“You seem familiar,” he pushed, not convinced.

“I’m Ms. Bradbury.” I changed the subject, walking around the desk. “Your son and I have already met. I’ll be teaching him US History first period this year.”

And with hopefully only one parent-teacher conference, and then you and I will never have to run into each other again.

It wasn’t that I was embarrassed or scared. I could handle some discomfort.

But this guy had turned me on.

I’d looked back on our interaction often over the past few months. On quiet nights when I’d wanted someone’s hands on me and the only person keeping me company was myself, I’d remembered that dance, his mouth close to mine and his eyes looking down at me.

I’d slept with other people since then, but strangely, he was always where my mind wandered back to when it wanted a fantasy.

And now with him close…

He continued to study me, an eyebrow arched, and I was suddenly nervous. He looked formidable. Not at all as playful as he’d looked that night.

“Christian,” he called to his son. “Come here.”

His son barely looked up from his phone or the video game he played as he walked past us.

“I’ve been here,” he said, anger twisting his voice. “I need something to drink.”

“There’s bottled water by the door,” I instructed, but he just kept walking, leaving the room without another word.

His father’s jaw hardened, and I could tell he was angry.

“Excuse my son,” he apologized. “His mother is away for a year, and he’s a little out of sorts.”

His mother. Not my wife, then.

The air-conditioning poured down from overhead, caressing my face, and I felt it waft lightly against my blouse, cooling the light layer of sweat.

Tyler and I were alone in the room, and I inhaled through my nose, smelling his intoxicating scent, which I could almost taste on my tongue.

I walked around him, toward the papers by the door. “Well, I know you have other classrooms to visit and not much time,” I told him, “so here is a letter explaining my background and plans for the year.” I picked up a single-sided letter off the desk and also a two-page detailed calendar, walking over and handing both to him.

“And there’s also a syllabus with a rundown of dates when tests occur and when papers and projects are due,” I continued as his eyes left mine to peruse the documents.

His eyebrows nose-dived as he studied them.

“All of this information is also on my website,” I told him. “This is just a hard copy in case you prefer it.”

I crossed my arms over my chest and tried to keep my voice light. “Do you have any questions for me?”

I probably sounded like I was trying to rush him out of here, but the longer he stayed, the greater the chance that he would remember me.

“Yes,” he said quietly, still flipping through the papers. “I do have a question.”

I stiffened, trying to remember to breathe.

“How long have you been a teacher?” he asked.

“This will be my first year,” I said in all confidence.

He raised his eyebrows, the edges of his mouth curling. “I hope you’re good.”

I cocked my head, peering at him. “Excuse me?” I asked, trying not to sound offended at the innuendo.

“My son can be a handful,” he clarified. “He doesn’t misbehave, but he’s willful. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

I nodded slightly and turned to go back to my desk.

Doesn’t misbehave?

From what I’d already seen, he was very much a handful. I just hoped I didn’t need to call his father or deal with him for anything.

Back behind my desk, I looked up and saw that he was still by the door, looking at me like he was trying to figure something out.

“Was there something else?” I tried to sound polite.

He shook his head as if he was still thinking. “I’m just… almost sure I know you.”

“Easton?” Kristen poked her head inside my door, interrupting. “Some of us are going – oh, I’m sorry.” She stopped, seeing the parent still in the room.

My eyes fluttered closed, and my stomach flipped.

Shit.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she chirped. “Stop by my room when you’re done, okay?”

And then she let the door close, leaving us alone.

I darted my gaze over to Mr. Marek, and he turned his eyes away from the door and pinned me with a sharp stare.

And then, like the raging sun over a cube of ice, his hard gaze melted, turning into one of knowing as realization hit, his eyes softened, and his mouth curled with amusement.

Fuck.

“Your name is Easton?” He stepped toward me slowly, every step shooting through my veins and making my blood rush.

“That’s an unusual name for a woman,” he went on, inching closer. “In fact, I’ve met only one other with the name.”

I let the air drift out of my lungs, and I raised my eyes, meeting his.

But his eyes fell away from my face and moved down my body as if he was trying to connect who I was now with what he remembered from six months ago.

He finally met my gaze again and leaned in, looking expectant. “You haven’t asked my name yet,” he toyed.

The hair on my neck stood on end.

“Would you like to know?” he pressed, playing with me.

As the parent of a student, introductions were in order.