Page 14 of Teacher's Pet

But guilt is eating at me. I glance down at my wedding band on my hand. I still wear it. I can’t get rid of it. Can’t put it away. I feel like that would cut my heart right out of my chest.

I glance back up and see the round, tubby principal standing in front of Tally, yapping at her. My eyes narrow. I get the feeling he’s pushing her buttons and I don’t like it. He can push me all he wants. Hell, he can try. Not that he’s gonna get very far. I don’t need to take his shit and neither does Tally.

I stalk over to them and I hear him saying something to her about needing her to stay late and supervise the clean-up tonight.

“But they’re not doing that until tomorrow,” she protests, her voice weak and tired.

“I don’t care what they’re doing. I want you to stay. If you have to clean it all up yourself, then you better do that.” And he stalks off, his round back rigid.

Tally’s fists clench and unclench. “I’ll stay and help you. So will Harley.”

She turns to me, her slender jaw still working, her pale skin flushed with temper.

Fuck, she’s gorgeous!

“I can take care of it myself.”

I want to say more but I don’t. I just nod my head. “I know you can. We want to help you.”

She searches my eyes and then sighs. “Fine. But just helping.”

My lips quirk up. “What do you think we are going to do?”

She sighs. “I don’t know. I’m just tired.”

Worry chips at me and I turn my head to glare at the little tubby dictator who’s now yelling at someone else. “Why don’t you just tell him to go to hell?”

“Because I like my job and I don’t want to get fired,” she snarls, stomping off.

I get that. But I still say that someone should take the asshole down a peg or two. And if he keeps pushing at Harper and Tally that someone is gonna be me.

The rest of the dance goes smoothly, especially after the dickhead leaves.

Everyone wanders out the doors when it’s done and I stand there, my hands on my hips while I study the mess. Mostly it’s just trash and paper. Shouldn’t take that long.

But Tally looks dead on her feet and I’m worried about her.

“I don’t suppose you’d like to pick this up tomorrow.” It’s not a question. I know the answer.

“Nope.” She bends down, groaning, a trash bag in her hand as she picks up streamers and paper flowers that have fallen from the ceiling. I grab it out of her hand.

“Go sit down. You look like hell.”

She grunts at me and rubs her back. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Marcone. I know what I look like.”

I don’t think she does. She’s gorgeous. Addictingly, achingly beautiful. And I can’t stay away from her. No matter how much I want to.

I’m not whole. I can’t love another woman. Can’t give what I don’t have to another woman.

“Just go sit down. Before you fall down.”

What worries me is that she does it. She doesn’t argue with me anymore. Just sits down on the bleachers over to the side and leans back, her eyes closed, her body sinking into the uncomfortable seats.

I nod at Harley. “Why don’t you go keep Miss Carter company?”

She shakes her head. “Miss Carter is tired.”

“I know. But I’m sure she’d like to talk to you.”

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