Page 2 of The Flirty Forward

“Can I help you with something?”

I grin wider. “You could help me with a lot of things.” She doesn’t even blink. Kayla nudges my leg, and it prompts me back to the task at hand. “I told Kayla I would talk to you. She spent the night at my house last night because her parents are currently out of town. She didn’t realize she didn’t have her history book with her because it’s at her house still. And she has some assignment due or something, so I told her I would explain everything to you.” I finish with the smile that’s made me famous both on and off the ice.

Without batting an eye, she asks, “And you didn’t drive to her house and pick it up?”

“No. I didn’t get home until late last night,” I explain. “I had a hockey game.” That usually earns me a smile or at least an impressed look.Nope. Not with this teacher.

“And you didn’t go get it this morning?” she asks.

“I...uh. I didn’t think of that.” I give her a sheepish smile.

She turns to my niece. “So, you didn’t write your essay for today?” My niece shakes her head, looking like a deer in headlights.

“Hey.” I put my hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay. Nothing to worry about.” She doesn’t look so certain.

“Why don’t you get your stuff for class, Kayla and maybe get started on that assignment. There’s an extra history book behind my desk,” her teacher suggests. Kayla nods and heads over to the shelf.

“A word?” Miss Teacher asks me, nodding towards the hallway.

I step out, and she follows me into the hallway, closing the door to her classroom behind her. “Kayla will fail this assignment today.”

I blink. “What?”

She sighs, like I’m one of her exasperating students. “Kayla will fail this assignment.” She says the words slower this time.

I frown. “But it’s not her fault.”

“Oh, I know exactly whose fault it is,” she says, pinning me with a look.

“Me?” I ask incredulously. “How is it my fault?”

“You should have been responsible to make sure she had what she needed. It’s alsoherfault,” she continues before I can defend myself. “She should have made sure she had what she needed.”

“She’s in sixth grade,” I return. “She forgot her book at home. I really don’t think it’s a big deal.”

“It’s not a big deal?” she repeats slowly.

Ooo.Based on the look she’s giving me now, that wasnotthe thing to say. I go for what usually works. I grin at her. “I was at a hockey game last night, and I didn’t get home until late.”

“Were the kids home alone?” she interrupts me.

I blink. “Uh...no?”

“They were, weren’t they?” She gives me another exasperated look.

“Look, I don’t know if you know who I am,” I start by saying. And again, that’s exactly thewrongthing to say. But it’s as if my brain cells have been fried. “I play hockey for the Green Thunder.”

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?” she asks with no expression on her face. No scratch that. She has irritation written all over her beautiful face; which only makes me smile. I’m a masochist; I know. But I can’t help it. She just makes me want to smile. “You’re so full of it, aren’t you?”

“Full of what?” I can’t help it; she just makes it too easy and fun for me.

Her beautiful lips twist into a scowl. “Good day, Mr. Hart.” She whirls around and strides back into her classroom, shutting the door firmly behind her. I stare at the closed door with a huge grin on my face. I begin to make my way back toward the exit. I feel bad that I didn’t fix things for Kayla, but it’s no big deal. Nothing that a little ice cream after school won’t fix.

I’m almost to the front door when it hits me. She called me Mr. Hart. I didn’t tell her my last name.She knows who I am.I can’t keep the grin off my face as I step outside. I pull out my phone and open the sibling text thread. My older brother, Keith, and his wife, Kristin, are both on the thread. My older sister, Tina, and her husband, Andrew, are also on the thread.

Sebastian:I just met the woman I’m going to marry

Andrew’s the first to text back. He’s a bit of a nerd, but I love him. He has a dry sense of humor and keeps my high-strung older sister balanced out.

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