you meant getting the school administration to approve the damn trip! Not that I was standing in a goddamned hornet’s nest, Joker!” she screeched, using my childhood nickname. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the camera man fling down his camera as he goose-stepped toward the news van. Nadine took off in his direction, wailing the whole time. My brother, Bryce, ran over with a gallon of water, popped off the cap and threw the water at Nadine, effectively drenching her. He held out the second gallon, handed it off to me and I poured it over her as well.
“Hornets are a predatory wasp! They attack humans in self-defense! They can sting a couple of times!” yelled my brother. I stopped and looked at him.
“What? I’m a science teacher. I thought knowledge would be power in this instance,” he admitted with a shrug as he tossed the empty water gallon onto the grass. Another student dumped water onto the hornet’s nest and walked away.
“You are sooo dead, Joker,” she sputtered as she brushed water out of her eyes. She looked like a drowned rat, covered in dozens of angry red welts. Her perfectly coiffed hair was standing up in patches and I thanked the heavens that the camera wasn’t on her right now. Mascara ran down her cheeks and over her lips, which were starting to look puffy.
“Hey Joker, does she look like she’s swelling up?” whispered Bryce. Examining the woman before me, I groaned and nodded. Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I dialed 911 and sighed.
“Are wasp stings fatal, Bryce?” I asked my brother.
“They can be,” he admitted. Nadine groaned as I relayed our location to the 911 dispatcher.
“You owe me for this, Jacoby Garcia,” she seethed through two very swollen lips. Bryce chuckled and shook his head. Nadine shot Bryce the mother of all dirty looks, effectively silencing him.
Apparently, the camera man had picked the camera back up after swatting away a handful of hornets, catching everything on live TV. From there it was downloaded, shared, Tweeted…you name it. Everyone got to see the bumbling high school history teacher drown their favorite news anchor. Once again, everyone got to see Jacoby “Joker” Garcia, make a colossal mess of things.
Six months later . . .
I’d just sat down at my desk in my classroom during my planning period, when my cellphone pinged to let me know that I had a text message. I groaned when I saw the contact. It was Nadine. After three months of radio silence, even after I’d sent her a basket filled with Benadryl, calamine lotion and oatmeal baths, she was still pissed at me. I ran a hand over my hair and pushed my black, square framed glasses up on my nose.
Nadine: Joker I need a favor.
Me: Um ok
Nadine: No…’um ok’ from you. You owe me, and you know it. An itchy skin basket isn’t going to cover it, buddy!
Me: I’ve apologized a hundred times and the basket was my mom’s idea
Nadine: I need you to do something for me.
Me: Let me know what it is, and I’ll see what I can do.
I slid my phone back into my pocket and got to work. I had a busy afternoon and my planning periods always seemed to fly by without me getting any real work done. Usually, I used the period to spend tutoring some kids that needed extra help or wanted some extra credit. Other times, I was in the school’s library gathering materials to make the lessons more fun and interactive. I was busy looking up a rather interesting story about two brothers in Maryland during the Civil War, when someone cleared their throat. I shook my head and leaned back in my chair, wiping my hands on my black dress pants. Nadine stood before me in the doorway, leaning against the jamb as she crossed one ankle over the other; a smirk on her lips.
“Nice hair, Joker. You took
my advice and started using product, it’s all spiky and coiffed on top. And I like the glasses, too. They make you look professional and hot. I bet all the lady teachers are just dying to swoop in and eat you alive,” cooed Nadine, walking into the room. She was dressed in a pink pant suit, her hair expertly styled. What can I say? My mom is a hair stylist, so I notice hair.
“Really? I don’t answer your text messages, so you resort to coming to my place of business?” I replied as I toyed with the button on the cuff of my long sleeve, pale blue dress shirt.
“I sent those over two hours ago. They still making you cover up all your glorious ink I see,” she pointed out. I nodded.
“Pretty Boy is a small town and not every parent is an ink addict like I am. What can I help you with, Nadine?” I asked. She snorted, her cute little nose wrinkling with the action.
“Ever hear of Healing Heroes?” she asked as she sat on the corner of my large, wooden desk; crossing one ankle over the other. Running my hand over my closely trimmed beard, I thought for a moment before shaking my head.
