Love Won (Winning at Love book 1) Page 8

  “Play it cool, just play it cool. I told you these swimsuits were perfect.”

  “You’re a genius, East, I swear it,” she whispers, as they’re now right in front of us. I start to stand up, but McCoy’s words stop me dead.

  “Dude, where’ve you been hiding her?” he asks my brother as they edge closer. My stomach jumps, and I love my mother so much in this moment for buying me this bathing suit. I knew it was the right amount of girlie to help him see I’m more than just a tagalong and a Goody Two Shoes. I’m just about to open my mouth and tell him I’m happy he’s here, when I notice that his gaze hasn’t been on me at all, but instead is focussed directly behind me.

  “The one in the pink?” asks Keaton. I can feel Kami deflating beside me.

  “Yeah,” McCoy growls back. “Who is she?”

  “That’s Taylor. She’s Roxanne’s older sister, and she’s really nice.”

  “Nice and hot. Shit, and she’s wearing my favourite colour.” McCoy adds, making my brother laugh.

  “Definitely,” Keaton agrees, and I hear Kami give an audible gasp beside me.

  Assholes!

  “How much older is she?” McCoy asks, and my heart sinks a little in my chest.

  “Sixteen,” my brother answers, chuckling. “Her friend Nichole is damn fine, too. She’s the one in the green bikini.”

  “Nice. Not too much older. Means I got a chance,” McCoy says confidently.

  “I told them earlier I had a friend coming by. They’ve been waiting on us,” Keaton says, as they walk up the deck stairs right past Kami and me without a sideways glance.

  Suddenly, I feel Kami stand up beside me, and her gentle touch on my arm shakes me from the train wreck that’s just happened in front of me.

  “Forget them,” she says, before taking me by the hand and leading us across the packed pool deck, through the sliding doors, and back inside my room, where we spend the rest of the party sulking, eating cookie dough ice cream, and watching episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

  July 8, 2004

  Dear May,

  UGH!! Today was horrible! Why do I always have to make an ass of myself when Coy’s around? You won’t believe what happened today at the pool party. I was a total idiot. I wore my new orange tankini and I was excited to wear it in front of McCoy. I know it was kind of lame, still I was excited thinking here was my chance, that I would stand out. Welllll, I stood out all right, like a loser. I mean, come on, who stands up for a guy who isn’t even looking at her??? How desperate can I get? And now I’m convinced—like some paranoid person—that I made it obvious I like him. Again, out of all the boys, I choose the coolest guy in school to crush on!!! IDIOT!!!! I shouldn’t like him. It’s more than clear he doesn’t feel anything for me! For some reason, though, McCoy Graves has the ability to drive me mad…with those crazy blue eyes like the clearest of skies with their intensity. But, holy hell, May, did I shiver when I thought they were staring at me at the pool party. Unfortunately, they were focused on Taylor Birkshire as she pranced around my pool deck in her stupid hot-pink bikini—with her sixteen-year old boobs—reminding me that McCoy would never look at a lame, flat-chested, soon to be Minor Niner. So, there I stood with my mosquito bites and my heart feeling the loss of those stormy eyes.

  Eyes that never even noticed I was there at all.

  “Hurry up and introduce me, man,” he’d said to my brother, not even acknowledging me or my new tankini.

  All this party did was to confirm once again: I am invisible to him.

  TTFN and thanks for listening,

  Eastlyn, the Invisible.

  12

  TD & BH

  “Ms. Hatfield. I’d like a word, please?” McCoy’s strident voice says from the hallway just outside my classroom door.

  “Of course you do. Why would I think you’d give me space today, especially after how I fell at your feet again, right?” I sass.

  “Eastlyn…” he hedges, and I roll my eyes. God, the irony. The one time I want him to leave, he’s here.

  “Fine. Do I have a choice, boss?” I ask, sarcasm dripping off my words.

  “Good luck,” I hear Kami mutter. She slinks past McCoy as he enters, closing the door behind him.

  We stand in awkward silence for the better part of a minute, staring and taking each other in, fully, for the first time in four years. Sure, I saw him at the grocery store a few weeks back, but I’m a glutton for punishment. I can’t seem to look away, and it seems he can’t either.

