Читать книгу Wilde for You - Dawn Atkins - Страница 11

ON HIS FIRST DAY at Copper Corners High, Tucker strode purposefully toward the administration building to talk to Harvey Winfield, fingering the wedding band in his pocket as he walked. He’d decided to tell Harvey the truth. He wasn’t married. It was all a misunderstanding.

He dreaded how stupid he’d sound, but the fake marriage was too weird, no matter how enthusiastic Anna and Forest were about the idea. This was no way to launch his career. Anna would be disappointed, of course—she planned to drive down tomorrow to organize the house he’d rented—but he had to do the right thing.

Once inside the building, Tucker found Harvey at the reception desk. Perfect. He’d just get it over with and start fresh.

As an idiot.

“Good to see you, Tucker.” Harvey shook his hand, gripping Tuck’s forearm with his other hand, his eyes warm with affection.

Do it now. Tell him. “I need to clear something up, Harvey.”

“Sure thing, but before I forget, your wife called. What a delightful woman. She said to tell you to feel free to work as late as you want, since she has plenty to do at the house. She knows how dedicated you are.”

“She does?” he said blankly. Anna must have arrived early and called out here to impress Harvey with Tuck’s commitment and her support. Damn, she was good.

“She wanted to know what to bring to the potluck next week.” Harvey smiled. “You’re a lucky man, Tucker. She reminds me of my Nadine. It’s so fortunate that she’ll be in town for the dinner. Sounds like the airline keeps her quite busy.”

“Oh, yes, she’s one busy woman, all right,” he said, blowing out a breath. How could he tell Harvey the truth now? His fake wife had sealed his fate. A misunderstanding was one thing, but a plot with coconspirators? With a sigh, Tuck put his hand into his pocket and slid the ring onto his fourth finger. It felt strange—heavy, like the lie pressing in on his chest—but he’d make the best of it.

“Let’s get you started,” Harvey said. “We’ve got some papers to sign, of course, but I want you to know right off the bat that I’m going to give you free rein here. I’ve been accused of being a micromanager, Tucker, but I’ve turned over a new leaf. The best way to learn this job is to live this job. You’d think after thirty years at it, I’d figure that out. So if you’d keep me posted on your activities—regular updates now—we’ll be fine. I know you won’t let me down.”

And he wouldn’t. He’d do everything he could to justify Harvey’s faith in him. The fake marriage was a glitch, but he’d just think of himself as married to the job, like Anna had said, and that would have to do.

TWO WEEKS LATER, Tucker saved the changes he’d made in the new computerized class schedule, stood and stretched. He wanted to greet the teachers setting up their rooms early and see what he could do to help them. School would start in a week.

He looked around his office—his first as an administrator. He loved it. The room was tiny, his wooden desk shabby and scarred, his chair in danger of collapsing and his computer practically pre-DOS, but he’d filled the shelves with his own books and professional journals, along with the district’s curriculum manuals, hung the walls with motivational posters and artwork, and organized his desk so that the place felt like home.

The brass plaque Ben had given him in high school rested beside his computer. It held a quote from William James: The greatest discovery of my generation is that a human being can alter his life by altering his attitudes of mind. That had been Ben’s message to him. Tucker liked to keep it always in view.

He’d called Ben about the job, who’d expressed his confidence in Tuck and talked about the things he was working on at Western Sun that Tucker would be able to take over once he got back there. The man Ben had hired was definitely retiring in three years. Tucker had a good shot at the job if he did well at Copper Corners. Things were falling into place.

Every day Tuck had been here made him feel surer this was the right step for him. He was already making a difference. He’d upgraded the class schedule software and purchased a school-wide grading program for next to nothing through a promotion he’d researched. And he was planning to add some needed extracurricular activities right away.

Everything was going according to plan, he thought, looking around again. His glance fell on the photo of him with Anna—no, Julie—his wife. Well, everything except that. He angled the photo out of his line of vision. He would keep that low-key, and it shouldn’t matter. Anna would come out to the potluck and then be off on her busy flying schedule.

Grabbing a clipboard to take notes about what the teachers needed, Tucker set off across the quad between the school’s brick buildings to meet the teachers who were here—there were three or four at least.

The air was filled with the fierce rasp of cicadas and the sun baked the top of his head. August in southern Arizona was brutal. Its bright burn seemed to have washed out the green of the paloverde tree trunks. Everything looked dusty and tired of summer.

