Perfect Summer (10 page)

And she’d managed to teach her students a new word without abasing any of them. That wasn’t a skill he was familiar with.

Instead of being mad, Summer winked.

Something was different about her. She had on the same sort of boxy tee shirt and jeans…tennis shoes instead of sandals, but that wasn’t it. She turned, and he caught her profile. Glasses, she wasn’t wearing her glasses. Come to think of it, they hadn’t been in the picture she’d sent him either.

“Hmmm. Let’s see if he’s right.” She popped her iPhone onto the speaker dock on her desk and touched the screen.

A male voice like an announcer boomed, “Abase—to embarrass or shame someone else; it also means to lower yourself physically or in rank.”

“Yes.” Across the aisle from Clint, a dark-haired boy nodded and high-fived the girl in front of him.

Summer gave them a minute to celebrate then pulled the phone off the dock, stepped in front of Clint, and slid the phone on his desk. Every move she made was efficient—she didn’t walk so much as march. She returned to her desk.

“While Mr. Grayson chooses our playlist for the day, why don’t we pick up where we left off on Friday?” She leaned against her desk and reached behind her. The black knit of her tee shirt pulled tight across her chest. The curve of decent-sized breasts showed for a moment, and then she straightened. Where had those come from?

He scrolled through her playlists. Hard rock, top forty, rap, country, and classical—she had very eclectic tastes.

“Let’s continue with
Romeo and Juliet
.” She flipped open a tattered paperback.

Everyone groaned, including the teacher.

“I know. I know. If it were up to me, we’d read
The Hunger Games
. Take it up with the school board.” She rummaged around on her desktop until she came up with a pencil, reached behind her and twisted her blonde, curly puff of hair into a bun, and shoved the pencil into it.

Clint’s mouth dropped open.

Hello, sexy librarian. With all that hair pulled back, he could get a better look at her face. High cheekbones and a long, dainty neck would’ve overpowered her small face if it weren’t for that full, wide, sexy mouth.

Clint shifted on the hard, plastic desk chair and leaned closer, trying to make out the rest of her. It was a lost cause. That enormous tee shirt and baggy jeans swallowed her body. One thing was for sure, she was not model thin. But what he could make out hinted at curvy. Christina Hendricks curvy. How had he missed that?

Finally, a woman who wouldn’t blow away in a strong wind. What would it be like to lose himself in all her softness?

“I don’t get the Capulet and Montague thing.” An African American girl with hair that spiked out like the crown of the Statue of Liberty shook her head. The spikes didn’t even twitch. “What’s the big deal?”

Summer eased her butt up on her desk, crossed her legs, and set her open book facedown next to her. “Think of the Capulets and Montagues as rival gangs. Bloods and Crips or Tangoblast and Texas Syndicate.” She rolled her eyes. “Not that any of you know anything about gangs…right?”

Total silence snapped through the room as every student worked really hard at
not
making eye contact.

Gangs? In Austin?

“Let’s call them the Caps and Monts. They hate each other and fight on sight. Determined to stop the violence in his fair city of Verona, Italy, Prince Escalus declares that any person disturbing the peace will pay with their life. So if they fight, they die.” She yawned and stretched. “Which is pretty stupid if you think about it since the fighting would probably kill them.”

Mario sat up. “Why do they hate each other?”

“Why do the Bloods and the Crips want to kill each other?” She arched an eyebrow.

“Code, honor, rights, turf.” Mario shrugged.

Clint zeroed in on him. His pants were droopy, but no gang tatts.

Mario was in a gang, but he was also on the football team.

Summer smiled. “Mario, it’s a tale as old as time.”

“Sounds like Shakespeare isn’t such a pussy—”

“Mario! You disrespect your mother with that mouth?” Something small and silver whizzed through the air and beaned Mario on the right temple. Ames had an arm on her. “Wash your mouth out with that Hershey’s kiss.”

“Sorry. Just saying that Shakespeare ain’t…um, isn’t exactly tough. All that lace and weird talk doesn’t come off as manly.”

Clint laughed. All eyes turned to him.

