by Lee Kilraine
Jo stood along with him, walking him out.
They stood facing each other in the shaft of waning sunlight streaming through the sidelight windows flanking the front door. The light separated a kaleidoscope of colors in her gray irises: flecks of green, blue, and yellow.
“All I’m asking is that you think about it.”
“Wouldn’t it be better to ask someone else? Anybody would be more believable than you and me together. What about Georgie?”
He shook his head. “Everyone knows Georgie’s had a crush on Gage since high school—except for Gage and Hawk, that is.”
“Okay, yeah . . . but Pax—”
Paxton stepped up close to her, placing a finger gently on her lips. “Because you’re you. People don’t just like you around town, they treasure you. You’re committed to your students and to the community. Salt of the earth.”
He stroked his finger across her lips once . . . twice . . . and along her delicate jawline before tucking a soft, shining curl off her face.
Jo blinked up at him. “But everyone knows our history. Who would believe we—”
“People change, Jo. You don’t think we could make people believe there’s something between us?” He closed in, moving them both back until she had the wall at her back. Sinking his hands into her wild honey hair—something he hadn’t known he’d been dying to do until he tangled his hands into its silkiness—he tilted her head up to him and did the unthinkable. He kissed her.
The softness of her lips under his did the craziest thing to his heartbeat; it sped up like a galloping horse gone wild. He’d planned for a slow, convincing demonstration, but the kiss got away from him. The instant their lips met he couldn’t get enough. The kiss went hotter and deeper until he forgot to breathe. Jo’s soft moan undid him. She fisted her hands in his shirt, pulling him closer, and still it didn’t feel close enough.
“Well hello.”
Georgie’s voice sliced into Paxton’s brain, bringing much-needed sanity to the situation. Stepping back, he looked down into Jo’s dazed eyes, and for the first time ever, it looked like they shared the same thought: What the hell was that?
Paxton ignored his tense muscles, along with the fact that all his blood had raced south to the wild drumbeats of his heart, and focused on what was important. Hell, he knew the two of them didn’t get along, yet they’d just been halfway to convincing each other there was something between them. Whatever the heck that was—the attraction of opposites . . . years of pent-up animosity . . . hell, maybe it was the wine—Paxton had no doubt they could pull this off.
Watching Jo’s eyes refocus into the cool, collected, polite look she reserved for him and anyone butchering the English language deflated his hope. She was still hanging on to what they’d always known.
“I went by the shelter today and talked to Frank Bufford. He said if you pay the adoption fee, the dog is yours.”
Jo’s gaze flicked over to the dog and back. “Thank you. Looks like I’m doubly in your debt.”
“Six months and we’d be even. And maybe we wouldn’t have to spend the rest of our lives hating each other.”
“I don’t hate you. I’ve nev—”
“Happy to hear it.” He leaned back in and kissed her again. A whisper-light kiss to throw her off. To tempt her. To influence, invite, and persuade her. And maybe a test to see if it had been a fluke. Nope, still there, that zing of friction and the hard hit of lust that smacked him in his solar plexus. So weird.
Jo stood with one hand raised to her lips, clearly trying to fathom the great mystery of this totally out-of-the-blue attraction.
“I’d appreciate it if you’d just look over the papers and consider it. This is the last time I’ll ask. I won’t keep bothering you.” He couldn’t stop his lips from sliding into a grin. “At least not about this. I’m pretty sure each breath I take bothers you.”
And still no reaction from the silent Jolene. Time to retreat. Paxton turned, nodded once to Georgie, who gave him a thumbs-up, and left, ignoring the fact that he suddenly felt like he had a lot more to lose then when he’d first walked in.
Chapter Five
What a difference a day and a criminal record made. Jolene walked through the school hallway down to the teachers’ lounge on her lunch break and conversations snuffed out as she passed. During class time, once she managed to silence the buzz of whispers, her students sat riveted like they were witnesses to a three-car pileup.
