Page 25 of A Royal Menace

Grabbing my bag, I toss what’s left of my apple into a nearby trash can and head inside. I make the decision to stay away from Royal until I figure this out.

It’s a big convention. It shouldn’t be too hard, right?

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Royal

As I headinto the first panel, I find myself scanning the semi-crowded room for Callie. My disappointment is a bit jarring when I don’t find her. Her absence shouldn’t affect me. At least, not with this kind of intensity.

If she wants to miss a panel given by the top elementary educators in the state, what’s it to me?

I shake my head and take a seat in an empty row near the middle of the room. My worry over my coworker’s absence has little to do with the panel itself, and more to do with the look on her face when she abruptly left the table without finishing her breakfast earlier. She looked like she was going to be sick. And when I grabbed her wrist?

She looked…horrified. I don’t know how else to describe her expression.

She stared at my hand with wide, disbelieving eyes, like she was aghast that I’d deigned to touch her, and when I snatched my hand away, she let out a shaky breath, glanced at Georgia,and bolted. I don’t know what happened. I thought we were making some progress before that. It’s why I sat with her, hoping to encourage the new tolerance she seemed to hold for me after last night’s event and the fallout.

Then, Georgia showed up. I grit my teeth at the thought of her. I met the woman four years ago at this thing, and I don’t know what kind of vibes I was giving off at our initial meeting, but she got it into her head that I might be interested in her, sexually, and she spent the rest of the weekend blatantly trying to score an invite back to my room. I tried to be pleasant and considerate of her feelings and ego, but I obviously failed to convince her I wasn’t interested, because two years ago, when we met again, she restarted her campaign like no time had passed at all.

And when she found me a few drinks deep in the hallway leading to the bathrooms, she took matters into her own hands and kissed me. I let it happen. I barely participated, but I didn’t pull away, either. I drunkenly thought the kiss would somehow get me out of her system, or that if I made her think I was bad at the act, she’d move on to someone else. That didn’t happen.

I spent the rest of that weekend fending off further advances without insulting or hurting her feelings because I’d let that kiss happen. I’d lead her on. And I didn’t want to be the asshole.

That was obviously a mistake, if this morning was any indication. I should’ve just been honest from the beginning. I’m not attracted to her. Not interested. Not in the least.

But now, this flirtatious vibe I mistakenly fostered has been going on so long, I don’t know how to end it withoutbeingthat asshole.

Closing my eyes, I send up a silent thanks that Georgia teaches in a middle school and is attending a different panel this morning. Thank God for small favors.

Opening my eyes, I angle my body left and turn my head to look toward the open French doors. My eyes scan the crowd that pushes through the opening, but there’s still no sign of Callie. She wouldn’t skip this, would she? Just to avoid me?

I continue watching as the rows of chairs quickly fill up. When someone tries to sit next to me, I slap my hand on the seat and apologize, telling him it’s taken. I flinch inwardly at the gut reaction, then heave out a long breath. I hope I wasn’t lying. I hope Callie will show up and sit with me.

My eyes flash back toward the doors, and there she is. Pushing up on her tiptoes and scanning the area, looking for a place to sit in the crowded room. Lifting a hand, I wave to get her attention. Her head snaps in my direction, and I force a smile as I point to the empty chair next to me.

She doesn’t move for a few beats, obviously battling some internal conflict, then her shoulders lift and fall like she’s heaving a sigh. Nodding at me, she walks in my direction on leaden feet, then picks up the pace as the moderator starts speaking into a microphone. Sliding into the chair I saved for her, she mumbles something that sounds like a thank you without meeting my eyes.

Her tension is palpable. Her knee is bobbing up and down erratically, and I have an urge to reach over and put my hand on it to soothe her. I resist, of course. Something tells me Callie wouldn’t appreciate the familiar gesture.

As the first panelist starts to speak, Callie’s muscles visibly start to unlock. She relaxes a bit in her chair. Her knee stops bouncing. She leans over to dip her hand into the bag she dropped at her feet when she sat down, and she comes out with a small spiral notebook and a pen. I watch from the corner of my eye as she flips to the first blank page and starts scribbling words across it.

I turn my head slightly so I can see what she’s writing. I focus first on the way her elegant fingers grip the pen, then on the swooping cursive words. One corner of my mouth lifts as I watch. She’s taking detailed notes.

Of course, she is.

Her pen stops, and her head swivels toward me as if she can feel my eyes on her, and my own gaze snaps toward the front of the room as I wipe the smile off my face and clear my throat. I pretend to be listening to the speaker, but I’m actually laser-focused on the woman beside me. I silently count the seconds until she shifts in her chair and starts writing again. Only then do I relax.

I try to focus on the speaker in actuality, but my gaze keeps wandering down to Callie’s hand. The curve of her fingers around the pen. Her pale, dainty wrist. As my gaze moves up her arm, I realize it’s covered in goosebumps. Callie is wearing a short-sleeved blouse with cigarette pants that end two inches above her ankles. It’s pretty chilly in here with the air conditioner blasting cold air into the room to keep the crowded space from getting too warm.

As I watch, Callie rubs her free hand up and down her arm in an attempt to warm it. Without thinking too much about it, I lean forward in my chair and pull off the long-sleeved flannel I’m wearing, leaving me in just a t-shirt. When I look back at Callie, she’s watching me with a curious gaze. Bunching up the shirt, I hold it up in front of her.

“Here. Take this,” I whisper.

She’s stares at my offering like it’s a venomous snake for several long moments, then sets her pad and pen on the floor in front of her before taking the shirt. I watch as she pushes first one arm through the sleeve, then the other. Gripping the edges of the front, she pulls them together and tucks one beneath the other before bending over to pick up her notebook and pen.

“Thank you,” she whispers in my direction as she straightens.

“Anytime,” I whisper back.

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