Letting Go (2 page)

Relieved, she had the right child in mind, she nodded. “Go inside the office and tell Ms. Brown you need to call your mom.”

“Thank you.” The child strolled toward the office without a backward glance.

“Excuse me,” she said to Grant, and followed to make sure Ms. Brown understood she’d sent the student into the office. Once Ginger picked up the phone, Kelly returned to Grant’s side. “Follow me. I’ll unlock the auditorium for you in a second. Principal Howard will be here soon, he had a meeting downtown.” She volunteered the information as they walked down the deserted halls.

“Nice artwork.”

She glanced at the student drawings covering the wall outside the art classroom. “Yes. Lots of talent walks these halls.” She continued without stopping until they reached a set of steel double doors.

“Dr. Riley.” The way her name rolled off his tongue made her reconsider her opinion of him. Perhaps she’d been hasty dismissing the man. She refused to turn; instead she searched for the right key to open the entrance.

“Kelly?”

She slid the key into the lock and opened the door. A sliver of light lit the stage, otherwise the room was dark. Rather than step inside, she turned to face him. The heat from his closeness buffeted her, setting off warning bells. Next, her libido overrode her mind, going haywire and made demands she couldn’t fulfill. Not now anyway. She cleared her throat.

“Mr. Whittaker, I heard and accepted your apology. Can you step back? I need to get the janitor to turn on the lights.”

He placed his large hand on her arm. Warmth spread through the contact point and in both directions. Goose-bumps exploded on her flesh, interrupting her thoughts and sending tingles of awareness through her body.

“One second, let me explain. I’m not stupid, sometimes I say the wrong things, but I’m quite intelligent –”

“You’re touching me.” Her voice came out soft, needy with a hint of confusion, something she didn’t quite understand.

He looked at his hand as if it had traveled without his permission, and then returned his gaze. “Yeah, you feel nice. Does it bother you?”

His bald answer surprised her. The man had no sense of private space. “It’s not appropriate. I’m –” She searched for the right words that wouldn’t make her sound inexperienced or prudish. Many would say those two words described her with accuracy, but she wanted him to think otherwise.

“You’re at work, we just met, I understand.” He removed his hand, and like an idiot, she wanted him to replace it.

“Point is, I’m the new kid on the block, politically speaking. But I think I can help a lot of people, especially in this district. But talking to kids…I’m not sure I can relate. My speech coach says I need to talk on a level a sixth to eighth grader can understand. You’re a straight shooter, I like that. Can you…after I speak today, will you give me an honest critique?”

She blinked twice at the unexpected question. What did he mean? Her body hummed with sexual energy for the first time in years and he wanted her to critique his speech? Was he serious? “Take off the sunglasses.”

He removed them, but didn’t step back. Now that he'd removed the glasses, she stared into his rich green eyes, gathering courage. “Now ask me that again.”

Meeting her gaze, he ran the tip of his tongue across his lip. “I’d like to get together with you after the assembly so you can critique my speech.”

This time the question sounded less like a request. It held more heat and a blatant suggestion, unlike the first. She crossed her arms over her chest. “What are you really asking me, Mr. Whittaker?” She’d been out of the dating game for years pursuing her education, but she still recognized when someone hit on her.

His gaze flickered across her face. “I’d like to take you out for dinner so you can tell me what you think of my speech today. Like I said, I need to connect with voting adults on an eighth grade level.”

“I can tell you that after the assembly with a thumb up or down.”

He laughed and placed his hand over his chest. “Yes, you could, but I hope you’ll give me more insight than that. Plus, I’d like to see you again, away from all this. I’d like a chance to pick your brain. It’s rare to meet a woman who put me in my place with such finesse within five minutes of meeting and I’m not running out the door.” His gaze swept downward, touching her like a physical caress. They both understood he wanted more than food if she agreed.

Intrigued, she ignored the danger signs flashing across the green light his invitation invoked. Men like Grant Whittaker didn’t cross her path, ever. She tended to attract short, slender, geeky types like her ex-husband, Arnold. Her body hadn’t reacted to anyone like this in too many years to count. He wasn’t an academic, chances were they had nothing in common, and yet she knew with certainty they’d have that dinner.

The janitor walked around the corner before she could answer. “I wondered why that door blinked open on the security panel. You need me to turn on the lights, Dr. Riley?”

“Yes, thanks Jasper. Mr. Whittaker is our guest speaker for the eighth grade assembly next period. He needs a place to practice.” She turned to Grant. “You said someone else would be speaking with you?” Her tone precise and professional.

“Yes, Kip Stevens will be on stage with me. Not to speak, but to introduce me. We’re both being groomed at the same time.” They watched the janitor walk off before Grant finished his explanation.

“I’ll make sure he knows how to find you.” She turned to leave before she said something she shouldn’t.

“Here’s my card. I’m more interested in you knowing how to find me.” He held a white card with bold black print between his fingers.

She smiled, as a closing line that one ranked high. “You want me to call you?”

“Yes.” The lights flickered on and they took a step into the auditorium. The janitor waved and left through a side door. Grant pulled the door closed behind them. The sound echoed around the room.

Her face warmed. She moved ahead so he couldn’t see his effect on her. On stage, she walked to the podium and made a note to make sure the janitor brought a microphone from the AV department.

“Will you?” he asked, his voice low and just behind her ear, sending a cascade of tingles through her. She didn’t understand his effect on her. They’d just met. Good looking? Yes. Her type? No. So why did his sexy, arrogant, attitude set her body aflame and make her think of cool sheets and slapping thighs? Thoughts along those lines led to trouble. She was a novelty for him, that had to be it. Grant Whittaker didn’t take women like her seriously and she’d be damned if she’d be his plaything.

