Hard To Handle (Teach Me Book 2)
H
ARD TO
H
ANDLE
Teach Me Series, Book 2
R.C. BOLDT
Hard To Handle
Copyright © 2015 by RC Boldt
ISBN-10: 0-9968938-1-4
ISBN 13: 978-0-9968938-1-7
Editor:
There For You Editing
Cover design:
Wicked By Design
Formatting:
Champagne Formats
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products references in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Visit my website at
www.rcboldtbooks.com
.
Table of Contents
D
EDICATION
Matty,
All the hot guys I write about in these books pale in comparison to the one I get to have by my side every day.
P
ROLOGUE
Laney
Eight years old
Fernandina Beach, Florida
I
TIPTOED DOWN THE HALLWAY
of the dark house, past my mother’s room, ignoring the stifled cries which were painful to hear. Tapping lightly on my brother’s door, I heard him whisper, “Come in, squirt.” I entered, closing the door quietly behind me. Crawling onto the bottom bunk, and pulling the blanket up over my body, I saw Foster’s head drop down from the top bunk above me.
“You okay, Laney?” Even upside down, I could see the lines of worry etched on my brother’s face.
Trying to be tough and not a cry baby, I pressed my lips together, attempting to hold back the rush of tears that threatened. I didn’t understand why our dad had to leave. Our mom was trying to hide her crying but me and my older brother, Foster, had heard her at night when she thought we were in bed asleep. It was obvious she was trying to be strong, since every time we helped her clean the house or put away groceries, she played Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive” over and over … and over again. Foster and I were so sick of that darn song.
“How long is she gonna be sad, Fos?”
Foster’s head disappeared for a moment, and within seconds, he’d jumped swiftly to his feet beside me. “Move over, bacon.” He nudged me over on the narrow, twin mattress. We laid there for a moment in silence.
“Tucker said his mom cried a lot when his parents got divorced last year. It’ll be okay, Laney.”
“You promise?” I could hear the trembling in my voice.
“Yep,” he answered without hesitation. “Our mom’s tough. Remember when she told that older kid, George, he’d better stop messing with you on the bus or she was gonna to tell his mom that he was the one who toilet papered the mayor’s house?”
I giggled at the memory. “How’d she even know that?”
He shrugged. “Mom’s got her ways. Just like then, she’ll be tough with this, too. You’ll see.” He spoke with such certainty–as if it was fact—that I felt like I had to believe him.
“If this is what happens, I’m never going to fall in love or get married when I get older. No way.” I shook my head vehemently.
“Nah, Laney. Don’t say that.”
“I’m serious. I don’t want anything to do with that. Because what if I do and this happens? If the guy leaves me just like dad left us? Nope. Not gonna happen,” I said confidently.
“When I’m a Navy SEAL, anyone messes with you, I’ll take care of ’em,” my brother said this with such sureness that it made me smile. Foster, although only four years older, had already made up his mind he was going to join the Navy and become a SEAL.
He yawned loudly. “I gotta get some sleep.” He pulled himself back up onto the top bunk. “Night, Laney McBrainy.”
I didn’t even make a face when he used that awful nickname. “Night, Fos. Love you.”
“You, too.”
I continued to lie there on that bottom bunk bed, lost in my thoughts, long after I heard my brother’s breathing even out as he succumbed to sleep. Thinking about my life and what I didn’t want it to be like, I decided I wasn’t ever getting married because I didn’t want to experience—or risk—the husband leaving. Like our dad had left us.
Yeah, I just needed to write that down, make a list, so I’d always remember it. That would save me from ever having to go through what our mom went through.
Because no one was going to hurt, or leave behind, Laney Kavanaugh ever again.
C
HAPTER
O
NE
Jacksonville, Florida
Present Day
“I
TAKE NO RESPONSIBILITY FOR
what happens to your face if you keep running your mouth.” Laney’s flinty glare was fixed on Zach.
“Your lips keep moving but all I hear is ‘blah, blah, blah’,” Zach imitated a higher-pitched, female voice.
“Weak, man. Weak.” Lawson shook his head at his friend’s comeback.
“Shut it,” came Zach’s quick response. “I don’t need to get crap from two ladies at once.”
