Teacher I Want To Date Page 3
Shit. I hadn’t even realized I was still staring at Sonia’s stomach.
“It’s only one thirty. It’s called fashionably late.”
More like, I hadn’t been able to sleep since the Janice fiasco. She’d texted to apologize, and I’d chosen not to answer. Maybe it was rude, but we needed to end the cycle.
“Janice won’t stop calling me.”
The table audibly sighed. With relief. Even Mary.
I laughed because it was comical that I’d been with a girl for six whole years, and it was so obvious my family disliked her.
As I took in the scene—Charles and Becky, Brad so in love with Sonia—a pang of jealousy filled me. If Janice were here, everyone would be wishing she weren’t. Not only did I not want to be with her, but also my family didn’t want me to be with her, which only solidified the fact that Janice was not the girl for me.
“What was it this time? Did she lay on the tears or seduce you?” Brad chuckled, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he was spot-on.
Sonia slapped him again. But he was prepared though, catching her hand and kissing the top.
“Brad!” She wiped her hand with a smidgen of pasta sauce against her white linen napkin.
Mary peered up at Becky. “What’s seduce?”
Charles threw me a look, and I kept silent, not confirming Brad’s assumption. I stuffed pasta in my mouth instead.
“You didn’t fall for it again this time, did you?” Brad asked. His fork held a piece of chicken midair. “Because we all know there were tears.”
Everyone’s attention swung my way, and I swallowed. He’d said this time. Because he’d known about it last time and the time before that. Funny how I could dish out advice, but I never managed to take it. They’d advised me to change my number. Had I? No. I wanted to move on but not be cruel.
“Well, did you?” Brad repeated.
I shook my head and sliced a piece of chicken.
“Really?” He raised an eyebrow.
“I didn’t, okay? I didn’t see her.” My voice was soft, defeated, and utterly exhausted about this never-ending Janice saga.
“What you need to do is get out there. Go speed-dating or something,” Sonia said, smiling.
“Speed-dating would mean Mason would actually have to socialize, talk to people. He’d have five minutes to impress them,” Brad scoffed. “Yeah, not your strong suit, sorry. I guess you can talk about the latest stock you bought.”
Sonia slapped him again.
“What’s speed-dating?” Mary asked.
“Let’s chat after lunch.” Charles tipped his chin toward Mary. “Big ears.”
“Hey!” Mary grabbed her earlobes and tugged. “I do not have big ears.”
“You have cute ears,” Brad said like the gushy uncle that he was.
“Hey, guys!”
Our attention was diverted to Sarah, who walked into the kitchen, not looking like her normal self. Usually in Converse and overalls, she wore more fitted clothes today.
I straightened and blinked. Is she wearing makeup? When had Sarah ever worn makeup?
My face scrunched, and I leaned in closer. “Are you wearing lipstick?” I double-blinked and turned toward Charles. “Can she do that?”
“Yeah. She’s a teenager now.”
So? She’s still a damn baby in my eyes.
Sarah grabbed a plate and sat down next to me because that was her normal spot. She was wearing skinny jeans and a sleeveless black top with some teenage band I didn’t recognize on the front. It was sixty outside, not ninety.
“Where are you going?” I tried to keep my tone even, noting her dangling earrings. My shoulders tightened.
“Out with friends.”
“Macy and Caroline?” I pressed.
Sarah twirled pasta around her fork. “Yep, they’ll be there.”
Was it me, or did her voice soften at the end, as though she wasn’t going to elaborate further?
“Who else is going with you guys?” I pushed around the pasta on my plate and shoved it in my mouth like it was a chore, my appetite now long gone.
“And Liam,” Mary teased.
“Mary, you’re so annoying,” Sarah shot back.
Liam?
Brad piped in, “Okay, stalker-slash-wannabe-Sarah’s-dad, there will be boys there. Chris, Gerard, and Liam.”
He leaned back on his chair, this smug look on his face. “Charles already asked her, and Sarah gave us the details earlier, so calm your panties.”