  Never has McCoy Graves looked so TD & BH—Tall, Dark, and Bastardly Handsome—as he does right now, even though I’d just had a bomb of knowledge dropped on me that we’ll be working together for the next one hundred and ninety-one school days. He’d always been magnificent to me, and time had only made him look better. I couldn’t deny he was perfect.

  Those striking blue eyes I’d focused on catching too many times to count were graced with a trace of visible laugh lines now, but those lines did nothing to deter me from being swept up in his eyes’ intensity. His brown hair was a little longer than it was a few weeks ago, and reminded me of all the times I’d ached to feel its softness but never got the chance. Moving my gaze to his mouth while waiting for him to speak, I take in his chiseled jawline, covered with that same dark stubble I’d noticed before. It’s a combination I can only describe as complete and utter jaw porn. My mind works overtime conjuring up images—delicious images—of what that stubble-covered jaw would feel like as it rubbed and scraped a path over my naked body. I try to hide the visceral reaction the scenario is having on me as I envision McCoy’s mouth travelling from my breasts to my stomach, before landing between my inner thighs where, I have no doubt, it would feel absolutely amazing when its journey ended between my legs.

  “Ms. Hatfield, we need to discuss your being tardy to my meeting,” Coy says, breaking the battle of wills we’d somehow entered, and, thankfully, bursting through the thoughts I shouldn’t have been having.

  “Oh no. What we need to discuss is what the hell you think you’re doing here at Westwood?” I wave my hand around the room. “How did you even get here?” I ask, then cross my arms to keep them from whirling as my emotions take over.

  “I drove my car.” He crosses his strong arms across his chest to mirror my stance, the movement stretching the material of his dark green polo shirt across his broad shoulders. He smirks, busting me, noticing that I’m noticing.

  “You’re not funny,” I tell him, annoyed at both his answer and him catching me gawking.

  “I am. Honestly. People have told me. In fact, you’ve told me a time or two yourself, as I recall,” he says, taking a step towards me.

  “They’re lying. And I was an idiot,” I deadpan. “I’m serious, Coy. How are you here? How are you suddenly the principal? You’re only a year older than me. We’re too young to be a principal,” I say, looking up as his proximity forces me to. This time, it’s me who catches him checking me out, and my stomach dips at the notion. His eyes flare as they make a slow perusal from my cleavage to my mouth, before meeting my questioning gaze. Thank goodness I managed to throw on a cute white peasant-style tank top this morning in my hungover haste, which happens to give a subtle hint of just how much my mosquito bites have grown.

  As he clears his throat, I take a much-needed step back, and McCoy laughs, quickly regaining all of the composure I thought he’d just lost. Eyes on mine, he smiles, and begins to answer my question as if nothing has passed between us.

  “Remember a few years ago when we had an exodus of retirees? Well, it affected the number of open administration jobs. There was a need across a few local school boards for principals. They were looking for people to take the Principal’s Qualification program, so they could enter the job pool. So, I did it. I took the course, passed, and I helped fill a need. Which happened to be here at Westwood,” he says. His eyes linger on my mouth again for a beat too long.

  “You ‘filled a need’?” I repeat, my mind racing to
remember that I had indeed read a memo that the school board and our union had sent out about the situation, and how they would consider any applicant for admission into the principal’s course. It’s a job I have no interest in and because of that, I remember merely skimming the actual emails detailing the process.

  “I did,” he says, his blue eyes meeting my green ones before adding—with a devilish grin—“I’m good at fulfilling needs. Really, really good, actually.” He cocks his head before casting his gaze blatantly over my body, causing me to shudder out an audible breath. The way he eyes me unnerves me; it feels slow and greedy. It feels like more.

  “I doubt that very much,” I lie, trying to regain my composure. The last thing I want is to embarrass myself any further. I’m already pissed that I allowed him to see that he’s getting to me.