He swallowed and kept the grin on his face. He could handle the attention. Sucking in a discreet breath through his nose, he stiffened his shoulders and refused to fidget. “Old William had to get married because his wife was pregnant, and she was quite a bit older than him. I don’t remember how much, but I’m sure it was a scandal at the time.”

A large, ebony-skinned girl’s face turned all dreamy as she said, “Just like Ashton and Demi…you know, before they split.”

“By all accounts, Shakespeare was very manly. Stupid hair and tights don’t count. By the end of his life, he was a rock star,” Clint said, rubbing his damp palms on his slacks. Making it through even a mini impromptu speech without fainting or vomiting was a victory.

“It seems we have a Shakespearean expert among us.” Summer nodded her approval. A lock of hair dislodged from the pencil and fell in her eyes. She pursed those naughty lips and blew it out of the way.

Clint almost fell out of his chair. What would that mouth taste like?

The whole class looked at him expectantly.

Concentrating on the teacher's mouth made him forget all the people staring at him.

What had they been talking about? He scanned the room. His eyes landed on a copy of
Romeo and Juliet
on the desk next to his.

“Sorry, I’ve exhausted my Shakespearian knowledge.” Clint shook his head to clear it. “Now, if you’d like to talk about passes completed or offensive line drills, I’m your man.”

“Maybe later. I’m sure the class would love to hear all about it.” Summer twisted at the waist and checked the clock behind her. “Give me an hour or so, and then they’re all yours.”

Anxiety reared its ugly head, and sweat broke out under his arms. Reporters he could handle one-on-one, or even in a group, if he had a script or conversation topics, but here, he was on his own.

His father’s words came back to him. “Nobody cares what you have to say. Every time you open your mouth, worthless comes out.” And then he’d laugh and laugh and laugh. Clint looked around. The class was bound to laugh their asses off at him too.

A ball of unease bounced around in his gut.

In an hour, he’d be standing in front of this class…. What would he talk about? There weren’t any note cards for him to study. Bunny usually took care of the preparation. By himself, in front of all these kids… They’d be watching him, and he would have nothing to say. Needing more air, he yanked at his tie. Where had all the oxygen gone?

A bell like a loud buzzer rang in the hallway.

Christ, was it time already? His blood pressure pounded at his temples.

“Normally, we’d work through the break, but today, let’s take five.” Summer’s voice sounded far away.

All around him, teens stood and stretched, their voices a swirl of background noise.

Summer knelt next to him. “Can you stand?”

He managed to make his head nod. Cold sweat broke out on his forehead. “Is it time?”

“No.” She grabbed his arm, wrapped it around her shoulders, and pulled him up. “Let’s go to my office.”

Clint felt his feet moving as she walked him to the door at the back of the room. Still shouldering his weight, she opened the door and gently pushed him down on a small sofa. She was gone for a minute and then a cold bottle of water was pressed against his forehead.

“Thanks.” What else could he say? He was pretty sure he’d never been this embarrassed in his life, and that included all the drunk and stupid things he’d done as a rookie.

“You don’t have to speak in front of the class.” She shoved the trashcan between his knees and knelt in front of him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He was a world-class liar, but even he couldn’t pull that one off.

“Either you have a fear of public speaking or you have acute onset food poisoning from that breath mint you ate an hour ago.” Summer’s eyes were the same color as his favorite denim jacket—dark blue, soft, and comfortable.

“Fresh breath is a priority.”

His wit was rewarded with rich, throaty laughter. “I guess you’re feeling better.”

As he looked into her eyes, his hands had stopped shaking, and his blood pressure worked its way down from heart attack range.

“How do you make it through a game?”

Clint just smiled.

“I take it glossophobia is off-limits?”

She had a slight overbite. He wanted to run his tongue over it.

“Let’s pretend we don’t know what glossophobia means.” He forced himself to relax against the sofa. She put him at ease, which was a rare gift, as he was always on guard.

“Denial.” She shrugged. “Works for me. Here’s how were going to play this—”

“Christ, I forgot about the kids. They’re going to think I’m a big puss…wimp.”

Using the edge of the desk behind her, she pushed to her feet. “Know the best thing about teenagers? They’re so self-absorbed, they don’t see what’s going on around them…not unlike some adults I know.”

