Vow of Devotion (Vow Series Book 4) Page 9

  Ava tugs on my arm and crooks her finger. I lower my head toward her, she stands on her tippy toes and kisses my cheek.

  I grit my teeth. It tests my resolve to not grab her and kiss the hell of out her. Our almost kiss is seared into my brain.

  It’s going to happen between us.

  Sooner or later, I’m making Ava and Lilly mine.

  Chapter 15

  Ava

  The lid snaps into place on my new coffee thermos and I stick a straw through the hole. It may not be conventional to drink hot coffee through a straw, but after two more coffee incidents in front of my class, a straw and a lid are now a must in my world.

  It’s been a month since my disastrous first day of school. The first week, every day was a battle and I hoped only to survive the war. By the second week, I could feel myself gaining traction and control. And now, a month in, the terrified nerves have faded away and a newfound confidence is setting in.

  Each time a student raises their hand to answer a question unprompted, surprises me with a hug, or kicks butt on their assignment, it feels like a victory. Each small victory has built my confidence.

  If only I could get a handle on not spilling coffee on myself.

  With a few minutes to go before class starts, I check to make sure my phone is set to silent for the third time this morning. As I’m opening my drawer, the screen comes to life with a new message from Hudson.

  My thumb quickly swipes across the screen, opening his message while my heart pounds a furious rhythm inside of my chest.

  Hudson: Is it inappropriate if I tell my friend I had a really great dream about her?

  A new message appears as I’m reading the first.

  Hudson: Really fucking great.

  My thighs press together. My heart hammers against my ribcage as the fantasies I haven’t been able to ignore pour into my mind. Since our almost-kiss the first time we hung out, he’s consumed my dreams and brought out desire I didn’t know I was capable of feeling.

  When I wake up in the middle of the night breathless after dreaming of Hudson, my hand wanders down my body and into my panties.

  He hasn’t tried to kiss me again, but I see the want swirling in his eyes every time we’re together. He’s taking this friendship seriously and is getting to know me. And Lilly.

  Even though he’s constantly on my mind, he hasn’t been the distraction I feared he’d be. Hudson learned my schedule and never messages me while I’m in class. And he hasn’t tried to pawn off Lilly on Carmen every time he wants to see me.

  Every day that passes and I get a new piece of the man, my walls crumble a little bit more. He may not have tried to kiss me again, but hasn’t curbed the flirting and I’ve almost given in to my urge to wrap my legs around his waist and kiss his tempting lips.

  I read the messages again.

  Ava: Depends what the dream was about. Inappropriate or not—this friend wants to know all the details.

  Instead of just dropping my phone into my desk drawer, I power it down completely, throw it in the drawer, and slam it shut. I can’t believe I invited him to tell me about a dirty dream.

  At least, I hope it was dirty.

  I take a drink of my warm caramel coffee and glance at the clock hanging in the corner of my room just as the stampede starts outside the door.

  It’s time for another day.

  When I open the door, ready to greet all of them, the first student races into the room. Most of the students smile as they come into the classroom, but Warner avoids eye contact with me every day.

  This morning as he strolls past me to his seat, his head is down, staring at his shoes.

  “Good morning, Warner,” I greet with a smile. He’s been the most problematic student by far.

  He doesn’t say anything in response, but he does move his head. That’s about as good as it gets with him. A hole on the shoulder of his shirt catches my eye. I scan him, taking in details that I hadn’t catalogued before.

  The faded blue shirt he’s wearing is a bit on the tight side, just shy of skimming the waistband of his jeans. There’s about half an inch of his ankle showing under the hem of his dark-wash denim jeans. The entire outfit looks like it’s in need of a good wash.

  The worst part is, his feet look like they’re about to pop the laces of his tennis shoes.

  The issues with the clothing are minimal enough that they could be overlooked though. It’s also possible he’s experienced a big growth spurt since the beginning of the year.

