It was strangely arousing to know that despite his stubbornness, Tav was able to concede his mistakes. She might have to retract his addition to Fuckboy Monthly, the fake periodical she and Ledi had started, which was now mostly filled by Nya’s online dating encounters since Ledi was monogamous and Portia was celibate-ish.

No “ish,” bish. Celibate. Focusing on self. Not getting ideas about your boss.

“Erm . . .” Tav shoved his hands into his pockets. His muscles flexed beneath his snug-fitting T-shirt as he lifted his shoulders in an awkward motion, so Portia fixed her gaze on his left nostril. Nostrils were safe. “What are you doing this afternoon?” he asked.

Could he be . . . ? No. No way was he asking her on a date. Her body went tense because she wasn’t entirely opposed to the idea, despite her mental pep talk.

“I’ve got the after-school lesson with the weans if you’d like another apprentice duty. Bit more fun than packing boxes. You should come help if you aren’t afraid of breaking a nail or somesuch.”

“Oh.” Portia’s annoyance pushed any appreciation of his attractiveness, and the mingled relief and disappointment that he was still talking strictly business, to the background of her mind. “If you’re going to rely on sexist clichés, at least get some fresh material. And if I do break a nail off, it’ll be someplace extremely unpleasant for you.”

He chuckled and stepped around her as he headed for the door. “The class starts at five.”

Chapter 8

Hey, welcome to part two of so you think you’re a hot mess. Don’t forget to hit that subscribe button below because if you’re anything like me? You won’t remember to do it at the end of the video. You might not even make it to the end of the video if something else distracts you. So hit subscribe and then we can talk about the elephant in the room: ADHD!”

Caridad sprayed two cans of confetti foam at the screen and Portia hit pause and stared out at Tavish and his students.

ADHD?

She’d never really considered it. She’d always been told that she was flighty, flakey, lazy, scattered, impulsive . . . but she was also curious, and super engaged when something interested her. Still, the negative always outweighed the positive, and she’d always figured that she was just . . . a fuck-up.

Something in her loosened with relief as the possible diagnosis repeated itself in a loop in her brain. ADHD! ADHD! ADHD! She had a word to use for her behavioral patterns. There were other people who felt the same way she did, maybe.

Still . . . it was strange thinking of herself as having a medical diagnosis for her behaviors. For years, her parents had subtly guilted her for not doing more with her life when she “didn’t have Regina’s issues.” Reggie had been kicking ass since she’d left the ICU and went into a physical therapy program; she’d certainly never seen herself as having any “issues” that could stop her from achieving her dreams, and neither had Portia. But their parents’ expectations had become a wedge that Portia had used to push herself away from everyone, even her sister. Things were different now, but what if someone had paid attention earlier? Or what if her parents had just accepted her instead of constantly comparing her?

She decided to stop getting ahead of herself. She still had to take the online ADHD assessment linked under the video before she started getting all emotional about it. It would be nice to have at least some explanation, but maybe she’d take the test and the results would read “Nah, you just suck at adulting.”

“All right, we’re gonna take a short break,” Tavish bellowed from the floor of the gym, drawing her attention to him. She was relieved for the distraction. Her impulse was to take the test immediately, but she was technically on the job. Instead she snapped a quick pic of Tavish standing before the kids, all with their backs to her but clearly enthralled, and posted it across the armory’s social media feeds.

Sir Tavish and his rapt audience. Portia had to admit, he had a way with the youths. The kids, ranging from ages six to ten, were a handful, but they were all seemingly enamored with her boss, making her feel better about her less than professional thoughts earlier. He apparently had some sort of appeal that shone through his grumpy demeanor.

She’d participated in the class a bit: handing out Styrofoam swords and making sure shoes were tied and the kids were lined up as Tavish talked to the parents dropping them off. She’d also dodged invasive questions about whether she was Maestro Tav’s girlfriend. Children were nosy as hell, honestly, but she’d made sure they knew she was just an apprentice.

Mostly, she’d hovered on the bleachers beside the pile of lunch bags Cheryl had dropped off for the kids to take home with them. Cheryl had explained that she packed enough for two meals now after the students had talked about sharing the meal with their families. The classes were offered for free to kids who lived in nearby council housing, and apparently not having enough to eat wasn’t a rarity.

Tav taught one class for kids per week, and two for teens, and those were free, too, though he could have easily charged an arm and a leg to the neighborhood’s newer occupants. He offered food, provided equipment, and maybe most valuable of all, he gave up his time . . . it had to add up. She thought about how pigheaded he was about the business, and how much pressure it must have added to have the well-being of Bodotria’s youth at stake in addition to his livelihood. Not to mention Jamie’s. And Cheryl’s.