“It’s a non-profit that rescues dogs from shelters or groups. Then, they train them to be service assistance dogs for veterans with PTSD. Next month I’m doing a fundraiser for them and I could really use your help,” she replied, tapping her fingers along the desktop like she was pressing keys on a piano.
“Sounds amazing,” I started. She looked at me and bit her bottom lip before speaking.
“It sounds like something Kevin would’ve benefited from,” she said softly, referring to my recently deceased older brother. I nodded, looking beyond her, to the open classroom door. After what seemed like forever, I looked back at her and gave her a stiff smile. Kevin was my sore spot; hell, he was the whole family’s sore spot. Even mentioning him caused me to go some place painful and cold.
“Whatever you need me to do, I’m there,” I whispered as I leaned forward, letting out the breath I’d been holding. Nadine patted my hand and smiled.
“It’s an auction,” she replied quickly. I looked up at her and cocked my head to the side.
“So, I’ll donate something. I can always make up a cool basket or at least Mom can,” I replied. Nadine bit her lip again and then shook her head slowly.
“Not that kind of auction, Jacoby,” she replied. I looked at her, a woman I’d known since I was 8 and felt my blood chill in my veins. She’d pasted a sweet smile on her face and I knew she was up to something.
“You never call me by my given name. You have always called me Jo or Joker. What is going on with this auction? Do I have to sleep with some old woman who’s going to make me call her ‘mommy’? Am I going to have to dance like a porn star?!” I yelled. Nadine winced.
“Porn stars don’t dance, Joker,” she replied. I crossed my arms over my chest and stood up; looking down at her.
“No, you’re right, they don’t. They sit at the dinner table and get sucked off by their nympho stepmother and then have sex with a slutty high school friend that their stepmother ‘tutors’,” I snapped, making her chuckle.
“Wow! There is so much wrong with that entire rant right there, which we will get back to later. It’s not a sex auction. Jesus, you make it sound like I’m going to have some middle aged Saudi Arabian prince bid on the chance to take your virginity! It’s a bachelor auction. Ladies bid on dates with you, nothing more. You’ll be in either a nice suit or a tux and you’ll be blindfolded. No sex, no porn star dancing and no getting blow jobs from anyone’s stepmother,” she replied, putting her manicured hand on my arm. I glared at her without saying anything.
“I don’t trust you, Nadine,” I snapped. She rolled her eyes.
“You are being ridiculous. Besides, you owe me after nearly killing me last year,” she pouted. I shook my head.
“I warned you and I sent you a damn basket! Shit!” I yelled then looked to the door to my classroom. Nadine snorted. She stared me down and I shook my head, knowing that there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell of winning against her. Plus, it was for a really good cause.
“Ok, when’s the auction?” I asked, as I tapped my pen on my leg. Nadine wouldn’t make eye contact with me.
“This Thursday evening. At Mermaid Winery in Norfolk. Which is perfect, because I know you have Friday off,” she muttered. I stood up and walked over to the window next to my desk. A group of students were doing laps at the track, the gym teacher Mr. Whistman overseeing their efforts.
“Joker?” she called to me. I turned back and looked at her.
“You know what? Fine. If it gets you to stop griping about your stinging incident and it helps a great cause, I’m in,” I told her. She squealed and clapped her hands.
“You won’t be alone, Joker. My cousin is going to do it and so is your bestie, Colton,” she replied. I felt my eyebrows raise.
“How’d you manage to get Colton to agree to this?” I asked in disbelief. Nadine smiled and crossed her arms over her chest.
“I have my ways. Oh, and there is one more thing,” she said slyly. I felt my eyebrow arch and I crossed my arms over my chest.
“So, I told you that you’re going to be wearing a mask. But I almost forgot to mention the dates,” she said.
“The dates? What difference should that make? I mean, won’t they decide what they want us to do with them?” I asked. Nadine shook her head.
“The ladies are going to be bidding on specific dates. One guy is going with an adventure theme . . . like sky-diving. Things like that. You’re a smart guy, I’m sure you can come up with something spectacular. But make it a good one, we need to raise some serious moola!” she said with another of her megawatt smiles. I shook my head.