  I make a mental note to keep a closer watch on him. I haven’t been able to get a handle on him. There are days when he’s quiet and accepts every assignment with ease, and then there are others when he lashes out.

  I follow the last student into the room, striding with my head up to the front of the class. Today’s lesson on narrative writing is already written on the board. After I wrote on the board, I took out the handheld mirror I’ve been storing in my desk to make sure I didn’t have any marker streaks on me before the day even began.

  Mrs. Pritchett strolls down the interior hall, doing her morning rounds. When our eyes clash, she gives me a subtle nod before moving on. Each week, she’s come by less and less, which gives me hope that the improvement since day one isn’t only in my head.

  “We’ve been discussing the art of narrative writing, and today we’re going to learn a new trick to bring it alive. It’s easy and something each of you do every day. Any guesses?”

  The class clown, Kyle, whips his arm into the air. From his quivering lips, I know he’s about to crack a joke, but he’s the only one with an arm in the air, so I call on him anyway.

  “Kyle.” I call out in a knowing tone.

  A grin breaks across his face. “Fart?”

  The class giggles and some of the girls wrinkle their noses. I allow myself a chuckle and shake my head. “I’m not sure what farting has to do with writing, but that answer is incorrect. I’ll give you a hint. I’m doing it right now.”

  A girl at the first table raises her hand and waits for me to point at her. “Talking?”

  “Yes! In a narrative, it’s called dialogue. I’m going to tell you two stories and then y’all will tell me which one is better. Since Halloween is next month, I’m going to stick with a spooky theme.”

  I launch into the same story but told in two different ways. The first is a story without any dialogue, unlike the second. By the way eyes around the room light up when the characters in the story speak, I know my point is driven home. When it was time to vote, they all chose the dialogue story—except Warner, who never raised his hand.

  “Take out your journals. We’re going to practice writing with dialogue. Something short and sweet, but stick to the Halloween theme. It can be a memory or an idea of what you want to dress up as this year.”

  The unzipping of backpacks fills the room and the pencil sharpener whirls to life as the students prepare to work.

  Warner just sits glaring at the desk, his arms crossed over his chest. I approach him, crouching down to his level. He scowls.

  “Do you know what you’re going to write about?”

  “I’m not doing it.” His brows furrow more as the scowl deepens.

  “Warner, you have to. It’s a class assignment that will be graded. You can’t pick and choose which assignments you complete and don’t complete. You must do all of them.”

  “This is stupid. I hate this. You’re the worst teacher ever.” He launches himself from his chair as his chin trembles and his eyes start to fill with unshed tears.

  My throat feels like sandpaper as I try to speak, but before the first word comes out, he pushes his chair out of the way, running from the classroom.

  “Warner,” I call as I chase after him. He stops just outside of the classroom door. I step outside with him, keeping my foot in the door and one eye on him and one on the classroom.

  Warner’s jaw is locked tight and his eyes are screwed shut as he inhales deeply. “Halloween is stupid,” he s
pits out.

  I curl a piece of hair behind my ear and speak low enough that the class couldn’t possibly hear. “Would you complete the assignment if it wasn’t about Halloween?”

  He nods.

  “Okay. I’ll allow that. What do you want it to be about?”

  “Does it have to be real?” His eyes open. The tears are gone. They’re bloodshot and bright green. I’ve never seen such a vulnerable look emanate from him before. He swallows, waiting for my answer as if it holds the keys to everything.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Sometimes I write stuff, but it’s stuff that doesn’t actually happen.”

  I smile. “That’s great. Yes, absolutely. Write something that hasn’t happened. How long have you been writing?”

  A bit of light starts to come back into his eyes. “A long time. It’s fun.”

  “It is,” I say. “Are you ready to go back to class?”

  He nods.

  As the day continues on, I keep a close watch on Warner and try to remember each time he snapped. The worst times that pop into my head stemmed from assignments that edged on the personal.

  Could there be issues at home?

  After my bus duty, I set Lilly up in my room and march to the office, knocking on Mrs. Pritchett’s closed door.

