Page 63 of The Apple Tree

I smirked. “I think I’m that good.” It wasn’tnottrue, but I only said it to get a reaction.

“Will I be graded on a curve, Mr. Collins?”

I stepped back and laced my fingers behind my neck. Worth noting (on record) that Ineverhad inappropriate thoughts about a student or anyone who had ever called me “Mr. Collins.”

Until Eve Jacobson. It had to be in the name. Eves were evil temptresses. Period.

God must have smacked his hand against his forehead, laughing at me.

Her name is Eve, and she loves apples.

“It’s just a metaphor,” I whispered to myself. There was nothing in the Bible specifically stating it was an apple.

“What did you say?” Eve asked.

“Nothing.” I pressed my lips together and looked at her while swallowing hard. “You can’t call me Mr. Collins. Got it?”

Her tongue made a lazy and torturous swipe along her lower lip before she grinned. “Not into roleplaying?”

“Not unless it’s with Josh and we’re playing with toys. And we call it pretend play, not roleplaying.”

“What do your students call you?” She cocked her head to the side.

“You’re not my student.”

“You’ve been teaching me things. And I’m eager to learn more from you.”

I was going to hell despite having been baptized. The “once saved, always saved” only applied to guys who didn’t kiss preachers’ daughters named Eve.

“Kyle,” I said. “You can and should call me Kyle. Or Handsome. Even Awesome works. But not Mr. Collins.”

“Coach?” She stepped closer.

I shook my head.

She grabbed my shirt, head tipped back. “Boss? After all, I work for you.”

“Call me Kyle,” I whispered.

That adoring gleam in her eyes seemed less innocent and more evil. Eve made me grateful that I had a boy to raise instead of a little girl who might someday use her body and flirty smile to drive men wild.

She glanced at her watch.

“Do you have a curfew?” I asked.

She shook her head. Then she laughed and nodded, covering her face with her hands. “It’s so embarrassing. I’m an adult and no longer in school.” She dropped her hands. “But since I still live at home, I have to be back by eleven during the week and midnight on the weekend.”

It was almost twelve.

“I’ll walk you to your car.” I nodded toward the door, stopping while she put on her shoes. “Thanks for getting the tacos.”

She pulled her keys out of her pocket and descended the porch steps. “Thanks for buying them.”

“What are you doing tomorrow? Want to target shoot?”

She turned at her car door. “I’d love to, but I offered to fill in at the motel since Rose is on vacation.”

“Another day then.” I fixed one of her untied ribbons and pulled a few stray hairs from around her eyes.

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