Strings Attached

“Because you’re too busy being responsible?”

“Nope, but I don’t know you like that, so I’m not sharing the rest. Don’t take it personally. I don’t know anyone like that.”

We shared another laugh. “I guess I’ll just be grateful I was in the bar that night.”

“You were my graduation reward, Jamie Fraser.”

“Who?”

“Outlander? Holy shit, you need to read those books. He’s the definition of sexy. I mean, you’re all right, but when it comes to Jamie…”

That caught my attention. I leaned closer to him. “Be careful, Mr. Wescott, or I might think you’re flirting with me.”

“Just an observation,” he countered, then changed the subject. “So it’s not your dream? You made a more rational decision and followed the money?”

I clutched my heart. “Ouch.”

“No, no. I didn’t mean it like that. Sometimes I just…I think I should have made a different decision, ya know? It’s not a secret that teacher pay isn’t the best, but I—”

“You followed your heart; that’s what you did. Don’t ever regret that. I admire you for it. That takes courage and…well, heart, I guess. I used to want to be a photographer. I haven’t taken photos on anything but a phone in years.”

“You should get a camera.”

“Maybe I will.”

We sat there for a moment, staring at each other, the air pulsing with electricity around us. It took a moment before I realized we were close…then closer still. Who was moving, I didn’t know, but it didn’t matter. We were being drawn together. Would he taste like he had that night?

We were a breath apart, his lips growing closer when—“Heads up!” someone yelled. We jerked back just as a Frisbee flew between us. “Shit. Sorry for the cock block,” the guy said, grabbing his runaway disk and heading away.

Zander scrambled to his feet. “I should, um…I should go.” He didn’t wait for me to respond, and then I was alone again, watching him walk away.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Zander

“Did you see I deposited money into your account?” I asked Mom when she called. It had been a busy few weeks and a while since we’d spoken. I’d been picking up as many hours as I could at the coffeehouse and spending my mornings jogging with Harrison. When we’d started, I’d expected it to be a one-time thing, which turned into two, three, and now close to a month had gone by, and we were still at it.

She sighed. “Yeah, I saw it. I wish you wouldn’t do that, Zander. Money is tight, but it’s not like I’m the only one it’s that way for. You’re the child, not the parent. You’re not supposed to be taking care of us. I’m supposed to be taking care of you and your sister.”

Supposed to didn’t mean shit. Dads were supposed to stick around, were supposed to care, and mine didn’t. You were supposed to be rewarded in life for how hard you worked, and it didn’t always go that way either. And in my world, no matter how hard Mom worked, she couldn’t get ahead. How did you raise a family and pay bills off minimum wage? She’d tried hard, always had, sometimes working two jobs, but since she got hurt, it was only disability pay, which wasn’t shit. Now she was in pain every day of her life on top of it.

While all this was going on, my dad was who knew where, living his best life, until he had nowhere to go. That’s when he would show up at home, and Mom would take him back—she always did. He’d promise things would be different, that we could count on him, that he’d help, and she would believe him, and then he’d prove her wrong. So yeah, I wasn’t going to bail on her and Molly the way he had on us. “It’s fine. I want to help. Plus, I’m living with Ross in a condo his dad owns, and we don’t pay rent.” I didn’t like lying, but in situations like this, it needed to be done.

“I’m glad you found such a good friend, and seriously, how did I get the best son ever?”

“You totally did,” I teased, and we shared a laugh. “How are you feeling?”

“Pretty good. I’m getting by. Molly’s been helping the neighbor and babysitting—she really likes it—and Martha’s been helping me with things around the house. How are things going with you? You start at the school soon, right?”

The question made my pulse kick up uncomfortably and my chest feel too tight. One week, actually. I had exactly one week until I would be in my classroom, preparing for the school year, and…what the fuck had I been thinking? I couldn’t do this. I was a mess. How in the hell had I ever thought I could run a classroom? That I would be any good at teaching, and fuck…just having it all together?