The heat had the opposite effect on Tucker—it energized him. Surveying the campus gave him a rush of ownership and responsibility. This was his school. He knew every corner of campus now. He’d spent a week assisting Dwayne the custodian move shelves and replace equipment in all the buildings, so that helped, but it was more. He’d absorbed the feel of the place, knew all its classrooms and corridors by heart. Sappy, maybe, but there it was.

When he left in three years, things would be better here than when he’d arrived. Achievement scores and student involvement would rise and teacher satisfaction would soar.

Tucker met the new English teacher first, then visited with a veteran history teacher setting up her class. After that, he headed to Building D, where the English teacher had said the new science teacher was working.

As he walked, he found himself running his thumb over the smooth curve of Forest’s wedding band. He was constantly aware of it—catching the sunlight when he walked, snagging soap when he washed his hands, in sight when he worked at the computer. Wearing it, he felt phony, but safe. Since he’d declared women off-limits, being married was insurance. He did intend to marry one day, so this was a test of how it would be.

Without the woman. Or the love.

Or the sex.

Which was a definite downside. But he could handle it. He’d sublimate his sex drive in work and everyone would benefit.

He entered the D building, which held science, math, computer and art classes, and got a blast of hip-hop music from an open classroom door—his destination, no doubt.

Inside the room, the music was so loud his ears throbbed. He spotted the teacher on a ladder, hammering something to the ceiling. A jungle vine, he could see, made of cloth. A couple dozen dangled around the room, which was also decorated with three papier-mâché trees.

At the back, there was a bank of terrariums, where he made out a couple of snakes and a large lizard…maybe an iguana? The bulletin boards held maps of South America and photos of exotic creatures. The total effect was of a jungle, dense and complex, and full of color.

And a fire code violation.

Then he got a load of the teacher and lost all thought for a second. She wore white shorts, which were pulled tight over her round backside because of her position on the ladder. Below the shorts were great legs—muscles tensed along their shapely length as she hammered away. Nice feet, too, he saw, since she was barefoot. With plump toes, the nails painted fire-engine red.

She hadn’t heard him enter over the pounding music, and now he was close enough to catch her scent. She smelled familiar and sexy…like Melissa. What were the odds of that?

He reminded himself of his purpose here—to offer any help she might need—and called over the music, “Hello?”

“Wha—?” She jerked, then turned, wobbling on the ladder.

Tuck stepped forward and braced her thigh—as firm as it looked—to keep her from tumbling. He looked up at her face and swallowed hard.

Oh, God.

It was Cricket, his college crush, her green eyes round and wide, blond hair in parentheses around her cheeks.

“Tucker! I don’t believe it!” Her face lit with pleasure. She looked down at her leg, where his hand still rested.

He let go fast, rubbing his still-warm palm on his pants.

She climbed down the ladder—rather, bounced—twisted a knob on the CD player to lower the volume, then turned to him. “What a small world!”

“Yeah.” He felt like Rick from Casablanca. Of all the high schools in all the towns in all the world, she had to walk into his.

“You teach here?” she asked.

“I’m the assistant principal. I’m new.”

“Me, too. But I’m a teacher. Well, not quite. I have an emergency certificate.” She stepped closer to him and he caught more of her special scent—vanilla, cinnamon and something peppery. “They needed a science teacher and I had tons of science credits, plus I love science—I was a volunteer at the zoo, and I’ve always contributed to the Sierra Club. So, I got the job. Of course, they didn’t have another applicant, but, oh, well. Listen to me babble. How’d you end up here?”

“Long story.” He didn’t care to lay out the details of his fall from grace. She looked as good as he remembered. Short and compact, pixieish, with a heart-shaped face, small nose and pretty mouth—features that made you expect her to be sweet, but he knew she was mouthy and irreverent, with a lusty laugh that managed to charm despite its decibel strength, and green eyes that glinted with mischief.

Nothing she wore was immodest, not even her stretchy red top, but she was so sexy she had to be violating codes all over the place—dress codes, morality codes, building codes, whatever. She was one big violation.

He couldn’t help checking out her ring finger and found just a silver peace sign.

“Man, how long has it been?” she asked.

