Battle

“Friends.” I shake his hand, feeling the ever present attraction between us. The electricity coursing through my veins causes me to blush. He lifts me from the tailgate and carries me to the passenger seat where he puts me down and closes the door.

God help me if I’m not one hundred percent smitten with the devil himself.

His door opens, and I watch him strip from his suit coat and tie. He tosses them into the back seat. As he rolls up his sleeves, I admire his sculpted forearms and strong hands. He undoes the first few buttons on his shirt, exposing the top of his hard chest. He leans into the truck, wearing a delectable grin and says, “It ain’t polite to stare.”

My cheeks flush instantly. I quickly turn my head.

Battle McCoy is trouble in every way imaginable, but I can’t deny I have romantic feelings for him. That I want to feel his hands on my body again. That I want to kiss him. That I wish he wanted more than casual sex. Since he’s now a client, my feelings are irrelevant. Our relationship has to stay professional. Or at least work is the excuse I’m clinging to for now.

Through the flat lands of small-town Kansas, silence falls between us as I stare out the window with thoughts of our night together keeping me company—confusing and delighting me at the same time. The hint of a smile on his lips makes me wonder if he’s thinking about me as well.

His phone rings. He picks it up and his lips turn down when he glances at the screen. There’s no mistaking the sadness in his sigh as he answers. “Hi, Mom … No, I can pick her up … Three’s fine.”

He ends the call. I watch him, studying the tightness of his jaw, the fine creases around his eyes and his furrowed brow as I wait for him to speak. His troubled expression makes me uneasy. The phone call was a private moment.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

He doesn’t look over, but answers, “Yes. I need to pick up my sister.”

I had no idea he had a sister. Proof the women running Rider’s Monthly aren’t doing a thorough job investigating for their second-rate magazine.

“Do you want to reschedule?” I ask.

“I need to pick her up immediately.”

His response doesn’t answer my question, but I don’t attempt to clarify. His mood has completely shifted after the phone call from his mother. I decide not to repeat the question and sit quietly for the remainder of the drive. I’m far too vested in our relationship. We’re significantly more than friends already. I have no clue how I’m going to manage working with him.

I’m surprised when we pull into the parking lot of an elementary school. Is his sister a teacher? It’s early in the school day. Why would she need to leave abruptly? No, she would probably drive if she was a teacher. He doesn’t volunteer any information, and I stuff down my curiosity.

I follow him into the office. He stops at the desk, greeted by the school secretary, who looks like every other school secretary days before school lets out; exhausted, face slightly pinched—stressed.

“I’m here to pick up Erinn Randolf,” he tells her.

She points at a binder. “Please sign her out. I’ll let Mrs. Jacoby know you’re here.”

His sister is obviously a student. She has a different last name, which I assume means she’s a step-sister.

Battle signs quickly. I follow him to two chairs along the wall outside a door marked, Vice Principal. Uncomfortable silence fills the air between us. I wish he would speak. The despondency when he spoke with his mother now radiates from him. I struggle with how to diffuse it, or if I should try to.

The door opens and a woman with short blonde hair smiles. “Please come in,” she says to Battle.

He stands and glances down at me. “I’ll be right out.”

The heavy door doesn’t latch when he enters the woman’s office. The small crack left allows me to hear inside.

A girl shrieks. “It wasn’t my fault! They were bein’ mean to me.” Nervous laughter comes after her words, followed by a low hum.

“Erinn,” I hear a commanding female voice say and assume it’s the same woman who opened the door. “Their behavior doesn’t excuse your actions. I need you to sit down quietly while I speak with your brother, or you’ll have to wait outside.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Erinn says.

“Erinn was involved in an incident with some typical girls at lunch today. One of the girls called her a name, and Erinn choked her.”

“Erinn!” Battle shouts.

“I’m sorry, but it was a mean word. A mean word.” Erinn laughs and hums, again.

“What did this girl call her?” Battle asks.