Between the Sheets (3 page)

I straightened my shoulders and cleared my throat. Just because I was dressed like a girl didn’t mean I couldn’t still kick his ass all over the softball field, and I’d be a born-again virgin before I gave it up to P. Kirk Ringdahl. He might be single and straight, but he was still a dweeb.

“Different schools, different school districts, you know.” I funneled as much back-off-Jack into my voice as possible.

“If you had a seat on the council, we’d see each other at the meetings.” He patted my hand and winked. “There’s usually a chance for socializing after the business is done.”

And I’d rather eat a rodent.
“I’m pretty busy.”

“I bet we could work something out.”

Kirk fawned and Jessica sniffed and I had to sit on my hands to keep from popping him one. I gulped wine instead, then almost spewed it when Krista’s pointy heel stabbed the top of my foot.

Amid a chorus of choking and laughter, one of the Sues tossed me a napkin and Krista managed to direct my attention to the doorway. My heart stilled. Stopped. Which was fine, because all the blood in my body rushed to my cheeks.

Except for the boiling puddle lower down.

All this because a certain Ginger God in faded jeans and a green T-shirt happened to be strolling into the room.

While we’d been busy socializing, a buffet table had joined the bar, and servers began surreptitiously setting the tables for dinner. The room filled, the lights dimmed, and the smell of roasted garlic drowned out the old fish ocean smell. Kirk progressed from patting my hand to brushing my elbow to draping his arm in the general vicinity of my shoulders, and in self-defense, I went from clasping my hands to crossing my arms to sitting so straight I redefined perpendicular.

The man had an overdeveloped sense of his own animal magnetism, made worse by the presence of the Ginger God, who reduced Kirk’s attractiveness to absolute zero.

The evening’s guest speaker took the empty seat at our table. Professor Baumgartner had headed the music program at the University of Washington for years. His after-dinner talk would compare world music pedagogy with older methods of teaching.
Yawn.
He greeted each of us, then honed in on Jessica, whose girls’ choir had received an honorable mention at State.

She glowed under his attention, giving me the chance to wonder why Kirk bothered with me when he could have someone like her. Her looks said sorority sister and Nordstrom shopper, while mine said too much softball. All the girly clothes in the world wouldn’t hide the fact that I had the body of a muscular twelve-year-old boy.

Jessica punctuated each obsequious smile for the professor with a flirtatious smirk in Kirk’s direction.

Or a pointed glare at me.

When the professor finished blowing smoke at Jessica, Pregnant Sue dragged me into the ring. “What about you, Maggie? Where do you teach?”

Too bad public school events couldn’t serve hard liquor. I could have used a shot to take the sting away from her pseudo-friendly tone. “Lakewood Elementary.”

“Oh, the littles? How cute.” All the Sues sent up a chorus of squeals. “They’re just so … enthusiastic.”

“Yeah.” And honest, and funny, and a whole lotta things grown-ups have forgotten how to be.

Servers lifted the tops off the hot dishes on the buffet line, and teachers from some of the other tables had started moving in the direction of food. Kirk put his hand over mine and leaned over in the direction of my ear, his voice low and throaty. “How come I never noticed you were so pretty?”

I stared at my fork and froze my smile in place. “I don’t know.”

“Maybe later we could go for a walk on the beach?”

Ick!
“Ah, maybe
.”

Professor Baumgartner stood and three of the Sues followed him, leaving me at the table with Jessica and Pregnant Sue. I scooted my chair away from the table, locked my fake grin in place, and prepared my escape.

“We haven’t had much of a chance to talk,” Kirk murmured, leaving a trail of slime in my ears.

“I just think elementary kids are a little dull, you know?” Jessica said to Pregnant Sue. They were facing each other, cutting us out of their conversation, while just as obviously talking loud enough for me to hear.

“What did you want to talk about?” I speared Krista with a glance, but she was forehead to forehead with one of the Sues.
Not the time for professional networking, BFF.
Unless she was over there planning my salvation, we were going to have words later.

Kirk ran his fingertips along the back of my neck. “I’m so happy you’re here tonight.”

Oh no. He did not just do that.
I jumped out of my chair like it was time to make a break for home plate. “I’m going to get in line for dinner.”

