My So Called Life (Love Not Included Series Book 3) (17 page)

Okay, totally in love.

I’m sighing into the paint boxes as I count. I have no idea how this is going to work. Cornelius is expecting me to return to work any day now, and here I am, playing teacher of the year like it’s my regular day job. I have all my things in a penthouse that I plan on never stepping foot in again, but I
do
have footing back in San Francisco. My job for one. Friends, a life.

Ian’s going to ask me again soon. I know it. How long do I plan on staying?
Do I plan on staying?
In a perfect world, I want to stay and play house with Ian and Pippa till the end of time. But perfect worlds are as real as the tooth fairy, and I need to grow up and start making some big-girl decisions.

I finish my list and head out to check on the progress of the kids. Greg is standing by my desk with his artwork in hand. “Are you finished already?” I ask, dumping my pad on the desk.

“For reals, Ms. C. This tree thing was easy. You need to bump up the difficulty level tomorrow.”

“We’ll see.” At that, I smile, take his picture from his hands and examine his work. Understanding spreads across my face. “Ah, I see you’re a right brainer.”

Greg looks totally confused. “Say what? I have both sides of my brain, Ms. C.”

I laugh. “What I mean is you’re a right-side thinker. The right side of the brain is supposedly tied to artistic creativity.”

Yep, still lost.

I turn his picture around so he can take a better look at his own work. “I asked you to draw a tree. What did you draw?”

He’s staring at me, then moves to study his drawing. “Well, for the tree trunk I drew myself. The branches are my long hands, and the leaves are basketball hoops. Hanging from the hoops are balls.” He stops and looks at me, determining if he gave the right answer or not.

I smile proudly. “Exactly. I asked you to draw a tree. What you did was draw an abstract. You went beyond the physical realm of the object in question. Broke away from the traditional representation of the subject. The colors and objects you used are nothing that would symbolize a literal tree. You’ve created an emotional representation instead. I don’t see any bark colors you’d find in nature, but you used reds which symbolize liveliness. I assume the added basketball stuff is because that’s an inner passion branching out?” I stop to wink at him.

I see his face light up. He gets it now. “Well, yeah, I mean, I totally want to go to college and play ball. But I know that won’t happen.”

“And why do you think that?” I challenge him.

“You know, Ms. C, my rents ain’t got the money to send me to college.”

“Who says a lot of money is the only way to go to college? What about a scholarship? What if you submitted essays or your drawings? You’re one of the best students I have. And from what I hear, you play some mean ball.” Throwing some of the kid lingo always does the trick.

At that, I see his smirk. “I mean, I’m all right.”

We both laugh. He’s an extraordinary kid. Ian’s told me countless times that when Greg walks out of this place and into a college, it will be the Program’s proudest accomplishment.

The buzzing of my phone interrupts our college debate. Thinking it could be the lawyer’s office with news, I decide to take it. I stare at my screen, seeing a number with a local area code instead. “Hold that thought.” I hold up my finger at him, smiling.

“Hello?” I answer.

“Is this Christina Daniels?” a woman’s voice asks.

“Yes, may I ask who this is?”

“This is Trudy Davenport. I’m Pippa’s teacher here at Little Critters Daycare—”

“Oh, my God, has something happened?” I cut her off, panic in my voice. “Is she sick? Hurt?”

“No. No. Pippa is physically fine. I’m sorry to scare you. But we feel it might be best if you come for her. She’s having an episode again today.”

“I’m not sure what you mean by
episode,
Ms. Davenport.”

“Yes, of course. Pippa’s been having some nightmares during nap time. When she wakes up, she is very disoriented and screams for her mommy and daddy. We do our best to calm her down, but today, we’re just not sure what else to do. She won’t let anyone near her. She’s out of control and it’s disturbing the other children.”

What the . . .”
Wait a minute. She’s had nightmares before, like this isn’t the first time?” I ask, bringing out my claws. Before the teacher has time to respond I go off again. “And why is this the first time I’m hearing of this?” Yep, stand-in mama bear on the prowl.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Daniels. We just assumed it was due to the traumatic situation. But unfortunately, we are at a loss today.”