I looked around at the table, their eyes watching for my reaction.
Keep it cool. Keep it cool. If their dad is cool with it, shouldn’t I be too?
I frowned. Coolness all gone. “No one mentioned this to me. Have we even met these guys?” I turned toward Charles. “Are you letting her go?”
Seriously, she was thirteen. Did he forget what it was like to be a hormonal thirteen-year-old boy, walking around with a hard-on all the time?
Charles reeled back, looking offended. Why? ’Cause I was questioning his judgment, which was poor on his part.
“She’s going. I’m dropping her off later. Now, can we all eat?” Charles grunted, done with the conversation.
“I don’t know about this.” My gaze traveled up and down the table, but no one seemed to be on my side here.
When were they ever?
One may think that I was overly protective, and maybe I was. But we’d helped raise these girls when their mother died. I still remembered the time that Sarah fell off of her bike on my watch and needed stitches. I’d held her down as the nurse stitched up her eyebrow, listening to her heightened cries and feeling as though the needle was piercing my own skin.
I shoved food in my mouth, chewing and watching Sarah eat beside me. Her eyes were outlined with some sort of black liner, and she had blush on. Blush! She was a baby, wearing blush.
“Are you sure they won’t need a chaperone?” I asked, my tone grumpy.
“Dad!” Sarah complained. “I don’t need a chaperone.”
“Mason, eat your food,” Charles deadpanned.
I shook my head, not happy about this at all. Something must’ve been in the water because my family was not thinking.
“Well, have fun,” I offered begrudgingly. “What time are you going?”
“After lunch.” She smiled.
A sweet smile. A smile that every teenage boy would fall over and have nasty dreams about.
Internally, I groaned. I was not letting this go, but I smiled back. Because I had plans of my own.
* * *
It was a triple date. Because there was Macy and Caroline and my Sarah. And there was Larry, Moe, and Curly.
Yes, I’d followed Charles. Yes, I was a stalker-slash-wannabe-Sarah’s-dad. Why? ’Cause I loved her. I had watched this girl grow up, lose her mom, go through every change from infancy to grade school to now. She’d even become my confidant in all things—even Janice things.
So, would I protect her until my dying breath? Hell yeah. And from hormonal teenage boys too.
I walked at a slow pace, to the right of them. There was no way I could be seen. I was wearing a Cubs baseball cap. Ask me if I’d ever been seen wearing a baseball cap. Ask me if I’d ever been to a Cubs game. Did I look like Brad?
When they entered the pizza joint at the end of the indoor mall—Jack’s Pizza Place—I groaned. Now what? There was no way I could get a table without being seen. Maybe I should just call it quits. Yeah. No way in hell.
I walked right by the tinted glass window. I could see the taller guy lean into Sarah and whisper something in her ear. Sarah let out a peal of laughter and covered her mouth. She held her stomach, and when her eyes met Mr. Tall Guy, the fit of laughing began again.
I swore I’d have premature gray before this was all over.
My whole body tensed as they followed the hostess all the way inside until they disappeared around the corner.
I removed my hat and scratched my head.
No, not what. How?
How could I get in there without being seen?
I swallowed hard. I’d just have to risk it. There was no other way.
I placed my hat back on my head, tipped it low, and entered Jack’s Pizza Place. The scent of spices and cheese and tomatoes made my stomach grumble, but I ignored it and concentrated on making it to a table without being seen. We’d just eaten two hours ago. How is she eating again?
“Dining in, sir?”
I jumped when the teenage girl with the pixie cut approached me from behind.
I hadn’t seen her because I was too busy trying to peek around the corner. She held a menu in her hands, giving me a quizzical look.
“Yeah.” I lowered my chin to my chest.
“Sorry? Are you dining in?” she repeated.
I cleared my throat and coughed. “Yeah, dining in.”
“So, for one?”
Did she see anyone else by me? Shit.