“Let’s.” He kept a hand on my elbow, guiding me toward the buffet line.

“I’m good.” I jerked my arm away. “Really.”

He seemed to take the hint—finally!—and we made it through the buffet line with a minimum of embarrassment.

Once everyone was seated, Kirk stood to give Professor Baumgartner an unnecessarily long introduction to the soundtrack of clanking silver and scraping plates. Most of the people in the room were UW graduates and already knew the professor, but we all smiled and applauded as Kirk spoke. He planted himself behind me, resting a hand on my shoulder, and after shifting in my seat, trying to shake it off, I gave up. Krista only shrugged and ignored me, like she thought a P. Kirk hookup was a done deal. Then I noticed the Ginger God seated at a table across from me.

Looking in my direction.

But not at my eyes.

He slouched in his chair, arms crossed as he gazed south of my shoulders, in the general direction of my breasts. My cheeks got warm and, even more embarrassing, my nipples got hard.

He smiled slowly, as if he noticed the last bit even from across the room, and his gaze traveled up even slower, peeling off my halter top on the way. His attention felt way too intimate for a room full of more than two hundred people. I shifted in my seat again, trying to ignore the burst of heat between my legs.

My independent streak started screaming about arrogance and invasion of privacy and inappropriate behavior.
Whatever.
My fingers twitched, ready to trace his Celtic tat and go exploring under his soft green T-shirt. For the first time in five years, three months, and five days, I wanted to be alone in a room with a man when he had that look in his eye.

Instead of listening to an illuminating debate on the possible applications of world music pedagogy compared with Dalcroze and Kodaly, I imagined how a Sex Diva would handle the situation.

And desperately wished the
Cosmo
article had some tips on cross-room eye sex.

The meal could well have been composed of sawdust and turpentine. The Ginger God’s attention shifted when the servers started plunking dessert on the tables, leaving me chilled, like someone had just pulled the covers off me in bed. Krista was too absorbed in an exchange of text messages to talk, and Jessica and the Sues rose in a block. I followed close behind and made a break for the door.

Kirk caught me in the lobby, but as I was stumbling through some half-assed excuse about why I couldn’t walk with him, a warm body pressed against my back and strong arms wrapped around my waist. Jerking my head to the side, I managed to plant my mouth on someone’s waiting lips.

Warm. Soft. Tasting of savory man and smoke. I should have done something to escape, except he held me and turned me and pulled me closer. And kissing the Ginger God beat the high holy hell out of dealing with P. Kirk Ringdahl.

Pretty much nothing in this life had prepared me for what to do when being held by one very attractive man while another one stood there sputtering. The crowd in the lobby might have quieted, or maybe I just couldn’t hear them through the blood pounding in my ears. In the end, kissing the handsome stranger was much easier than dealing with everyone else’s reaction.

And a lot more fun.

From some very distant place—or five feet away—Krista’s little shriek pierced the cloud of steam surrounding my consciousness, and I eased away.

“Stay with me,” the Ginger God whispered, and rested his chin on her head. “Sorry I was late, baby.” He spoke for the whole room to hear. “My ferry got held up.”

I did a quick series of calculations. I could introduce this guy to my backhand for being so bold, which would elevate the current situation from gossip-worthy to
OMG YOU WILL NOT BELIEVE WHAT I JUST SAW.

I could play along, saving the lecture for later.

Or I could run like hell for the ferry.

It was only five miles or so.

Krista would bring my stuff home.

I snuggled closer to Ginger’s chest. Couldn’t run. Kitten heels.

“Hey, Kirk.”

The guy’s voice rumbled through me and his woodsy scent pinged an internal reminder.
Duh.
I had a goal for this weekend.

“Randy.” Kirk snapped the word like he wanted to jam it down the other man’s throat.

Randy
. The Ginger God had a name. I ran him through my mental database but didn’t find a match. He wasn’t an elementary music teacher, for sure. And Krista would have recognized him if he taught middle school. Maybe high school? East of the mountains? New in town?

“It’s great to see you, man, but we were just leaving.” With a two-fingered wave that started at his forehead and ended with finger guns, Randy tugged me toward the door.