“I bet you are,
Ms.
Davenport. I’ll be right there.” I hang up on Ms. Daven-
gonna-get-punched
and slam my phone on the table. I turn back to an inquisitive-looking Greg.

“Everything cool, Ms. C?”

The hell it’s not.
“Everything is not cool, Greg. Some people just don’t know how to do their jobs. I’m sorry but I have to go take care of a personal matter. Can I trust you to keep an eye out for the other kids in class the remainder of the hour?”

He smiles wide. “Yeah sure, Ms. C. I got yo back.”

I love my new mini gang.

“Thanks.” I pat him on his shoulder. I don’t know what else to say. I grab my bag and rush out of the room and down the hall to Ian’s office. I only make it two doors and out comes RBF from her desk. Before she even has the chance to badger me, I warn. “Not now, Amber. I don’t have time.”

“Listen, Ian is really busy, and I’m about to go in there for a meeting, so if you need anything you can just let me know and I’ll relay the message.”

Yeah, relay that and herpes.
“Gee, how nice of you, but I’ll pass. Why don’t you just go back into your office and continue stuffing your bra with Post-its, cool?” At that, I make it past her and her gaping ugly mouth.

I run into Ian’s office just as he’s slamming his phone on the desk.

“Let’s go,” he says, not so friendly.

“Where?”

“To get Pippa.”

“You know?” I ask, surprised.

“Yeah, the school just called me. I’m the name after yours. Apparently, the teacher who called was a bit nervous of just you coming so she preferred a friendly face to mediate the situation.”

“That—”

“Bitch,” Ian says, finishing my sentence. “I know. No one talks about my girl like that.” He winks at me, then grabs my hand and we race out of the building.

We make it to the school in no time flat. We head into the front office where we can hear poor Pippa wailing.

“Where is my niece?” I storm into the office. As soon as Pippa sees me, she rips free of the woman who’s got a grip on her arm and runs right into my waiting hug.

“Oh, baby, it’s okay,” I coo, trying to calm down. She cries heavily into my chest, soaking right through my cotton shirt. I couldn’t care less. I pat her hair back to soothe her as best I can. I pick her up, wrap her little legs around my waist for closer comfort, and rock her back and forth while I allow Ian to take over.

“What in God’s name happened?” Ian barks at a woman I assume is the one and only Ms. Davenport.

“Ian, listen, we had a bad day, that’s all,” she nervously explains. “We couldn’t get her to listen to reason this time.”

“A bad day? So this has been consistent?” he demands. “And how come we weren’t told about this?”

She looks from Ian to me, confused, probably at the ‘we’ part. Oh, yeah, in the last twenty-four hours I guess we have become a
we.

“Ian, please calm down. We didn’t think it was anything to be worried about. This is a natural reaction for a child who has experienced a traumatic event.”

Ian looks like he is growing larger with rage, the more the woman tries to explain. “So you’re trying to tell me that this child has been having these nightmares for days? More than a week? And no one has informed her guardian or me?”

God, Ian is so hot when he’s mad.

I decide to let him finish setting the teacher straight, and I step outside so Pippa can get some fresh air. As soon as I make it to the front steps of the school, I feel her starting to calm. I pull away, trying to get a good look at her face, but her poor eyes are puffy from crying and her cheeks are flushed from being so upset.

“Hey, Pip, it’s okay. We’re here. We’re going home, and we can hide in your room the rest of the day and put our dresses on and fight all the bad stuff away together, okay?” I explain this into her hair, hoping, praying she calms. I sense her starting to breathe slower, her ears perking up at the word
dresses,
so I go on. “I think this calls for some princess power and cookie baking.”

Bingo.
I feel her tight grip on my shirt release a tad, and her face lifts from the crook of my neck. We make eye contact, and as much as I fight not to cry at her sad face, I smile instead. “I really, really,
really
need another princess to help me make cookies. Are you up for it?” I ask her.