I threw her a look, but a not-so-nice one. “Yes, one.”
I peeked up to see if I could spot Sarah. I followed the waitress past a chalkboard with the pizza specials written in all colors of chalk. This restaurant was one big square. There was no way I could miss her. I noticed her in the far corner. But then the hostess started beelining straight to my niece.
Sweat formed at my brow, and I tried to catch the hostess. “Excuse me, miss?”
I discreetly tried to get her attention, but she was walking too fast in front of me. Short little thing must have been on crack or something.
The hostess placed my menu on the table right by Sarah. Thankfully, my niece was facing the opposite direction.
“Here you go,” the hostess said politely.
But I walked straight past her. “Restroom,” I coughed out.
“I like that shirt,” Tall Boy said to my niece.
I cringed. I knew what he was really thinking. He liked that shirt but would rather have it off.
I circled the restaurant and went to the front, right by the hostess. She probably was thinking that was the fastest restroom break known to man.
“Hey. I’m going to take the table right there.” I pointed to the table in the opposite corner of the room but where Sarah was in plain sight. It was behind another row of booths, so there was no way she’d see me.
The hostess narrowed her eyes and peered behind me at the table she’d placed my menu. “Okay, sure. No problem. Here’s another menu.”
My shoulders eased up when I finally sat down.
I wasn’t very good at this detective thing. The top of my head and back of my neck were sweating profusely. I badly wanted to take off this hat but didn’t want to risk getting caught. Why did people wear baseball caps? It reminded me of wearing a jockstrap, where your balls got all sweaty. You wore a strap to play sports because you had to, because you didn’t want to get hurt. People wore baseball caps because they wanted to, which made no damn sense to me. I guessed maybe to block the sun, but then why did people wear baseball caps indoors?
“Hi, I’m Daphne.” The waitress had her hair in a long braid. She held a little notebook in her hand and smacked on her gum like it was the in thing to do. “Did you decide on a pizza?”
“Sure. Cheese.” ’Cause I knew I wasn’t going to eat and at least I could bring the pizza back to Mary. There were seventeen grams of carbs in a personal-sized pizza, and I’d reached my carb allowance earlier in the day.
I watched Sarah’s friends for thirty minutes. Whatever Tall Guy’s name was, I didn’t care because I didn’t like him. He was into my niece. There was no doubt about it. It was in the way he sat opposite her, and when she talked to Macy or Caroline, he’d simply stare and smile and practically drool.
Stare all you want, Tall Boy. ’Cause that’s all you’re ever going to do.
Twenty minutes later, Sarah scooted out of her booth. So did Macy and Caroline.
But hell, so did Tall Guy and the other two guys with them.
So, I stood too.
Good detectives didn’t let their suspects out of sight.
Where are they heading?
My eyes followed them to the corner where it looked like there was another room. From where I sat, I could see pinball machines and a Pac-Man machine.
Game room. Okay, that was public enough.
When they entered the room, I adjusted my cap and walked to the corner, where I could spy through the glass window. Call me the new Spy Guy.
I rested against the doorframe and peered in. There were a slew of teenagers and little kids in there. I’d never been here before, so I hadn’t known a game room in a pizza joint was even a thing.
Macy, Sarah, and Tall Guy were in the far corner. Sarah was playing Pac-Man, and she jumped every time she passed a level. She killed it at this game. I should know. I was the one who had taught her how to play.
I froze when Tall Guy leaned in closer. His hip rested on the game, and whatever he’d said was making Sarah laugh. Again.
My fists clenched at my sides, and every muscle in my body tightened.
What the hell was he saying that was so damn hilarious that he could make the girl who hardly laughed at comedy shows laugh?
How the hell can she play when you’re basically in front of the screen, idiot?
Then, his hand grazed her hip. And shit, that was where Spy Guy’s Spidey senses kicked in.
I’m telling your dad, I practically singsonged in my head. It almost could be followed up by, Na-na-na-na boo-boo.
