I don’t own any athleisure wear because my life is devoid of both the ath and the leisure. Also, it’s expensive as all get-out for clothing designed for sweating.
“It’s Lindy,” I remind her. “And I’m on time.”
She waves a hand. “Oh, we always like to show up early. You know how it is—it’s just such a joy to serve!”
You mean, a joy to make people your servants.
Ignoring the tiny chair Tabby points to, I stand near the window where I can glance out at the class on the playground. I locate Jo almost immediately, sitting underneath the slide, reading a book. No surprise there. But while I watch, she sets the book down—using a bookmark because I didn’t raise a heathen—and joins in a round of tag.
Good for you, Jojo. Diversify those interests—reading AND playground games!
I turn back to Tabby, whose eyes narrow on me.
“You must be so tired after the big game last night,” she says.
“I didn’t actually play in the game, you know. Spectating isn’t all that strenuous.”
“I didn’t mean the spectating part,” Tabby says, and I know where this is going. Right to my VERY public display of affection. The one I need to forget, since Pat obviously has.
Before she can weigh in any more on the topic, I cut her off. “Yes, I’m tired. And I’ve got work to do, so if you could let me know how I can help, that’d be great.”
Undeterred, Tabby taps her perfectly manicured nails against perfectly pink lips. “Let’s see what’s left. We’ve already done so much without you.”
Each woman has a pile of perfectly cut-out stars. Lots and lots of stars. By the look of things, they’ve been cutting since before the sun came up. The woman closest to me glares while massaging her fingers, like it’s MY fault Tabby is a ruthless dictator.
As if to further prove my estimation of her, Tabby’s eyes narrow like a cartoon villain. “Actually, I do have something. A very important job I saved just for you.”
Well, that sounds ominous. “Sounds great!” I try to infuse cheerleader levels of enthusiasm in my voice, but it sounds more like sarcasm. Okay, maybe it is sarcasm.
“I hope it’s a two-person job,” an all-too familiar voice calls from the doorway.
Pat saunters into the room looking even better than he did twenty minutes ago. Did he put on a tighter shirt? The gray tee he’s sporting is basically like an anatomical diagram showing all his muscle groups. It would be highly educational for a unit on anatomy.
Pecs? Present and accounted for! Shoulders? Yes and yes! Abs? Here, here, here, here, here, and here!
Five pairs of eyes laser in on him as he crosses the room. I’d like to gouge them all out with the plastic safety scissors. Pat ignores every single one, moving purposefully to me. I can’t seem to find my tongue or a thought in my brain as he wraps an arm around my waist and places a lingering kiss on my cheek.
“Hey, darlin’，” he murmurs, stepping closer to whisper in my ear. “Your backup has arrived.” His lips brush my earlobe in a way that makes my muscles lock up.
“I told you I was fine,” I hiss in a low voice, trying to get my erratic pulse under control.
“Well, then, consider this me being a clingy, new hubby still in the honeymoon phase of our nuptials. Or maybe I just came to watch you take down the mafia.”
I don’t miss the way he skirts around the words the rules said not to use. Hubby instead of husband, nuptials instead of marriage. The man is infuriating.
Infuriatingly wonderful. I love his wordplay and wit almost as much as his abs. Maybe more. Together, they’re a deadly package.