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Simon was out of his element, and
completely out of control. He didn’t like it, but couldn’t dwell on it, as he
was surrounded by twenty-four kindergarteners, intent on painting masterpieces.
He didn’t even have time to watch
the woman, although he wished he could. After the first five awkward minutes,
where he’d tried to break the ice with his self-deprecating comments about his
suit, he’d been inundated with smelly five-year-olds.
And his suit was ruined, no doubt.
Honestly, he’d thought Mr. Hill
wanted him on staff as security or something. He hadn’t clarified, which was
his own damn mistake. Of course Mr. Hill would want him working alongside his
daughter, in the most hands-on capacity he could.
He’d taken off the suit jacket
after one kid—Alicia?—had splattered paint on it while he was helping her rinse
her brushes. But he was afraid the dress shirt underneath was beyond repair,
even though he was wearing a tie-died apron over his clothes. Thank god his
sidearm was concealed in the holster under his shirt in the small of his back. He
have to find something different for tomorrow. He was quickly realizing these
kiddos had no concept of personal space, and he didn’t want to be the root
cause of a tragic accident. Like shooting off his own ass.
After art time, was a snack, and
Simon thought he was safe from more spills, but there he went thinking again. A
young boy accidentally sprayed Simon through the straw of his juice box, and
now Simon looked like he had a pee stain down his trouser leg. Oh well, at
least it wasn’t his best suit.
By the time lunch rolled around,
and another teacher had picked up the kids to take them to the cafeteria, Simon
was a frazzled wreck. Thankful for the relative peace of the teacher’s lounge,
Simon followed Lacie Hill like a beaten puppy dog down the hallway.

“Is it always so loud?” He asked as
he sat in the mildewed seats scattered around a long table.
Lacie only laughed at him, along
with another woman.
Churlishly, he crossed his arms,
drink in hand, and chugged it. This was a mistake. He should have assigned
somebody else. Anybody else to the job. He’d rather get a contact high from
following around a hippie folk singer.
“So you’ll sign the petition to get
a margarita machine in the teacher’s lounge?” The other woman asked with a wry
smile.
“Shit. I’ll buy it for us,” Simon
muttered as he shook what was left in his shake before upturning it for the
dregs.
Lacie was still laughing, a
tinkling peal that sounded heavenly. Looking over at her, Simon marveled at the
ever-present smile she wore. How could a woman who’d been attacked so many
times over the past month be so damn happy? But the more he watched her, the
more he noticed. She sat facing the door, and when someone came out of the
restroom behind her, she snapped her neck around to see who it was. She tapped
her fingers restlessly on the tabletop, a nervous gesture she may have
inherited from her dad.
“So, what brings you to our little
part of the woods? You don’t look like you need the job.” Lacie was lounging in
her chair, long legs stretched out in front of her, covered in some gauzy,
broomstick style skirt. She wore a filmy, baggy blouse over the top of it, and
her wrists were weighed down by clunky wooden bracelets. A matching necklace
hung from her neck, strung with enormous wooden beads. Her long brown hair was
braided down the side of her face—an open face, innocent, yet wary. She
knew he
didn’t belong here.
“I wanted something different. I
used to be on the force in San Antonio, but retired.” He was keeping his lie as
close to the truth as possible. Having done some undercover work, the lie rolled
smoothly off his tongue. “I don’t necessary need the money, but I needed
something to do with myself. I thought working with kids would be nice.” Okay,
that last part was a stretch, but he was trying.
“Well, that makes more sense then. You
didn’t realize you’d been hired as a classroom aide? That’s why you wore a
suit?”
He chuckled, feeling more than a
little sheepish. “Yeah. I thought it would be some sort of security position.”
“It probably is,” Lacie mused as
she cast her friend a side-long glance. Thankfully, her friend changed the
subject.
“So, Lacie, you up for drinks
Thursday? You’re welcome to come too.” She turned to Simon. “It’s sort of our
let our hair down night.”

He shifted in his seat. This kept
happening between them. This heat. This was about the fourth time he’d been
slammed with the volcano under his skin, and he needed it to stop.
“Trent will be there,” Lacie told
her friend. “He’s gotten weird lately, so I don’t know how long he’ll stay, but
he’s trying to make more of a point of spending more time with me.”

He needed to get laid.
But first he needed to call the office, see how Miriam was doing with the paperwork, and see if Quinten would help him move into his new house.
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