“Must be six, seven years.” He tried to sound cool, but he could have figured out exactly how long ago that make-out session had been. It had been two days before Christmas, and they’d drank a couple of beers, talked a long time—finishing each other’s sentences—and then they’d gotten personal and there had been that mistletoe….

“Yeah. Finals, right? Christmas time.”

“Yeah. Christmas time.”

Her eyes told him she remembered the moment, too. And with pleasure, judging by her soft smile. “Whatever happened with you and Sylvia?” she asked. “I moved out just after you and I…after that night.”

“Nothing,” he said. “I think she married an electrical engineering professor.” The guy she’d stood him up for, which made him feel less guilty about kissing Cricket. He’d slept with plenty of women in college, but he never overlapped.

“I lost track of her after I moved out of the apartment,” Cricket said. “Too much temptation to party. I had to hit the books, resuscitate my GPA.” She scrunched up her nose. “I hated hitting the books.”

“I remember,” he said. She’d been studying biology when he’d joined her on the couch while he waited for Sylvia and they’d commiserated about GPA pressure and the stifling nature of lecture halls, moving on to discuss a global sweatshop protest they’d both attended, then to their beliefs on social issues—poverty, ecology, the proper role of government.

The words flowed easily, as if they’d known each other for years. They’d disagreed some—Cricket was more black and white in her beliefs than he was—but with humor and mutual respect. In short, they’d connected. Intellectually, emotionally and, um, sexually. Somewhere in there, she’d started drinking his beer. Then let it slip that she thought he was cute.

And he’d told her she was pretty, and she’d mumbled something about mistletoe, cupped his face with both hands and kissed him…like he was some exotic fruit she wanted to get every juice from.

He’d kissed her right back, a tsunami of lust pounding through him. She’d tasted of beer and peppermint and smelled of cinnamon and vanilla and spice—fresh with a winter bite. She’d slipped onto his lap and he’d held her tight. She’d felt delicate, but springy. Strong and hot.

There was something not to be missed about that encounter. Like snow in Tucson. So rare you had to drop everything and run outside to let the flakes fall in your mouth. Come to think of it, they’d been nowhere near any mistletoe….

“Me, too,” she said, taking another step forward. “I remember, too.” Electricity zinged between them. He could swear the jungle vines swayed in the static. “We had a great talk. And everything…”

She was looking him over, head cocked like it had been that night right before she’d kissed him. Then her gaze dipped and snagged on something.

His left hand. The gold band gleamed under the fluorescent lights like a treasure.

“You’re married?” she said. Did she sound disappointed? And why did he hope so?

“Um, yeah. Absolutely.” He twisted the ring with the fingers of his other hand.

“How long?” she asked.

“Two years.” Forest and Anna thought that sounded like enough years to be solidly married and not attract newlywed jokes.

Cricket nodded slowly. “Kids?”

“No.”

“But soon?”

“When the time is right.” This was true. He did want kids. After he had a real wife, of course. “You’re not married?”

“Are you kidding? I’m just figuring out what I want to be when I grow up. When I’ve got that handled, maybe I’ll find someone. When I’m ready to hibernate.” She shrugged as if that were unlikely, then tilted her head again. “Is it good? Marriage, I mean?”

“Sure,” he said, the lie giving him a twinge. It would be good, he was sure.

She’d obviously picked up his discomfort because she said, “Really?”

“It has its ups and downs,” he said to cover his hesitation.

“Yeah. Same with any choice. The pros and cons and ups and downs. I hate that.” She bit her lip, then seemed to cheer up. “Anyway, I’m happy for you, Tucker. Really.” Her expression warmed, calling back the intimacy of their evening together all those years ago. “She’s a lucky woman.”

“I don’t know about that,” he said.

“Oh, I do. You were a great kisser.” She elbowed him playfully in the side.

“I’d say that was all you.”

“Team effort.” She sighed. “That night was something, huh?”

“Yeah. Something.”

“I couldn’t believe how much I blathered on and on.”

“We had a lot to talk about.”

“Yeah. A lot.”

They stopped talking for a long moment. The beat of attraction thudded in Tucker’s ears.

He’d thought about looking her up after Sylvia and he broke up, but they were near graduation, and he’d been disturbed by how powerfully Cricket had affected him. He’d felt out of control, the way he had in high school. Besides, he was too tame for her, he was sure.

With a start, he realized he’d held Cricket’s gaze way too long for a married man—even one experiencing ups and downs in his marriage. “Anyway, that was a long time ago.”

