Craft (The Gibson Boys 2)

I watch them for a minute, Brandon specifically. He’s paying less attention to the baking than he is the curve of Mariah’s hips.

“Brandon,” I call out. “Head back to your desk.”

“But I really want to help,” he grins. It melts off his face quickly as he sees my reaction. It takes just a few steps for him to make it to his seat and slink back in.

I remind myself he’s a teenager. Mariah’s not interested in him. Still, he has testosterone and my natural reaction is to get him away from her.

I’m so fucked.

Mariah helps Ollie measure the sugar. I’m pretty sure he could’ve done it himself, but he seems more than delighted in a very innocent way at having her help him.

“Does your mom bake with you?” she asks, handing him a spatula.

“I’m a foster kid, Ms. Malarkey.”

“Oh.” There’s a squeal in her voice before she composes herself. “Does your foster mother bake with you?”

“I’ve been in six foster homes in the last ten years. I can only remember one doing that kind of thing with me,” he shrugs.

There’s a sense of defeat in his tone, a finality that shows he accepts this is the way things are. This is the way they’re meant to be. I glance over at Brandon and he’s watching too.

“That must be rough,” Mariah says. “I’m sorry you’ve had to go through that.”

“Better than staying with my sister. The last time I remember seeing her she had a needle sticking out of her arm.”

I have to turn my head so they don’t see me cringe. Rubbing at my forehead like I have a headache, I try to wrap my head around his situation.

“Well, I can kill two birds with one stone.” The baritone voice rumbles through the room. The football coach stands a few feet into the room, a collared shirt with the team logo on the chest. “How long is detention, Brandon?”

“Another hour,” he replies.

“Okay. Get to the War Room as soon as you’re done. You’re getting behind with these detentions.”

“I know, Sir. I’ll be there.” Brandon lifts his pencil and does a great job at pretending he’s working on his paper.

Coach Collins’ gaze then roams across the room and settles on Mariah. “Mariah, can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Sure.”

She’s all too chipper as she prances to the doorway to talk to the new coach who’s fresh out of college. I’ve seen him around outside of school and, much to my chagrin, he comes across as a pretty decent guy.

I want to snatch her up, wrap my arm around her waist and pull her back to me. Whatever he’s saying to her isn’t library-related. There’s nothing about the library that would make her head fall back in laughter like that.

Mother fucker.

My blood threatens to pop the confinements of my veins. My temples throb as I try to appear impassive despite being on the edge of exploding.

Ollie flips on the mixer. The roar of the machine grates through the room, flipping butter and sugar together in a bowl that squeaks every time the paddles turn inside. Gone is the sound of Mariah’s laugh. I can no longer hear broken pieces of their conversation and it’s all I can do not to march over there and insert myself in the middle of whatever they’re talking about.

My phone buzzes beside me. A message bar is positioned across the screen, reminding me to update my dating app.

Pursing my lips together, I look back at Mariah. I wonder if this is how she felt when I was in her office talking to other women? She couldn’t have, not really. I wasn’t seeing her. Not like we have been now. Still, I would’ve felt a variation of this even before I knew she was Nerdy Nurse.

What the hell does that mean?

Coach leans towards her his hand pressing on the wall just above her head. She doesn’t seem to mind as she looks up at him and laughs. It’s too close, too intimate. My hand shakes at my side, twisting into a tight ball, as I watch this asshole think he’s making a move on her right in front of me.

He touches her hand as he talks and I think I’m going to come out of my skin.

“Ollie!” I call out over the roar of the mixer. “That’s good.”

He flips the switch. “But it needs another two minutes.”

“Call it two minutes. Move along.”

The coach reaches out and places his hand gently on her shoulder. I slide off the counter and head to the window before I do something stupid.

The courtyard outside is bright and peaceful. A few birds play in the grass. A heaviness sits in my chest as I realize this isn’t going to get any easier. My reaction to her isn’t going to ease up and other men aren’t going to stay away from her because I’ve somehow invisibly marked her as mine.