Lawson threw his head back in a laugh. “Man,” he slapped his friend on the back, “I can’t wait until you two finally give in.” He paused, leaning in close to whisper to Laney, “Just in case you’re wondering, his safe word is ‘Don’t stop’—Ouch!” He rubbed his elbow from where their friend, Raine, had flicked him with her finger and thumb.
“Laws,” Laney and Zach both warned him in unison, causing them to glare at each other in return.
Before either could respond, their principal, Mr. Pratt began their faculty meeting. It was the week prior to the school year’s official start and teachers were scheduled to be in meetings and given time to prepare their classrooms throughout the week.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the first item I need to address is that the brains downtown at the Board of Education think we need more collaboration amongst our teachers.” The sarcasm was evident in Mr. Pratt’s tone.
He continued, “Those geniuses think we need more ‘cohesiveness’ and want complimentary subjects to be taught and planned with one another.” Their principal made a face. “Because, God forbid, we’re not ‘cohesive’ enough.”
This was a prime example of why Laney loved teaching for Mr. Pratt. He just got it. He understood what hell the “higher powers downtown” could wreak on the teachers. Though he hadn’t been in the classroom for years, he’d never lost touch with what his teachers needed and he always fought for them. And, in turn, he often locked horns with the Board for them.
“You’ll need to work things out with your grade level on how to best align your plans.” Mr. Pratt continued, “They want teachers of the English and writing combo to be aligned with social studies. They also want reading to align with math because of the majority of math questions on the state tests being word problems, now.”
Their principal turned to Raine, the designated fourth-, fifth-, and sixth-grade Science Lab teacher. “Raine, you keep on doing what you’re doing. Our gains on the science section of the tests are continuously increasing so they, for once, have no complaints on that.” He winked at Raine.
Laney’s best friend beamed with pride and rightly so. Her friend busted her butt to do an experiment daily—some were nothing elaborate, while others were pretty complex—to coincide with the objective she was teaching so that her students would have hands-on learning.
Just as she was turning her attention back to her principal, Laney’s gaze caught on Tate’s worried expression, eyes wide. Tate was her other best friend and coworker. But why was she worried?
Then, it hit her.
Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck.
She taught fifth grade social studies.
And Zachariah Mayson, the bane of her existence, taught fifth grade English and writing.
Which meant, ooh goody, they had to collaborate closely, work together to make their lesson plans align.
Right then, she may have thrown up a little in her mouth.
* * *
He had to work closely with Laney Kavanaugh. It was being enforced that they had to collaborate.
He felt like pumping his fist in the air. Since … well, this was a pretty big deal. Because it was Laney Kavanaugh.
Okay, so he hadn’t been the most mature or sweet to her over the years they had taught together. He couldn’t really help that. It had become kind of their thing to banter back and forth, trading insults.
But, lately, he was feeling almost … exhausted by it all. He was tired of the constant animosity between them. He wanted to be able to toss an arm around her shoulders or just get an honest to goodness genuine smile out of her like Lawson or Mac managed to do.
Instead, he got snarls and glares.
But this was going to be his chance. He had a good feeling about this.
Until he turned his head to see Laney, sitting diagonally from him at their table, appearing as if she were about to be violently ill. That good feeling got knocked down a few notches to the thought,
Eh, this might work out
.
Okay, no. That was a lie. It was more like an,
Uhhh, I have my work cut out for me.
And that maybe he should get her a wastebasket.
C
HAPTER
T
WO
“Y
OU CAN DO THIS,
L
ANEY
,” Tate attempted to bolster her confidence. “Just remind yourself that it’s for the kids.”
“Exactly,” Raine agreed. “It’s for the kids. And who knows if these guidelines will get tossed to the side next year.” Raine and Tate exchanged a look before nodding at one another.
Tate snapped her fingers as if she had just thought of something. “Like with the differentiated instruction? Remember how they told us we had to implement that, even though we’d basically been doing it all along anyway? And then, bam!, next thing we knew, that went out the window and they told us to implement something entirely different.”
Laney gave a weak smile at her friends’ attempts to cheer her up. “But you two are missing a key point in all of this.” She tilted her head to the side and squinted as if she were looking at something bright. “I have to work with Zach.” She shuddered at saying the words aloud. “I feel the need to scrub my tongue just saying his name. He’s the kind of person that makes twenty-five to life not seem so bad.”