“And now you’re an administrator. Wow. I would have figured you for an ACLU attorney or some intellectual rabble-rouser.”

“I considered law, actually, but education is important. It’s a way to influence the next generation.”

“Sheesh, that sounds ancient. The only generation we’re old enough to influence—or even talk about—is the Pepsi one.”

“How’d you get into teaching anyway?” he asked, not liking how she made him feel like an old fogy. “Weren’t you studying nursing?”

“Turns out blood makes me faint. It’s, like, a reflex. I catch sight of red and everything goes black.” She shrugged. “Kind of lame, I know.”

“You can’t help your reflexes,” he said.

She smiled. “Sounds better than being a flake, huh? So, after that I tried social work.” She made a face.

“No good?”

“Too much bureaucracy. You can save the world, but only after you fill out the correct forms.”

“In triplicate?”

“Exactly. Then last summer I was a counselor at a summer camp for low-income kids and really loved it and I realized teaching might be my thing, so I thought I’d see how it goes. Science is cool, too. I love biology. Chemistry’s a little scary, but I’ll figure it out.” She looked around the room, her eyes narrowing in evaluation. “What do you think of my rain forest?”

“Impressive.” He’d have to say something about the fire code before she hammered up more vines.

“This will be the framework for teaching biology,” she said. “Everything will be tied to this—ecosystems, conservation, the greenhouse effect, species differentiation. Plus, we’ll do writing and art projects, along with science.”

“A thematically based integrated curriculum.”

“Wow.” She blinked. “And I just thought it sounded fun.”

“That, too.”

“So that’s how you get the big bucks—coming up with big hairy labels for fun stuff.”

“Pretty much. It’s a great idea, Cricket. Innovative.” And a fire hazard. He had to tell her so. It was his job. “The only thing is we can’t have anything flammable within six inches of the ceiling tiles.”

“What? Oh, right. Good one.” She slugged him gently on the arm.

“I’m serious. It’s the fire code. And the trees will have to be dealt with, too—the branches trimmed and that one—” he pointed “—needs to be moved so it doesn’t block the exit.”

“It took me four hours to get this stuff up. And the trees took forever to situate.”

“I’ll help you move them.”

“How about if I just take my chances with the fire marshal?”

“I’m afraid I can’t allow that. You’ll still have the jungle effect with your animals and bulletin boards.”

“Come on, Tucker. You’re not one of those rules-are-rules guys, are you? In college, you were at the demonstrations, ready to get arrested with the rest of us.”

“We had permits.”

“Please, sir, can we protest? Sheesh.” She rolled her eyes.

“The petitions and meetings with the university president achieved what we wanted. The demonstrations were mostly to make us feel better.”

“That’s not true, is it?”

“More or less. The point is that if you play by the major rules, you can bend the minor ones. And safety’s major.”

“So I’ll pat down the kids for matches.”

“I’ll get another ladder and help you.”

“I’ll handle it,” she said, her eyes sparking with irritation. And stubbornness.

“Okay, then.” He lifted his clipboard, pen at the ready. “Is there anything else you need in the way of furniture, equipment or textbooks?”

“What I need is for you to forget the fire code.”

“No can do.”

They held each other’s gaze in a High Noon stand-off. Something told him this wouldn’t be his last run-in with Cricket.

He blinked first. “Anyway…I know the first few weeks of teaching can be overwhelming, but we’re here—Harvey and I—to make your job easier.”

She rolled her eyes in a yeah, right. But her wry smile softened the effect.

“In the long run, you’ll thank me.”

“You sound old, Tuck.” She patted him on the shoulder.

Part of him bristled, but having her think of him as an old married administrator was probably a good thing. If they were in a different place, a different time, he’d be after her in a heartbeat, eager to see if time had altered the heat between them. He rubbed his ring with his thumb, grateful he wore it. Melissa had been a mere echo of Cricket. Without this gold emblem on his fingers, God knows what career-killing indiscretion he’d be tempted into beneath the branches of her papier-mâché trees and the reptilian eyes of her terrarium dwellers. The school board would never buy “Cricket Fever” as a defense at his hearing.

Unless, of course, they knew Cricket.

WHAT THE HELL HAD happened to Tucker Manning? Cricket couldn’t believe a guy who kissed like a porn star would stand there like an old geezer and tell her to rip down her jungle. In the long run, you’ll thank me? Please.