“Is this how you get dates?” She glanced over her shoulder, keeping her tone light and curious to throw him off center.

“No. But I’d like to go out with you, so I’m willing to work harder.” The seriousness in his voice and the absence of his smile spoke to her.

She straightened, determined to match his level of sincerity. His admission cut through her meager defense and placed the ball in her court. “If you want me to call you, I’ll call.” There, she put herself out there, made a commitment of sorts. But she wasn’t ready to face him, not yet.

“Tonight?” he pushed.

“Yes, tonight after eight, is that okay?”

He nodded and stood silent behind her. His breath danced along her neck. Had he stepped closer? Her heartbeat increased. Any minute his lips would touch the top of her shoulder. Her lids dropped half-mast, her lips parted. He stepped closer, his shirt brushed against her back.

Her cell beeped, she jumped. She pulled the phone from her pocket and glanced at the Caller ID.

“I have to take this.” She looked over her shoulder as she moved away. His intense stare never wavered. He stood on stage, his hands stuffed in his pocket, watching her like an experiment gone wrong, or perhaps right.

“I understand.” He waited until she reached the exit and called out. “Dr. Riley?”

Hand on the door release, she turned. “Yes?”

“You’re going to like me.” He made it sound like a promise.

His words hung in the air. She blinked, unable to believe a player like him would try this hard to get her in bed.

“I am?” Her breath shortened as the impact of his comment slammed into her.

“Yes, you are. I’ll see you in assembly.” He pulled some cards from his pockets and turned.

She stared a few seconds longer, then left. “Trouble, I knew it,” she murmured, confused.

Chapter 2

Grant looked around the crowded auditorium, pushed his glasses up his nose, straightened his back, and strode down the center aisle to the stage. He and his buddy Kip had taken a quick walk around the school to clear their heads and were ready.

The noise level remained high. Few paid attention to his and Kip’s arrival. Not that he blamed them. At the end of a school day sitting in a large room to hear adults talk didn’t make anyone’s to do list, least of all these youngsters. But if he could hold their attention a little while it would be good. He’d taken the speech, modified it, reduced the words to their lowest denominator and yet his nerves jangled. The text he’d received from his dad didn’t help.

“Welcome, welcome, welcome,” a large male with a soft voice said, meeting them at the bottom of the stage. “Thank you so much for coming, Mr. Whittaker, Mr. Stevens.” He shook each of their hands. Grant struggled against wiping his hand against his pants to rid it of the transferred moisture.

“I’m Principal Howard. Sorry I wasn’t here to greet you when you arrived, had a meeting, I’m sure you understand.” He pulled on his lapel pin which bore his name and paused.

“Hello, good to meet you,” Grant said, taking note of the much larger jacket and loose skin. It looked like the principal had lost weight in a hurry and needed to hit the gym. Kip muttered something similar.

“Yes, thanks so much for speaking to our young minds. Much appreciated. They respect and look up to you.”

Grant withheld a chuckle and gazed around the auditorium. Various looks, ranging from boredom to sadness to sleepy to curious, were reflected on the faces in the crowd. Not once did he read respect or adoration. During his football career, he dealt with adoring fans often and recognized the signs. These kids couldn't care less about a thirty-nine-year-old former football player. He hadn’t scored earlier with Dr. Riley and may not score during the assembly.

“Glad to be of help,” Grant said, following the Principal to the top of the platform, past the wooden podium to the chairs in front of the curtain. He looked around the crowded auditorium to see if he saw her rust colored, short-sleeved dress. Disappointment settled in his chest when he couldn't locate her.

“Please have a seat here.” The Principal motioned to the chairs and then pulled some cards from his inner coat pocket. “Here are your bios, could you look at them? Make sure they’re accurate? I don’t want to make any mistakes.” The man giggled.

Grant stared at the index card and then looked at Kip, who stared at the principal with his patented, what-the-fuck-was-that-sound-you-just-made look. Men did not giggle. Not in their world.

“Take the card, Kip,” he said in a low tone to stop Kip from saying something rude. Kip had no filter and little tolerance for men who acted feminine in any way. They’d been friends since his rookie year, and spent a lot of time together. Kip’s redneck ideas had been funny when they were in their twenties, and he knew the man did not discriminate, not when it came to women anyway. He’d seen Kip with a rainbow palette of women hanging on his arm. But the man had homophobe written in large block letters across his chest.

“Yeah, yeah… thanks man,” Kip said, handing Grant the other card. The Principal spoke into a headset and left.

Grant read through his bio and placed it in his coat pocket.

“Did you hear that guy? His voice? Gay asshole working around all these kids…man that ain’t right.”

Grant’s gaze slid to Kip and then back to the crowd. He didn’t care for gays either, but running for a public office, he couldn’t make those kinds of comments. “He’s not gay, give it a rest. You think anyone without some bass in their voice is gay.”

Kip snorted, stretched his long legs, and placed his hands in his pant pockets. “You were wrong the last time at the club. You thought Niko was straight.”

Grant stiffened in remembrance and lowered his voice.
“Yeah, who the hell would guess?
Son-of-a-bitch stood six-six, just shy of three hundred pounds of muscle. He knocked suckers down on the field like a bulldozer. Never picked up any signals he liked dudes,” he said, disgusted he hadn’t known. “You didn’t either, so don’t act all smug.”