Principal Meyer hadn’t called her into the office yet, but his hawk-eyed, head-swivel stare at midday had her knees weak and nausea rolling in her stomach. She hadn’t seen that look since Coach Wraithe had gotten drunk at last year’s homecoming dance. He’d almost fired Coach until two students had ’fessed up to spiking his drinks.
And then it came. At the end of fourth period she received the summons to come down to the front office for a meeting with Principal Meyer. Oh boy. She knew it was bound to happen; she’d just hoped it would take longer. Time to face the music.
No need to freak out, Jojo. This wasn’t the worst-case scenario. Thanks to Paxton, she’d avoided being charged with anything as long as she completed the community service.
“Go right on in, Jolene. They’re waiting for you,” Myrna Bettles directed without even looking up from where she typed away at her computer.
Jolene rolled her shoulders back and pushed open the frosted glass door, entering the office. She hesitated only a second when she saw Dr. Meyer wasn’t alone but had a parent in the office with him. Maggie’s father. So maybe this wasn’t about the rumors. Or was it? The man couldn’t very well accuse her of stealing the puppy without admitting his role in the ugly situation.
“Ah, here we are. Ms. Joyner, sorry about the lack of notice, but Mr. Pope had some concerns he wanted to discuss and his busy schedule only allowed for a meeting today.”
Busy schedule her patootie. Mr. Pope enjoyed intimidating people, as she’d learned in their parent/teacher conference a few months back. Mr. Pope had simply refused to accept Maggie’s test results. That meeting hadn’t gone well. The fact that she had his dog in her kitchen promised this meeting would be even more uncomfortable, although Jo crossed her fingers he hadn’t heard the rumors yet.
“Mr. Pope, good to see you again.” She pasted on a smile, surreptitiously wiping her damp palm on her pant leg before offering it in greeting. “I’m happy of course to discuss any concerns you have about Maggie.”
He glanced over at her before addressing the principal, ignoring both her and her extended hand. “Let’s be clear, I don’t have concerns about Margaret, Dr. Meyer. What I have are concerns about why my daughter hasn’t been placed in the Advanced Placement classes for next year.”
Jo glanced at Principal Meyer before looking back at Mr. Pope. “She’s been in AP Music Theory and AP Studio Art all year.”
“No.” The man waved that information away with his hand. “I was referring to the English and history classes.
“I believe we discussed this. Maggie’s—”
“Margaret is brilliant. She’ll need those classes to be competitive when she applies to college.”
He was right; Maggie was extremely bright, but not necessarily in the areas her father wanted. “Her reading scores don’t qualify her for those classes and I can’t imagine the frustration we’d be setting her up for if we placed her in them.”
“What you call frustration some of us call being challenged.”
Jo took a slow breath, giving Dr. Meyer a chance to jump in and support her, but he remained silent behind his templed fingertips and thoughtful expression. Uh-oh. Normally, Dr. Meyer had his teachers’ backs. Although if he’d heard about her arrest already, he may not be too eager to defend a teacher he might be firing any day now.
“Mr. Pope, your daughter is extremely bright and talented. She’s a pleasure to have in class.” When she makes it to class, that is. “I’ve talked with Mr. Almario, her music teacher, and he thinks her chances of earning
a music scholarship are very high.”
He tossed her a disgusted glance. “Margaret’s got a real chance to carry on our family tradition of attending Duke University and then Duke’s law school. It’s every father’s dream to have their child follow in their footsteps.”
A fine goal except, according to the essay Maggie had written, not her goal.
“You must be extremely proud of Chloe, then. She’s a lawyer, isn’t she?”
Maggie’s dad turned and looked at her, meeting her gaze for the first time. “Yes, she is. Did Maggie brag about her older sister?”
“Actually, Chloe and I were in the same high school class. I recall she was in law school at our last reunion.” She knew Chloe and Maggie had different mothers; his divorce from Chloe’s mom had been fodder for the Grapevine in all its ugliness.