On top of that, he was married. She got a smidge of concern that she was more disappointed about that than she was over her soon-to-be-deforested jungle.

Tucker Manning was married. Unavailable. Taken.

Not that it mattered. Hell, she hadn’t seen him in years, though he did cross her mind from time to time. They’d connected in such a warm, easy way that night. She’d felt understood, honored, almost urged to say any outrageous thing she thought or felt.

He’d also starred in some sexy dreams. Maybe because she’d been surprised by how much and how fast she’d wanted him. Major lust had hit at max speed.

Of course, he was hot, with down-slanted, bedroom eyes—George Clooney/Kyle Chandler eyes. And he had this great look—earnest and smart-ass and know-it-all. The boy next door with a Harley and a Mensa membership. Trustworthy, wicked and brilliant. A killer combo.

Plus, his voice was low and confident, with a sexual undertow that sucked her in. Also his mouth was dramatic—sculpted lips, full and so there. She’d just had to have a taste…. And wow…. But Tucker had come to his senses, completely mortified and guilty as hell. She could have told him about Sylvia and the professor, but that didn’t seem right and she’d been a little shaken up by her reaction to him.

And she still thought about him with lust. Probably because he was The Forbidden. Or maybe because after that night, he disappeared. Or maybe she had disappeared. Whatever. Absence makes the heart more horny? Or curious? Or something.

Now here he was, turning up again like a sexy penny, with that same kissable mouth and all those fabulous features and that thick, dark hair—she’d forgotten about the hair—but he was taken. Locked down. Married. She hoped the woman knew what she had.

On the other hand, he’d turned into an administrator. And not a progressive, authority-sharing one, either. A rules-are-our-friends, by-the-book administrator. He’d probably expect to see her lesson plans for the upcoming week on his desk every Friday. She watched him cross the quad. What a great backside. She was window-shopping only, of course. The man was married.

He’d sounded nervous about it, though—it has its ups and downs—fiddling with his wedding ring like he wanted to yank it off. She hoped he wasn’t unhappily married.

Anyway, enough of the sexual road not taken. She had a new career to explore and no time for good kissers with up-and-down marriages. Small towns meant flat-line on the entertain-o-meter. But that was okay. Her goal was to be the best teacher she could be and really give this career a fair test. Discarding two professions—even if one was because of a physical reflex…good point, Tuck—made her feel, well, flaky.

It was time to get serious. And teaching was it. She was pretty sure. She’d loved the summer camp. Teaching the kids how to boat and ride horses, guiding them through conflicts, shoring up their self-esteem, helping them explore their ideas and interests had been extremely rewarding. She’d felt as though she made a difference in their lives. She wanted more of that. A career of it, in fact.

As the summer ended, she’d recalled that her friend Nikki Winfield’s father was a principal. Cricket had worked for Party Time Characters, the kiddie party company Nikki’s best friend Mariah had started back then, and had gotten to know Nikki through her.

Before she knew it, Cricket had an interview with Nikki’s father, Harvey—a formal, old-fashioned guy, but sweet and completely in love with his school. Her science background and enthusiasm—and the fact they had no other applicants—earned her the job. She would refresh her biology with the textbooks, get teaching tips from colleagues and figure out the chemistry somehow.

The point was that she now had her very own classroom. She had a curriculum to cover, but how she presented it was up to her. She wanted her students to love learning and to figure out how they could make a difference, too.

When she sat still for long, though, doubts assailed her. Was she up to this? Could she stick to it even when it got hard? Would she get hit with the same disappointment she’d felt about social work? Maybe she was too idealistic. She had these great dreams, but the day-to-day getting there wore her down. At least so far.

This had to be different. She felt different. She felt ready. She’d already plowed into it—coming up with her jungle theme for the three sections of biology she would teach. She looked around at what she’d set up. It looked great. Purposeful. Appealing. Exciting. Except now, thanks to Tucker Manning, Fire Code Cop, she had to machete the vines and muscle the trees around.

A surge of stubbornness rolled through her. She wasn’t giving up on her rain forest, no matter what Captain Safety said.

Nothing within six inches of the ceiling, huh? Okay, how about seven? If she used lightweight wire extended from the tree branches…She smiled. She’d need some help, though. Out the window, she spotted three kids skateboarding across the campus pathways. She’d get to know them, get their help and annoy Rule Master Manning all at the same time. Talk about multitasking.

