Page 92 of Love Complicated

“Do I really have to go to this goddamn ball?”

Aunt K smiles and then laughs behind her desk. “Yes, you have to attend.”

I glare. “Says who?”

“Says me. If you’re a teacher here, you’re going.”

I stand up, ready to slam her door. I lied. She’s like her damn sister.

Just before I’m walking out, she clears her throat. I pause, waiting for what I know is coming. “I got an interesting call this morning.”

My chest expands with a heavy breath. “Let me guess. Austin called you?”

She nods. “Be careful. Those boys—”

I hold up my hand up. “I have their best interest in mind, unlike him.”

I storm out of her office. Charlotte catches me. “Mr. Lucas, Grady Jacob is in the nurse’s office asking for you.”

“It’s Ridge,” I growl at her, ripping my mail from the box on the front counter. “Not Mr. Lucas.”

“Ridge,” Charlotte corrects. “Grady is asking for you.”

I peek my head around to the corner of the nurse’s office. “What’s up?”

Grady’s wide eyes shoot to mine, tears rolling down his cheeks. “We have a problem.”

I step into the office and close the door behind me. “Are you gonna puke?”

“No,” he practically shouts. “Worse.”

“Uh.” I pause, looking him over for any injuries. He doesn’t appear to be hurt, other than him crying. “What’s wrong?”

He lifts the pile of paper towels I hadn’t noticed covering his crotch to reveal wet jeans.

So he spilled water. Big deal.

Wrong.

He peed his pants.

Being a teacher isn’t easy. Though I’m sure no one certainly ever claimed it to be an easy job.

Especially when you’re dealing with kids being just plain assholes. Like the third grader who drove Grady to tears today because he accidentally peed his pants.

I know what you’re thinking, Ridge, he’s eight. Should he be peeing his pants at this age?

Well, no, he shouldn’t. But when you wait as long as he did, and then that asshole third grader corners you on the playground just to be a dick, it happens.

Good thing Cash is still home sick with the stomach flu because that third grader would be nursing a black eye and picking rocks from his teeth had Cash gotten a hold of him.

But here I sit, with Grady wearing pee pants, in the nurse’s office trying to comfort the poor kid while Mrs. Hill watches my students.

“It’s embarrassing,” Grady says, sniffling like the world is ending. “They’re calling me Grady Pee Pants. I’ll never live it down, and it doesn’t even sound cool.”

I have my cell phone in hand, texting Aly to bring him some fresh pants when Grady takes my phone from me, glaring.

“This is serious. I’m eight and already have a nickname!”

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