Wrong Bed Baby (Crescent Cove 10)

Ryan filched a fry from my tin. “Is that right?”

I pressed my lips together, then blew out a long breath. “He’s a second grade teacher at a freaking Catholic school.”

She choked. “Excuse me?”

“I know. That seems crazy, right?”

I filled her in on the meet from the day before as she poured us wine and dug into her corned beef and hash with hashbrowns, and scrambled eggs. I was pretty sure our food didn’t really go with the bottle of cabernet she’d brought over, but neither of us minded.

Her plate and glass were half gone by the time I’d caught her up with everything. And I’d finally cracked open my meatloaf with mashed potatoes and gravy. Because one carb wasn’t enough for the level of alcohol I’d had last night—and would be imbibing with her visit.

“Leave it to you to have two dudes interested in you precisely eleven seconds after they meet you.”

“How did you get there?”

Ryan rolled her eyes as she cupped her large glass in her long fingers. “Lucky? The tall dude, right? With the hair metal hair?”

I snickered. “Yes, that’s pretty much him.”

“You said he was blaring music after you and hot for teacher were talking in the hall?”

“Yeah. Sinatra. Insane.”

“Yeah, he was blaring the music as a dick move. He probably thought he called dibs.”

“What? Where do you get that?”

“I mean, I can pull out the cards to be sure, but you know…psychic.”

“Shut up.” I stabbed at the buttered green beans buried under my meatloaf.

“And you were doing your stripper pole thing? I mean, c’mon.” She gave me a look over the rim of her glass.

“It wasn’t on purpose, and the tall one was the one who interrupted me. I wouldn’t have even gone out into the hall—”

“Please. You so would have gone out there.”

I tossed a fry at her. “Okay, I would have gone out to see if they were attractive. It’s been drought city over here. But still, they started it.”

Ryan’s gaze narrowed. “How did they interrupt you?”

I huffed out a breath. “Caleb was trying to protect my honor—or something stupid like that. The door was open.”

“Your door was open?” She sat back in her chair. “Since when?”

Uh oh. “I didn’t lock it.”

She set down her glass with exaggerated slowness. “He opened the damn door?”

“He’s harmless.”

“Except he might not have been.” Ryan stood and paced.

“I get it.” When she whirled to look at me, I held up a hand. “I lock my door now. Even if he’s sweet.”

“So, the teacher opened the door?”

“No, his friend. My music was blaring, and well, I was doing that complicated workout routine I saw on YouTube last weekend…”