I watch the debate in her eyes.

“Can we put spwinkles and candy, and peanut butter and cereal in them?”

Gag.
Kids. Still working on their taste buds. “Yes, baby girl, we can put all that good stuff in the magical princess cookies.”

I watch a small smile lift on her face.

“And guess what? I bet . . .” I lean in, to whisper closer to her face. “I bet Ian will let us dress him up and put princess makeup on him, too.”

I seem to be mastering this maternal kid thing, because within minutes of grabbing up this little peach, she’s squealing in my arms. “Yay! I want to dress up Eeen.”

“What’s that?”

Oh, shit.
I turn with Pippa in my arms to a waiting and curious Ian.

“Oh, nothing.” I smile and squeeze Pippa in my arms. “I think Pip is feeling better, and we have a very busy night ahead of us.”

Ian looks at me and smiles, and then takes in Pippa’s one-eighty mood swing. “You okay, princess?” He brushes her hair out of her face.

“Eeen, guess what! We get to make cookies and dress you up as a pwincess when we get home!” She’s about to fall out of my arms, she’s so animated and excited over our plans.

Ian, on the other hand, is giving me the look of
you’re going to get it,
and not in a good spanking sort of way. Either way, I’ll take it. I do miss my naughty side.

I
JUST EXCUSED MYSELF
from Pippa’s bedroom to run into the living room because I’m laughing so hard I may pee myself.

The current situation is this: Pippa and I look glorious because we have our princess makeup all done with crowns on. But Ian looks
ah-mazing
because he is wearing purple eye shadow and lipstick, with princess clip-on earrings and a pretty hot pink boa. He looks great. And I mean hilarious. He smiles patiently back at Pippa every time she suggests more makeup or jewelry, and agrees, while I catch the look of ‘get ready to run’ jabbed my way.
Hey, he should be thanking me for saving the day.

Once we all calm down, we need to address the whole nightmare factor, because that’s a serious thing, but right now, I agree it’s best to let Pippa be Pippa. And that is to be a kid.

“All done!” sounds from the bedroom and Pippa comes barreling out of her room toward the kitchen. “Come on, Kissy! It’s time to make cookies!”

I get the hint and pull myself off the floor. I make it to a standing position and see Ian blocking the kitchen entrance.

Uh oh.

Don’t do it. Don’t do it.

Fail. I fall over laughing, holding my stomach so I don’t break a rib from laughing so hard.

“Something funny over there, Chrissy?”

“Oh no. Nothing. Just . . . just . . .” I can’t even finish my sentence. I collapse in a fit of unattractive snorts. If the tears and boogers on my face aren’t any indication, then I’ll spell it out—this shit is funny.

“Cookies!” we both hear an impatient Pippa scream from the kitchen, allowing me to straighten and get to the issue at hand.

I walk to the kitchen doorway, daring Ian to try something. He stares me down for seconds, and then drops his hand, allowing me through.

“All right! So cookies it is,” I exclaim, swishing my palms together. “Let’s get the ingredients, shall we?”

“Hey, princess,” Ian says, “why don’t you go get your stepstool from your room so you can help at the counter, okay?”

“Oh, yay!” she squeals and takes off.

I have about one millisecond before Ian pushes me into the pantry and shuts the door.

I have less than that to suck in air before he slams his lipstick-coated lips to mine. God, he is so sexy. And just when I thought I wasn’t into chicks. Kissing the lipstick right off him is so hot we could probably bake the cookies right off the sexual heat we’re generating.

“God, you’re gonna owe me for this,” he mumbles between nips and licks.

I’ll give him anything he wants as long as he doesn’t stop kissing me.

“Name your price, princess,” I say, trying not to laugh into his mouth.

He pushes me more into the pantry, rattling the shelf. I think a box of mac and cheese bounces off my head, but I couldn’t care less. I feel his erection pushing into my lucky spot and I’m hoping we have enough time to do some serious dry humping in the pantry.