  “It’s true. I’ve been told,” he starts, his voice husky, “time and time again. You should remember that if you ever need anything,” the bastard adds arrogantly. I have no doubt he’s speaking the truth; I have not one iota of doubt that McCoy Graves could fulfill all the needs. And, honestly, I want him to fulfill all the needs he is stirring within me right now. I can never ever let him know that, of course, specifically because my goal is to get over him, and this is not a very good start to achieving it. So, as They say, it’s time to fake it ’til I make it.

  “Ha!” I blurt. “Don’t go holding your breath while waiting for that call. I don’t need anything from you. Trust me, Coy, it would be one hell of a wait.”

  “Ah, still as witty as ever I see,” he smiles, his eyes raking down my face until they linger on my chest once again.

  “I’m serious,” I snap, getting his attention.

  “Funny, your body’s telling me something different, Eastlyn.” He licks his lips, and I feel my nipples betray me.

  Motherfucker.

  Turning, I walk behind my desk, needing to put some distance between us. I’m angry at the current situation, and at myself for allowing him to see that, even after all this time, he absolutely still does hold some kind of power over me. Letting out a long breath, I look up and see the handsome face of the boy I’d fallen for so long ago. “What are we going to do about this, Coy? We can’t work together. You can’t be my boss. It’s a conflict,” I say, having dug up every ounce of confidence and willpower I have, because deep down I know this will be hardest on me. He has no clue about the torture I’ve put myself through over the years where he’s concerned.

  “Sprink—”

  “No. See? You cannot call me that,” I interrupt him. “I’m not your Sprinkles. I never was yours,” I say, and he chuckles at my reaction. But while he’s laughing, I feel my eyes start to sting with my own admission. My throat aches as the words fall from my mouth. All I have ever wanted was to truly be his Sprinkles.

  “Eastlyn. May I call you that?” he patronizes.

  “Don’t be a jerk.”

  “Eastlyn, don’t make this a big deal, because it isn’t an issue. All you have to do is show up on time and do your job, and we’ll get along just fine. Nothing to worry about, Ms. Hatfield, you see? Just play by my rules, and all will be right in your world here,” he explains. And I don’t know if I want to hop over the desk and kiss the shit out of him, or if I’d rather punch him in the dick for being such an asshole. The latter. I need to choose the latter, I remind myself, after almost getting lost in the fantasy of jumping his bones again.

  Taking a deep breath, I steel myself, allowing my anger at his nerve in speaking to me like that to seep back in. Bracing my hands on the top of my desk and looking him dead in the eye, I tell him, “No. This is my school, and I was here first. We cannot work together; I will not work with you. You won’t treat me fairly, I know it. People will talk, and that’s the last thing I need or want,” I grit, my jaw tense, my hackles now raised.

  “Do you need me to repeat myself, Sprinkles?” He enunciates the nickname. “Let me clarify the points and give you your options one last time before I get out of your hair. One: Do not be late for my meetings again. Two: This is now my school, and it would do you good to remember that. Three: If you don’t like it, figure out a way to transfer,” he recites, like the smug bastard he is. And, oh no, McCoy Graves isn’t done yet; he needs to add the final blow. “However, if you do decide to transfer, know you’ll be missed…” He pauses, his eyes going soft, his mouth curving into that sexy dimpled smile of his, and it causes my heart to flutter—until he adds, “…by the students, of course. I’ve heard you’re an amazing teacher, Sprinkles. Now carry on and try not to let me down again.”

  “You stup—”

  “Now, now, Eastlyn, I’m sure you know better than to insult your boss, especially on his first day.”

  All I can do is growl. I emit an honest-to-God growl, because all the words I’d like to say are lodged in my throat and this man is making me feral.

  “Still feisty, I see,” he mocks, throwing his head back and laughing. “I’d wish you a great summer, Ms. Hatfield, but I’m more than positive we’ll be seeing each other around.”

  With that, the son of a bitch winks before he turns and exits my classroom. Leaving me literally speechless as my traitorous eyes roam over his jean-covered ass and watch as he retreats down the hall, admiring that sexy gait of his. If he looks this good in his casual workday clothes, what the hell am I going to do when he’s dressed like a professional? Like, in a suit?

  Asshole.