She hurried outside to chase them down.

WHEN CRICKET AND THE three students finished the rain-forest renovation, she took them to the town’s pizza parlor for food. The garishly lit, green-dragon-themed place was loud with the sounds of arcade games, rich with the tomato-and-baked-bread smell of pizza and decently crowded for a Wednesday night.

They’d just dug into two Chicago-style pepperoni pies and Dr. Pepper in frosty mugs, when Cricket looked up and saw Tucker striding down the aisle between green plastic benches, a bottle of beer in one hand.

“Hey, Tuck,” she said, motioning him over. “Join us.”

“Cricket.” He paused at the end of the table, smiling a great, warm smile that heated her like an electric blanket. “I don’t want to intrude.” He glanced at the boys, his brows lifted in curiosity.

“Tucker Manning, meet three of Copper Corners’ finest sophomores—Jason, Jeff and John, the Triple Js, as they’re known to their friends. Guys, meet your new assistant principal.”

Tucker set his bottle on the table and solemnly shook each hand, making enough eye contact to make the guys uncomfortable.

“They helped me rearrange my rain forest. Here, sit.” She patted the space beside her for Tucker, since the three students filled the opposite bench.

Tucker took a tentative seat. She could see him measure the distance so they wouldn’t touch at shoulder or hip.

Though the boys continued eating, Tucker’s presence had definitely put a chill on the meal. The man gave off authority like body heat.

“Are your parents aware of where you boys are?” he said, making it worse. He’d used a relaxed tone, but it came out stern and he’d called them boys.

“Pretty much,” Jason said, shrugging.

“Maybe you’d better be certain.” Tucker took his phone from a back pocket and extended it.

“’Sokay,” Jason said. “We should get going, Cricket.”

Jeff wolfed the last of his slice and John grabbed a piece to go, leaving three from the second pizza on the tray. She knew full well they would have cleaned up if Tucker hadn’t sunk the mood.

“Hang on,” she said. “We can talk to Mr. Manning about starting the ecology club.”

“That’s okay,” Jason said. “Thanks, Cricket.” The other boys mumbled their thanks, then all three lumbered away.

“Way to be a buzz kill,” she joked to Tucker. Despite the distance between them, she felt his body heat and smelled his cologne, a spicy musk that teased like his smile.

Tucker must have noticed how close they were, too, because he slid off her bench and onto the opposite one.

“Was it something I said?” she asked.

“This is better,” he said firmly. “And being alone with students at night is not a good idea.”

“They slaved over my room. The least I could do was feed them.”

“You’re young and single and very pretty, Cricket.”

“Why, thank you.”

“All three of those guys were smitten.”

“Nah. It’s not me. It was the food. No teen turns down free pizza.”

“It just doesn’t look good.”

“It’s okay. It’s so noisy we couldn’t even hear ourselves flirt and forget playing footsie—the lights are too bright.”

His brows lifted in alarm, which reminded her that she’d loved startling him with extreme ideas that long-ago night.

“Kidding, Tucker. Jeez. I’m twenty-seven. That’s antique to sophomores.”

“I also advise against allowing students to call you by your first name. You need them to respect you.”

“Respect has to be earned.”

“The kids need a teacher, not a pal. If you’re too chummy, they’ll take advantage of you, blow off assignments, talk back, refuse to listen. And then you’ll end up at war.”

Cricket stared at Tucker. He sounded like some tired veteran advising a new recruit how to survive a battle. “I want to reach my students at a human level, Tucker. I’m not their prison guard.”

“Too much familiarity is a mistake. Some teachers don’t smile for the first month. Maybe that’s overboard, but they have a point. Keep your distance, set high standards and you’ll give your students what they need—subject knowledge, thinking skills and the self-discipline to get what they want in life.”

“What happened to you, Tucker?” She reached across the table to playfully shake him by the shoulders. “Did they brainwash you at administrator school? You weren’t hard-hearted in college.”

He’d been tender, not tough, that night, and passionate, not reserved, and she’d felt as if she’d belonged in his arms.

She distracted herself from that thought by grabbing Tucker’s beer for a big gulp from the bottle.

“Hey!” he said.

“Sorry. It just looked tasty.” Which was exactly what she’d said when she’d snitched some of his Corona that night.