“You’re killing me, Nadine. Killing me. Is there anything else you’re leaving out? Anything else that I need to know?” I ask. She opens her mouth to respond, when her phone buzzes. She looks down at the screen and frowns. Looking up, she gives me an apologetic smile.
“Jo, listen, I have to run. But I’ll email you all the details this afternoon. If you have any questions, please just text me,” she said quickly.
“Yeah, whatever,” I drawled. She stopped and looked at me.
“Don’t make me have to come down here again, Joker,” she said seriously. I mock saluted her and shook my head.
“I better not have to wear a thong, Nadine!” I yelled after her. She trotted out of the room on her ridiculously high heels and nearly collided with a short, curvy female with messy, dark hair and haphazard clothing. Apologies and polite words were exchanged before Nadine took off down the hallway.
“Mr. Garcia?” said the attractive but flustered looking woman standing in the doorway to my classroom. It was Mobley Knight, the art teacher. The art teacher that had been the star of many of my naughty dreams lately. Her black hair was piled up on her head in a messy bun with a pencil jammed through the middle. Her almond shaped green eyes regarded me with intelligence and hesitation. She was wearing a white dress shirt and black skinny jeans with these sexy as hell black boots. Her lips were full, and she chewed on the lower one. That was my favorite, when she chewed on her bottom lip and believe me, we’d been together enough in a ‘professional capacity’ to have a front row seat to her sexy lip chewing. I wondered what those lips would be like on my skin.
“Yes? Miss . . .” I trailed off as my mind took over my whole freaking body. I knew her damn name, what the hell?! She blushed, and a shy smile graced her perfect lips. Lips that would look amazing on my cock. Shaking my head, I attempt to snap myself out of thoughts that were going to end up embarrassing me. Thoughts I needed to save for when I was alone.
“Miss Knight?” she replied, making it sound more like a question than a statement. Her little head was cocked to the side as if she was trying to determine if I was concussed. I nodded and turned to face her.
“Sorry, you caught me off guard, Miss Knight. How can I help you?” I replied. She nodded and looked over her shoulder as I heard commotion in the hallway. I walked over to th
e door and frowned.
“Really, Indiana?” I scolded as I looked down at my fifteen- year- old nephew. He was muttering under his breath as he kicked a locker. Grabbing his shoulder, I spun him around and shoved him into my classroom.
“What happened, Miss Knight?” I asked, looking over my shoulder at my sulking, redheaded nephew. I shoved him into an empty seat before I turned back to Miss Knight.
“He was fighting two boys in the lunchroom. Unfortunately, he’s getting suspended for the rest of this week. But, I couldn’t reach his father and suggested that he come sit with you until someone can come get him,” she replied. I nodded and shot my nephew a dirty look.
“His dad’s out of town. I’ll call my mother and see if she can come get him,” I explained. She nodded and smiled, perfect white teeth showing.
“Thank you. I’ll let Principal Blackstone know,” she replied before turning and walking down the hallway; giving me a perfect view of her ass. Smiling, I turned and walked into my classroom. My smile faded as I regarded the youngest member of the Garcia clan.
“You’re in deep shit, Indiana,” I told my nephew. He smirked.
“Go ahead and smile, funny boy. I’m calling Meemaw to come get you,” I told him. Indiana’s face fell and his freckled skin paled.
“Yeah that’s right, who’s laughing now,” I told him as I scrolled through my contacts and pulled up my mother’s number.
“Hey Mama? I need you to come get Indiana. He got suspended for fighting,” I told her and smiled as she cursed up a storm. Disconnecting the call, I smiled down at my nephew. My mother had raised five boys on her own after my father died. We lived on a farm and were made to do manual labor when we messed up or acted like little assholes. My mother had a new fence surrounding her property thanks to me having sex with the pastor’s youngest daughter in the barn; an act that she walked in on. Indiana’s father, my brother Mordechai, was a high-profile trial lawyer in the middle of a massive case in Richmond. When he worked crazy hours, I watched my nephew. Indiana Garcia was conceived via a surrogate and my brother’s sperm. My very gay brother and his husband, Jonathan. Jonathan was serving overseas in the military and couldn’t police their son either, never really could to be honest. Indiana’s sister, also conceived via surrogate, was due in about eight weeks, right around the time Jonathan came home.