  “Come in.”

  I swing open the door, take a step inside, and shut the door behind me. I come to a stop behind one of the scratchy maroon chairs on this side of her desk.

  “Ms. Kincaid, what’s the problem?” Her head inclines to the chairs.

  I take the invitation and sit across from her, folding my sweaty hands in my lap. “Warner, one of my students, is occasionally having tantrums in class.”

  “Do you need help enforcing discipline?”

  “No. I think it’s something deeper than an out-of-control student. Each breakdown seems to come whenever I ask something personal. And I’ve noticed his clothes aren’t clean and seem to be ill fitting.”

  Mrs. Pritchett stays quiet. I continue, filling in the silence.

  “Today for example, I introduced dialogue in narrative writing and asked for a story having do with Halloween—either a memory or what they wanted to be this year. He almost broke down in tears. I allowed him to complete the assignment by focusing on another subject. He asked to write something fictitious. I think there are problems at home, but I don’t know how to proceed or what school policies apply in this instance.”

  “Have you noticed any signs of abuse?”

  “No, no signs. No visible bruises or anything.”

  “First, let’s arrange to have a parent-teacher meeting. I would like to be there, but you can arrange it.”

  “Okay.” I nod, rubbing my palms against the fabric of my skirt.

  “If that’s all . . .” Mrs. Pritchett trails off, dismissing me, but I don’t mind. She didn’t shut me down, and she didn’t dismiss my concerns. This is the first good conversation I’ve had with her. With that, my newfound confidence soars.

  Though the thought of calling in Warren’s parents adds a sour note.

  Chapter 16

  Ava

  “Lilly, sweetie,” I call from my bathroom, where I’m curling my hair and swiping on mascara. When I became a mom, I learned how to multitask while doing everything. I don’t always have to, but this morning it’s necessary.

  I wanted to be there extra early this morning, get in some extra prep time and lesson planning. It’s easy to relate the narrative lessons to personal stories, but I’m going to work on broadening that, which should hopefully help Warner.

  And it doesn’t help that yesterday, when Lilly and I stopped to get an oil change after school, the mechanic gave me a whole slew of issues that needed fixing. Every time I walk into get my car fixed, I’m worried about being taken advantage of. I didn’t have anyone to teach me about cars or what happens when a light turns on.

  After Wes died, the first time I needed to take my car to shop, I studied. I combed articles, references books from the library, and my tattered user’s manual before stepping into the store.

  “Yes,” Lilly calls back.

  “You need to be ready quickly. We have to leave earlier than normal today.”

  I’m factoring extra time into our schedule due to our transportation issues. My car won’t be ready for another week. I’m grateful I received my first paycheck, but Lilly and I will be using a ride-share app until the insurance company approves a rental car.

  No matter what, my bank account is going to take a hit from this. I finish getting ready in record time and go to the kitchen to make breakfast and pack a lunch for Lilly. I glance at the clock hanging on the wall. I’m running out of time.

  A knock sounds on the front door. I groan. I don’t have time for this. Lilly and I have to get out of the house and I need to pull up the app and schedule a car.

  I open the door, plastering on a fake smile for my morning intruder. My cheeks flame when my eyes connect with Hudson’s light blue eyes. The flirty message before school yesterday took a steamy turn last night. Hudson told me about his dream in detail. The added detail of his husky voice only made his words sound dirtier. And more delicious.

  “Hudson.”

  His name comes out on a soft breath, just like it did in my dream. I dreamed of every explicit thing he said over the phone. I couldn’t get the thought of his tongue all over my body out of my head.

  “Good morning.” He leans in and kisses my cheek. “You look gorgeous.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Giving you and Lilly a ride to school.”

  I open my mouth, then close it and open it again. No words tumble out. I shake my head. “What?”

  “You don’t have a rental yet, do you?”

  “No,” I answer. “But, I didn’t tell you my car woes so you would drop everything and come help me.” I barely even mentioned it during our conversation last night.