  I drop into my chair, more determined than ever to use this opportunity to prove to myself that I can and will get over him. It’s time to take back the power my twelve-year old self gave to McCoy Graves all those years ago. Time for the twenty-six-year old me to stop comparing everyone else to him, to stop waiting and wishing that there was something tangible to hold on to. I have to drop the straws I’ve been grasping for way too long. If I could only convince my heart to get on board with the plan, my life would be pretty fucking perfect.

  But, as it turns out, my bitch of a heart has missed the memo.

  13

  Don’t Get Bent

  Walking into Brass Tapps, my favourite eatery and sports bar, I’m still fuming from my earlier altercation/meeting/conversation or whatever-the-hell-you-want-to-call-it I’d had with McCoy in my classroom. I was pissed not only at him, but at Keaton, too. How could he not tell me that McCoy Graves was back in town? Better yet, how could he keep the fact from me that McCoy was not only in town visiting, but would be living here—permanently, as it turns out? What’s more, how could my own flesh and blood not tell me the guy was also going to be my new boss?

  “I’ll get mine. Ha, you’re about to get yours, buddy,” I mutter, before nodding at Cassie, the owner, who’s behind the bar drying glasses.

  “He’s already here, East. Go on back, hon.”

  “Thanks,” I smile, despite my inner tirade against my so-called brother.

  What happened to loyalty? And, better yet, whose side was the asshole on?

  “Asshole,” I let slip out loud, spotting Keaton sitting at our usual table, where we meet with a group of our mutual friends on Wednesday nights for dinner, a few drinks, and—more importantly—our game of trivia. Keaton and I have always been competitive and nothing says competition like two hours of PubStumpers trivia, where we can test our knowledge against each other and other teams with a variety of questions, music clips, and images. It’s a lot of fun and it really helps break up the workweek. But tonight, before I relax and have a good time, I need to get a few things off my chest.

  “East, you’re late. Why didn’t you answer my texts?” Keaton questions, as I approach and drop my purse over the back of the chair across from of him. “And where’s Kami?”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask him, ignoring his questions. His green eyes, so much like mine, widen, and that’s when it hits home.

  “You’re pissed, eh?” he says.

  “You think, genius?” I say, taking my seat. “Now, why didn’t you tell me?”r />
  “He asked me to keep it secret. So I did. No big deal,” he shrugs, when it’s a completely big deal. My brother, the idiot, folks.

  “It’s actually a huge flipping deal. To me.”

  “Easy, killer. It’s not that big a deal. You’re just being over the top. You sure you don’t teach drama?”

  “Har har. Keaton, the comedian.” I stand back up and clap, drawing the attention of a few tables around us.

  “All right, calm down, East. McCoy asked me not to tell you, said he wanted to surprise you.”

  “Surprise me? The asshole not only surprised me, he caused me to look like I’ve turned into the batshit-crazy one in the family. You should have seen me today. I not only stumbled over my own feet in utter disbelief when I saw him, I literally invented the new language of Mumble, for Chrissakes. I’m positive my colleagues are wondering what my drug of choice is, and if I’m selling.” I run my hands over my face.

  “See? Drah—ma,” he coos, and I stick out my tongue.

  “Wine. I need wine. Where’s the server” I look around the busy restaurant for Sandy, who usually serves us on trivia nights.

  “So, it went well, then? Surprised?” Keaton asks, chuckling, clearly proud of himself.

  “Just you wait until I tell Mom about this shit you pulled,” I snark, and I know that will scare him. I’ve always been my mom’s baby. She’ll take my side, and Keat knows it.

  “Nah, twenty bucks says she bakes McCoy a cake,” he barks with laughter, and I feel my face go pale, because he’s right. She would totally bake him a cake.

  “Forget it, I’m not telling Mom shit.” I shake my head and it causes him to laugh even louder.

  “Told ya you’d get yours. Ta-dah!” he says, giving me fucking jazz hands.

  “Oh, shut up. This is all your fault, and I hate you. Where’s Sandy?” I ask.

  Keaton says nothing, continuing to look amused.

  “You’re an asshole! No wonder you and Coy are so tight.”