Page 18 of Pieces Into Place
“Motherfucker!” she yells as she turns to look at me, eyes blazing with anger, but I’m wearing a full helmet so she can’t see my face. A sardonic laugh bubbles up within me as I ride by, knowing that I shouldn’t be stirring up trouble but it’s more fun than anything else right now.
Her chest is heaving, her cheeks have turned an angry shade of pink, and her mouth has twisted into something resembling a snarl. Her expression has changed from that of a mild-mannered elementary school teacher to something much less pleasant – like the visage of a Russian sailor after too much vodka. I think it’ll make dealing with her much more interesting.
I can’t help but wonder how far I can push her before she completely snaps. Now that would truly be something worth seeing.
Chapter nine
Olivia
When I walk into the lounge area, there are two teachers gossiping about the usual stuff – who’s dating who, who’s cheating, which children have single parents. As always, they’ve got their finger on the pulse of school life.
“Hey Olivia,” one of them, Andrea Lamb, says. She’s an attractive fourth grade teacher who talks entirely too much for my liking. Andrea is known for flirting with both single men and some taken ones too.
“Hi Andrea,” I reply before heading for the coffee machine. This won’t be as tasty as my carefully curated home brew, but at least it will provide a much-needed caffeine boost.
“We were just talking about the new janitor,” Andrea said excitedly, her cheeks flush with excitement. “Have you met him yet?”
I add a spoonful of clumped up powdered creamer to my coffee, watching as it floats across the surface reluctantly like an oil spill in the ocean. I stir it furiously with a flimsy wooden stick looking for some sign of dissolution. I shrug slightly and say, “Can’t say that I have.”
The memory of yesterday’s awkward exchange still fresh in my mind, I silently curse myself for having landed on my ass. I wasn’t about to tell them that he is anything but sweet – they can find out for themselves.
“Girl, that man is F-I-N-E,” Andrea adds, her words tumbling over each other. “I introduced myself yesterday and he seems so nice.”
The other teacher, Leslie, fans herself slightly with one hand as she speaks, “He has the best smile. And eyes. And that body – it’s perfect. I wonder if he’s single?”
My stomach churns at the thought of how wrong they are about him. Even though I want nothing more than to jump in and correct them, I force myself to remain casual. “I wouldn’t know,” I reply lightly. “I don’t even know his name.”
“His name is Kane,” Andrea says with a dreamy sigh. Her face lights, and I feel a flutter in my stomach at the sound of his name. Irritated, I stir my coffee leisurely, before dropping the wooden stick in the trash and heading for the door. The last thing I hear them saying is “work hottie” as the door swings shut behind me.
Walking down the hallway toward the administrator’s office, I can hear laughter coming from inside. I pause for a moment before entering. As soon as I walk in, there he is - Kane - standing near the front desk charming the school secretary with that million dollar smile. His dimples are on full display, and she is eating it up. Rolling my eyes, I chuckle to myself. ‘Give me a break…‘ That will probably become my new favorite line.
Mrs. Jensen’s expression softens as she notices me, her lips curling up into a polite smile. “Good morning, Ms. Monroe,” she greets me in a formal tone.
“Good morning, Mrs. Jensen,” I reply, returning the formality. I’ll admit I put some extra emphasis on the MRS. part, just to make sure everyone in the vicinity is aware of her marital status.
There’s a flier for the back-to-school fling in my cubby, reminding me that I signed up to chaperone the event. It’s only for the fifth and sixth graders and consists of boys standing on one side of the gym while the girls congregate on the other, occasionally co-mingling at the food table. It’s such an awkward age. I enjoy observing it like I’m Diane Fossey, and they are the elusive mountain gorillas of Rwanda.
As I pass Kane on the way out of the office, I hear him mumble, “Have a good day, Ms. Monroe.”
“Bite me, Janitor,” I whisper to him as I walk past, earning me a smirk and a soft chuckle.
Kane matches my strides just moments after I start walking down the hall toward my classroom. He stays close, though we don’t say a word.
As we stop outside my classroom, he towers over me with his muscled physique, arms folded in a defensive stance. His brows furrow and his lips curl as he cocks his head in confusion. “You know, I have an actual name, right?” he asks.
I am already running late after that maniac on a motorcycle nearly ran me over and sent my entire lesson plan (and coffee!) into squandered pandemonium. My coffee mug was shattered and it was part of a set of four mugs, now I only have three. I had bought them in a fit of optimism, the mugs sporting a big colorful heart with the words “cup of love” inscribed on them. I feel like my optimism lay shattered with that porcelain in the parking lot. Bastard Motorcycle Motherfucker! Now I’m wasting valuable time conversing with this janitor who seems to be in his own world.
“I know you have a name. I just don’t care what it is,” I say firmly while shifting my weight from one foot to the other.
He smirks and raises an eyebrow in disbelief before turning the conversation away from himself. He looks me up and down, apparently unfazed by my crossed arms and defensive posture. “What’s with the polka dots?” he asks, throwing me off balance. As usual, conversing with him feels like trying to ride a bull for eight seconds.
“What? I just – I like polka dots, they’re cute. Plus the kids like them,” I answer.
He smiles and rocks back on his heels. “My name is Kane,” he says. His voice is deep and masculine and it almost thaws my icy exterior. Almost.
“I know,” I say quickly before realizing my mistake. “But I didn’t ask your name; it was offered to me against my will.”
“Good to know,” he grins. “But you don’t strike me as someone who does anything against her will.”