“Chloe’s a very good lawyer, but she didn’t make it in to Duke. Maggie has a real shot, and I don’t want to see her denied simply because there’s a limit to the AP class sizes.”
Class size had nothing to do with it. Had he listened to a thing she’d said? Of course not. Well, she’d taken her stand twice now. Now it was time for the principal to take one. Jo glanced at her watch and made her move to exit this situation.
“Mr. Pope, your daughter is creative and bright, but English class is not where her strength lies. Her test results and grades in my class support that. Moving a student into AP classes they aren’t qualified for isn’t in the best interest of the student. Now, if you’ll excuse me . . .”
She left the office without a backward glance. It was time for Dr. Meyer to back her up. Or not. And if he didn’t, why have a county policy for AP placement? Honestly, she’d encountered this situation a few times in her teaching career and it never got easier. She understood parents had dreams for their children, but when those dreams clashed with the child’s dreams, too often the parent prevailed. And wasn’t that a train wreck waiting down the road?
Yes, yes it was. A painful train wreck. And sometimes by the time a person figured out they were on the wrong track it was too late and the only thing to do was to abandon those long-ago dreams. Jo knew exactly what that felt like.
And on that depressing thought, she slipped her stack of the evening’s papers to grade into her briefcase and left.
A few students shot her a thumbs-up as she drove her Jetta out of the school parking lot. Mark Bradley, the class clown of third period, hollered, “Way to go, Ms. J!” Thank goodness it was the last week of the school year. She might need the whole summer to let this story sink into its death spiral.
Jolene almost changed her normal routine but decided hiding from the gossip flying around was futile. The Climax Grapevine was going to spread the word whether she showed her face or hid. She might as well make her regular Tuesday stop at Frock Foods because if ever a girl needed emergency chocolate and maybe even a glass of wine, it was her.
Every eye turned to her when she entered through the sliding doors of the family-run grocery store. Pulling a shopping cart from the queue, she slid on the smile she’d perfected during years of cheerleading competitions and moved purposefully down the nearest aisle. As soon as she saw she had the aisle to herself, she drooped forward, resting her forehead on her hands, and took in a settling breath. She’d never been scrutinized and come up lacking before.
Her alone time ended abruptly when footsteps sounded in the aisle behind her and she heard someone humming the theme from COPS. Oh, very funny. Deciding ignoring it would be her best method for handling this, she turned quickly to peruse the shelves. Once the person passed by, she’d head straight for the adult beverage aisle and grab a bar of her favorite dark chocolate on her way to the register.
“If you stand here too long, everyone’s going to think you’re planning your next crime.”
Darn it. Paxton Cates. The last person she wanted to run into after the day she’d had.
“Has the story gotten around town that much?” Dumb question, Jo. A person didn’t go from squeaky clean to being arrested in this town without the Grapevine working overtime. Still, better her than Maggie.
“It has, but your impeccable rep is making some people doubt its veracity.” Paxton’s gaze held more humor than Jo felt was warranted in the situation. “You might want to move off this aisle if you don’t want to call attention to the gossip.”
She focused on the shelf in front of her and finally noticed the bags of dog food. “Well heck.”
“Want my advice?” He reached up and grabbed down a box of puppy treats, placing them in her cart.
“No.”
“Half the people will forget about this by next week. And half are waiting for you to hold up the bank. So don’t worry about anyone else.” He winked at her and took charge of her cart, pushing it down the aisle. “We should probably keep moving or they’ll think you’re shoplifting cans of puppy food.”
“We don’t need to do anything,” she hissed at him, but all he did was calmly wrap his arm around her shoulders and drag her along with him. Grrr. “I need to finish my shopping and get out of here.”
Paxton stuck out his hand. “Let’s see your list.”
“How do you know I have a list?” Of course she had a list. She lived by her lists. Lists kept life orderly. But he didn’t know that.
“Oh, you’re a list maker.” He glanced down at her but kept them both moving around to the next aisle. “I’ll bet you a hundred dollars you’ve got a list in your purse right now.”