The Cheshire cat grin on her face made him want to stick out his tongue at her and then run it around the inside of her mouth. Would she taste like pancakes and syrup?

“So, tough guy, here’s how we’re going to play this.” She glanced at the watch on her left wrist. “We’ve got two minutes before the tardy bell rings—”

“Why don’t your students change classes?”

“I teach language arts, history, and life skills, so I have this class until noon. It’s an experimental program using grant money to see if smaller class sizes with larger blocks of time make the difference with at-risk kids. Then I have the underclassmen after lunch. As I was saying before you interrupted me…again, after the tardy bell, I need about thirty more minutes, and then you’re on. Instead of standing in front of the class, why don’t you sit at your desk while they ask you questions? You don’t need to make a speech, and there’s no set topic. Also”—she pointed to a foil-covered pan sitting on the desk—“it’s Kesha’s birthday, so we’re having cake. Chocolate cake and some questions…you’re going to be fine.”

She opened the door. “Stay in here. Help yourself to the food and drinks in the fridge, and come out when you’re ready.”

“Ms. Ames,” he called as she stepped into the classroom.

She turned. “Yes?”

“Thank you.” Clint said. Manners were important to her, so now they were important to him.

“You’re welcome.” In her efficient way, she headed to the front of the room.

Summer was a nice person, and he was using her to make himself look good. A twinge of something close to guilt poked at him. That was funny. He’d given up that particular emotion years ago.

If it weren’t for the slight tremor of his right pinky, Summer wouldn’t have guessed that Clint had trouble with public speaking. Back at his desk, he was stretched out, ankles crossed, elbows out to the sides and fingers laced over his belt, the picture of relaxation. That appearance of calm took tons of self-discipline and more courage than she’d seen in a long time.

He’d polished off three pieces of her homemade chocolate cake with cream cheese icing and answered every question her students had fired off—honestly, from what she could tell.

The bell buzzed in the hallway, signaling the end of class.

“That’s lunch. Read the rest of Act I and chapter eighteen in your Texas History books. See you tomorrow.” Summer raised her voice so she could be heard over the bell.

As usual, the students packed up their belongings and hightailed it out of the room to maximize social time. In a matter of minutes, the place was deserted.

She turned to her class mentor.

Clint’s almost imperceptible sigh of relief tore at her heart. She may not understand his fear of public speaking, but it was very real to him, and being a public figure, he must battle it daily.

She watched as he stood and, with great care, buttoned his suit jacket and turned on the charming smile. It was like watching a medieval knight donning his armor.

“Great class, Ms. Ames.” His eyes twinkled as if he cared. All he needed was a few babies to kiss and he could pass for a politician running for reelection. He’d been so genuine on the phone yesterday. Who was this?

“Thank you.”

“You really relate well to your students. That’s a rare talent. How do you do it?”

She sighed. He was about as real as a Chinese Rolexxx. Flattery as a defense mechanism—it probably served him well.

“That was good—the right mix of charm and interest, but it sounded a little fake. You know, like ‘Vanna, please show us all the A’s in this puzzle.’”

“I don’t understand.” His smile sagged.

“In my classroom, I only have one rule: honesty. You can tell me anything, and I won’t judge or use it against you. I understand your charming, shallow persona is a defense mechanism, but you have nothing to defend against here. The class loves you, so just be yourself.” Summer made direct eye contact and kept her voice no-nonsense so he’d know this wasn’t about pity or mocking.

Clint looked stricken for a second then wiped his face clean. “Nice cake. Did you make it?”

Safe topics. She understood the need for safety. Clearly, he didn’t want to talk about his little problem.

“Yes.” She picked up a handful of papers, tapped them into a neat stack, and placed them in the center of her desk. “Thanks for the Q and A with the students. They liked the informality.”

“Thanks again for the pancakes.” He patted his flat and no doubt hard stomach. “I made them again this morning with real buttermilk. They were fluffier.”

“Yes, the real thing is always better.” She crossed her arms and leaned against her desk. “Call me next Sunday and we’ll make waffles. Only make it a bit later in the day.”