Tucker’s face stilled. He was remembering the moment, too, she was sure.

“How about some Skee-Ball?” she said to change the subject.

“I don’t think so.”

“What’s a little Skee-Ball between consenting adults?” It was just a light flirt, but their gazes locked like heat-seeking missiles. Fire zoomed through her.

Tucker sucked in a harsh breath, twirling his wedding ring. Again.

As if catching the vibe, a Skee-Ball light began to spin and flash red and the siren blared. Emergency, emergency. Lust alert. Calling all ice water.

Cricket crossed her legs to settle herself.

When the sound ceased, Tucker spoke. “I don’t think we should consent to anything together, Cricket. There’s too much…you-know…going on here.”

“You-know?” She couldn’t help teasing. “What’s you-know?”

“You know what you-know is,” he said, low and sexy, his eyes sparkling in the light, his smile crooked, the effect as romantic and inviting in the bright pizza parlor as it would have been in a dimly lit bistro.

She sighed. “Yeah. We both know.”

“I’m married. And I’m your boss, more or less. Playing Skee-Ball or sharing a beer or just sitting here talking, however innocent, is a bad idea.”

“I hate it when you’re right.” She leaned forward, chin on her fist. “I hope your wife appreciates you, Tucker.”

“I’m sure she does,” he said, but his eyes flickered away. What was up with that?

“What’s her name anyway? And where did you meet?”

“Her name is Julie and my, um, brother introduced us.”

“Where is she tonight? How come you’re eating alone?”

“She’s out of town. Working. She’s, um, an airline pilot.”

“An airline pilot? That’s cool.”

“She likes it.”

“So, she travels a lot?”

“All the time.”

Why did he look so guilty? She couldn’t see Tucker playing around. He struck her as an honest, loyal guy. He’d been very upset about the make-out session while he was still seeing Sylvia. Now Cricket had to know more.

“So what is Julie like?”

“She’s smart…and pretty, I guess.”

“You guess? Can I see her picture?”

“I don’t have one on me.”

No photo in the wallet? That wasn’t a good sign. She’d figured Tucker would be a sentimental guy, judging from the affectionate way he’d talked about his friends that night. “So, describe her to me.”

“Let’s see…medium build, dark hair to her shoulders. A little shorter than me.” He sounded like he had to wrack his brain to remember.

“That’s it? What about her eyes? What color are they?”

“Her eyes?” He looked completely panicked. “They’re green…and brown, too. Hazel, I guess.”

“Not very observant, Tucker.”

“I know the big things.”

“Little things add up to big things. Like what’s her favorite food? Favorite flavor of ice cream? Best band? What’s her pet peeve?”

“The important thing is that we make each other happy.”

“Does she make you happy, Tucker? Really?” She hadn’t meant to sound so serious, but she was a little worried about him.

“Of course she does,” he said, but he seemed tense and he was twisting his wedding ring like a stuck jar lid. “Could we stop talking about my marriage?”

“If you’d rather not talk about it.” Maybe Julie wasn’t good enough for Tucker. Maybe she’d seen what a catch he was and taken advantage of his kind nature.

“Okay, I’ll play your game,” he said abruptly, evidently taking her words as a challenge. “Her favorite food is chicken parmesan. Favorite ice cream—Cherry Garcia. She loves Bon Jovi. Her pet peeve is people who chat at the post office window when there’s a line. Her dress size is four—six if she feels bloated—and her favorite color is teal. Happy?”

“Teal, huh? Impressive. I didn’t think men even knew there was such a color. Of course you could be bluffing,” she teased. “I’ll check your answers at the back-to-school social. Julie will be there, right?”

“She’ll be there, all right.” But he didn’t look that happy about it.

An explanation suddenly occurred to her. “You don’t need to worry, Tuck. I’ll keep our sordid past a secret.” She winked, then drank another swallow of his beer, knowing it would annoy him.

“Would you like one of your own?” he asked wryly.

“It tastes better borrowed.” She was relieved he’d lightened up a little. “I can’t wait to meet Julie.”

“I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to meet you, too,” he said, tapping his beer bottle against her Dr. Pepper mug with a sigh.

Maybe once she met Julie, she’d feel better. Find out he was in a good marriage with a good woman. She didn’t want to think of him unhappy. And she didn’t want to be lusting after a married man. Any more than she already was, at least.