“Ha! Well, you’d lose that bet.”
His gaze roamed over her face before he smiled at her, revealing the lone dimple in his right cheek. And then the cheeky man slipped his hand into her back pants pocket and pulled out her yellow sticky note.
How the heck did he know where to find her list? Lucky guess was her bet. But also, how the heck did she know he only had one dimple? Because he’d been annoying her since preschool, so she’d had many years of staring at him in anger. Of course that was it. But the thought jabbing at her the sharpest . . . what the heck had happened to her heart rate when his hand had slipped around and down her behind into her pocket?
She needed to get away from this one-dimpled, list-stealing, hypertension-inducing man, but darn it, no way was she letting him keep her from accomplishing her task.
“You think you’re smart, don’t you?” Jo plucked the list from his hand and took over control of her cart and her life. There were only ten items on her list; she could finish this quickly and be out of Paxton’s airspace in minutes if she tuned him out and focused. “Seriously, what are you doing here?”
“Same thing you are.”
“Shopping for tampons?”
“Ah, okay, not the same thing you are.” He pulled his tie loose, running a finger on the inside of his collar.
She pushed her cart down the aisle faster, hoping he’d get the idea and leave. But nope. He was stuck like glue to her side like a two-ship formation of airplanes. He was so not her wingman.
“Paxton, go away before people start looking.”
“What do you care if they look?”
“I care.” Grabbing a box of tampons, she tossed them in the cart, too flustered to look at him. Picking up speed, she moved on to the next aisle. “Don’t you have lawyer stuff to do?”
“Sure, but I enjoy spending time with you.” He reached up, grabbed something off a top shelf, and tossed it into her cart.
“Hey! What are you—” Her hand froze on a box of penne pasta.
“Rice. It’s on your list.” He turned an innocent look her way with a shrug. “I’m helping.”
“I don’t need your help.” Tossing the pasta in with the rice, she pushed the cart like she was on a NASCAR track, yet Paxton’s long strides had no trouble keeping up with her. Deciding it was time to put an end to whatever this was, she speed shopped the rest of her list: wine, chocolate, grapefruit, coffee, romaine lettuce, ice cream, and toothpaste. Done. She shot out of the aisle and aimed her cart toward the
cash register but paused, turning to Paxton to draw a line in the sand.
Jo caught him nodding to Agatha Simon, one of the town matriarchs and practically the queen bee of the Grapevine. Aka the very last person she’d want to run into now. She’d probably assume she and Paxton were shopping together, as in like a couple.
“Don’t even think about it,” she growled at him.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, but I need to stop letting you distract me and get back to work.” He winked at her and then leaned down and planted a kiss on her cheek before heading right out of the store without a backward glance.
A kiss. A darn kiss. Man, he had some nerve. Oh, she may have been slow, but she knew what he’d just attempted. Pfft. Like anyone would seriously believe the two of them were a couple. And he’d walked out just cocky enough to think he’d won. Ha! Now that he was gone she would throw a wet blanket over that rumor before it caught fire and spread.
She took a minute to compose herself because, truth be told, the kiss had taken her by surprise. The scent of his cologne had teased her senses, sexy and deep with a faint whisper of earthy outdoors, like rich leather and cedar trees. The warmth of his lips against her cheek and the heat from his body so close to hers had made her weak-kneed. Which was so ridiculous that she pulled herself together right that instant and rolled her cart up to the express register.
“Jolene.” Mrs. Frock’s gaze shifted from Jolene to her cart and back to Jolene again, eyebrows raised up so high they disappeared into her soft bangs. “A person’s shopping cart reveals all kinds of secrets.”
What? Like Mrs. Frock had never bought wine, chocolate, and tampons together. They went together as sure as bacon, lettuce, and tomato or Harry, Hermione, and Ron. Inseparable trios for all of eternity.
“This lane is for fifteen items or less. I can’t ever remember a time when you’ve tried to sneak extra items through the express lane.”