  “So, you need a ride to work and your daughter needs a ride to school. That’s where I come in. Come on, this is what friends do, help out another friend. I can also help you out with what you’re thinking about.”

  “What I’m thinking about?”

  My nipples peak beneath my bra and my body sways toward him. Hudson’s eyes are making promises I’m not sure I want him to keep.

  “We’re going to be more, Ava.” The moment stretches taut with need, but before I can bring myself to break it, he looks at the watch strapped to his wrist. “If we leave soon, we can pick up breakfast at this coffee shop near the school. Their cinnamon rolls are great.”

  “I don’t have time for this conversation. I’ll have to take your word on the cinnamon roll.”

  “Are you going to let me in?”

  I huff. “Fine. Come in.”

  Hudson chuckles and follows me into the kitchen, where he watches me finish making lunch for Lilly. He’s standing so close I can smell his clean scent and feel the pulsing heat of his body.

  I concentrate on spreading the peanut butter all the way to edge, but I’m hyperaware of Hudson’s stare.

  “I’ll pick you up this afternoon, too.”

  My head pops up. “I can’t let you do that.”

  “I want to,” he says, sliding his hand across the countertop and laying it over mine. “I want to spend time with you any way I can. If it can only happen while I play chauffeur, then that’s what I’ll do.”

  “Hudson,” I sigh. I want more from this, too, but I don’t get why he does. “I don’t get what’s happening.”

  “Let it happen, bluebonnet.”

  It’s not as easy as just letting it happen. As much I crave him and want to see him above me and feel his skin beneath my palms as he moves inside of me, there’s too much else for me to think about.

  I place Lilly’s sandwich, chips, and banana into her lunch box. I glance at the clock on the wall again. “Damn,” I whisper.

  “What is it?”

  “I don’t have time to mak
e a lunch for myself. I’ll have to buy something.”

  “I’ll bring you something.”

  “Don’t you need to be at work?”

  “My schedule can sometimes be flexible. Today it will be flexible.”

  I shake my head. “Don’t bring me anything. I barely have time to eat. I’m great with a sandwich from the school.”

  Hudson cocks an eyebrow. “Okay.”

  Lilly comes bounding out of her room. “I’m ready.”

  She freezes when she sees Hudson and then crashes into him, giving him a hug. Lilly has loved every second of Hudson being in our lives. “Hi, Hudson. I had a dream about the giraffes last night.”

  “Oh, yeah?” He asks, touching the end of her nose with his finger. “Do you like cinnamon rolls?”

  “Yes.”

  “Want to get one before school? I know a place that has the best cinnamon rolls.”

  “Where’s your backpack?” I cut in.

  Lilly takes off running to her bedroom and comes back with her lion backpack—complete with a wild mane. Since going to the zoo, Lilly has been obsessed with all things safari. “I’m ready for cinnamon rolls.”

  I grab her lunch from the counter and my purse. “Okay, let’s go get cinnamon rolls,” I say, forcing a smile to my lips.

  Hudson grins. “You won’t regret this,” he whispers.

  I don’t know if he’s talking about himself or the cinnamon rolls.

  “Is Hudson your boyfriend, Mommy?” Lilly asks on the drive to the bakery, taking me by surprise. He glances at me from the corner of his eye before his lips tilt up. It’s the first question she’s asked me since Hudson appeared. While I finished getting ready, he kept Lilly entertained, then snapped her booster seat into his car with ease as we were leaving.

  “No.” My answer isn’t only for Lilly, it’s also for the grinning Hudson in the driver’s seat. He winks.

  I can’t afford the distraction Hudson brings into my life. Am I attracted to him? Yes. Do I think about him all the time? Unfortunately. Do I want to explore things? Yes. But I can’t allow myself that opportunity. It’s my first year teaching, and I’m already on my principal’s shit list. It seems to be getting better, but we’re definitely not besties. Lilly is still going through a lot of change this school year, too. It wouldn’t be fair to add more to her plate. Or mine.