I flashed a glance in Kirk’s general direction. His face was red and his lips were tight and I considered moving
avoid Kirk Ringdahl
to my number-one goal for the weekend. But the heat in Randy’s smile wouldn’t let me change a thing.

Hand in hand, we strolled toward the cabins. The setting sun behind us stretched shadows across the gravel path.

“I hate guys like him,” Randy said. He loosened his grip on my hand, but only so he could shift his position and put his arm around my shoulders.

I enjoyed the closeness, the heat from his body, his woodsy, male scent. “Good thing, because ol’ P. Kirk’ll carry a grudge.”

“He can kiss my—”

Randy broke off with a laugh, so I patted the appropriate anatomic location. We reached the cabin I shared with Krista, but he kept us both moving onto the tiny porch of the cabin next door.

“We’re neighbors,” I said.

“Are we?” He faced me, still holding my hand. His green-eyed gaze was frank, honest, even through the shield of his glasses. “I’m Randy, by the way.”

A shiver of excitement-need-desire shot through me. “And I’m Maggie.”

“Well, Maggie, this was the most fun I’ve ever had with a music teacher.”

His naughty grin sent another little lightning bolt deep in my belly. “Me too.”

“Do you and Kirk have history?”

With a quick shrug, I loosened my shoulders and answered his question at the same time. “We do now.”

He eased away to gaze out over the beach, bracing himself on the porch railing. I mirrored his movement. The tide was in, waves running along the baby sand dunes between the cabins and the water. The energy between us was companionable tinged with a buzz of attraction, and though I enjoyed the feeling, the beginnings of a problem disrupted my mood.

“Now there are two hundred music teachers who think we’re here together,” I said.

Randy rubbed a palm over his mouth in an unsuccessful attempt to hide a chuckle. “There were only about thirty in the lobby when I kissed you.”

“Shut up.” I batted at his arm. “By breakfast the whole group will have heard.”

His laughter didn’t dispute my claim. “Then we’ll keep up the act. Why wouldn’t they believe us? You’re pretty.” His gaze slid over me like warm lotion. “And I don’t suck.”

A hint of the predator I’d seen at dinner trapped me in his sight. I gulped and blushed and fought the urge to run. “So you’ll protect me from Kirk, and I’ll … what? What’s in it for you?”

“I’ll get the girl.” He paused as if to let the promise, or threat, sink in. “We can keep it clean if you want,” he added, though his tone suggested he’d prefer we didn’t.

With a straight stare, I sized him up the way I would a pitcher on the mound. Was he throwing strikes, or trying to punk me? “Okay, it’s a deal.” Lifting my hand, I offered to shake.

“Hey, we’re dating now. We’re not going to shake on it.”

He turned toward me, and as if by reflex I faced him.

“We’re going to seal this deal with a kiss,” he said.

“Sure.” I rose on my toes and gave him a quick peck on the cheek, then swung my legs over the railing and hit the ground running before he could react.

Short skirt and kitten heels be damned.

Krista crouched on her bunk, cell phone about four inches from her nose, thumbs flying. I slammed the cabin door and she tilted her face up, squinting to bring me into focus.

“You’re not going to believe this.” I whispered in case saying the words out loud would make things magically change.

Her thumbs slowed but didn’t stop moving. “You accomplished your mission?”

I planted my fists on my hips and harrumphed at her.

“Just give me a minute. J-Bone wants to take the ferry over tomorrow afternoon so we can hang out tomorrow night, but I’ve already got plans with Troy.”

She gave her full attention to her phone.

“Fine.” Stomping past her to my own bunk, I finally, eagerly, gratefully, stripped out of the stupid halter dress. I stood there, naked except for my little thong panties, and dug through my bag for a T-shirt and pair of shorts. My bra stayed in the duffel bag, since my boobs weren’t big enough to need the support. And so what if the shorts had started life as a pair of sweatpants until they’d met a pair of sharp scissors? No one but Krista would see them.

She’d have an opinion about them, of course. “Jesus, I liked it better when you were mooning me.”

“That’s enough out of you.” I shook my finger at her like a crabby, scolding mother. “You got your way with the dress. Now it’s my turn to be comfortable.”

“Now it’s your turn to spill. What the hell happened?”