Immature, I knew, but this was what I was saying. No one, not even my family, ever listened to what I was saying.
I took out my phone and snapped a picture. Yes, I was going to tell Daddy because this shit needed to stop.
“What are you doing?” A sharp voice cut through the air.
And I turned around and was shocked at the beautiful, short brunette in front of me.
It didn’t take more than a nanosecond to see how this looked. I was tongue-tied, and my phone was out, pointed at the kids. This did not look good.
Little Miss Beautiful was so not happy to see me.
Me, on the other hand … I couldn’t stop staring at her.
Chapter 4
Gabby
You only heard about these creeps on the news, or when you read about their latest victims. I’d never in my life seen one live in action. It was as if tiny spiders crawled over every inch of my body. And I’d never wanted to punch anyone in my life as badly as I did this man in front of me. Not even my ex-boyfriend.
“What are you doing?” I shouted. Because, hell yeah, everyone in this restaurant should hear what I was about to say.
I’d been watching this guy for the last forty-five minutes, staring at my students from across the room. When he’d started following them, I wasn’t having it.
He had his phone out and had taken a picture of my students. I wouldn’t let this get any further than that.
My nostrils flared, and my whole body flamed with fury. “I want to know why you are taking pictures of children.”
His eyes flickered to our surroundings and to the kids playing in the room. “It’s not what you think.” His brown eyes bulged, and he shook his head so hard that I was afraid he’d dislocate something.
Well-fitted jeans. A Cubs T-shirt that clung to his chest, showcasing his arms. And a Cubs hat. He looked alarmingly normal, good-looking even. But so had Ted Bundy and look at how many women he’d killed.
I popped out a hip. “It’s exactly what I think.”
Everyone’s attention was on us. The huge family at the far end of the room, the older couple in the corner, the group of teenagers just inside the game room.
“Give me your phone.” I held my hand out as my whole body tensed.
“I will not.” He jerked back, looking at me like I was the crazy one.
Gah! I wanted to punch his face and use my kickboxing skills so damn bad.
“Delete that pic
ture.” My voice increased with mounting rage as I stared him down.
He grabbed my arm and leaned in, speaking in a low tone, “Lower your voice, and I’ll explain.”
I shrugged him off and reeled back. “Get your filthy hands off me.”
This had gone far enough. Even if he deleted the picture, these type of men were repeat offenders. He needed help or jail time.
“I’m calling the cops.”
“What? No!” He panicked, gripping my elbow with more force this time.
“Get off me, jerkface! Now, I’m going to charge you with battery.” My eyes blazed fire, and it took all my composure to stay put and not go postal. I reached for my phone in my purse and dialed.
“Nine-one-one,” the female operator answered.
“I’d like to report a crime,” I said shakily, my rage getting to me.
Crazy Guy’s eyes went wide. “Woman, what are you doing?”
“Yes, I’m at Jack’s Pizza Place at the mall. I witnessed this older male stalk these children, walk in, and follow them to a table where he could spy. He watched them for forty-five minutes before he followed them to the game room where he took a picture of the kids.”
Crazy Guy flinched as if my words had hurt him.
“Was there physical harm done to the children?” the operator asked.
I scrunched my face, and my voice lowered into the receiver. “Uh, no. But he took their picture.”
“Taking pictures is not against the law, ma’am. Are they your children?”
“No,” I spat out. This operator grated on my nerves. “They’re not. I’m their teacher, and for your information, I think you’re wrong.”
Crazy Guy clasped his hand over his head. “You’re their teacher.”
I ignored him. “Well, I want to press charges for assault then.”
“Assault?” He threw up both hands. “How the hell did I assault you?”
“You grabbed me despite my protests—twice.” I lifted my nose and shot him a look. “Assault.”
I repeated the name of the mall and pizza joint and hung up the phone.
“You’re crazy!” he yelled, but worry settled heavy in his eyes.
“Me?” My laughter had an evil edge.