Sitting at my desk, I hold in my frustration. This meeting is not how I wanted to end my workday. I look across at the angry brown eyes of one very upset father. Mr. Hill leans forward, just as irritated at the wait.
His son, Tommy, sits by his side, the black eye he earned in class today is almost swollen shut.
Zayden Knight sits on the opposite side of the room waiting quietly for his mother to arrive. His dark, overgrown hair hangs over his forehead, covering one eye. Zayden is the last person I’d expect to deliver the punch. If I hadn’t had seen him with my own eyes, I wouldn’t have believed it.
I requested both parents meet me at three; it’s now quarter past the hour. The classroom clock ticks over, another minute that she’s late. Mr. Hill clears his throat and I look up, about to apologize again for the delay, when the door pushes open.
My eyes do a quick sweep of the tall man as he walks forward, but the sound of his motorcycle boots squeaking on the vinyl floor draws my attention. The fact that a man just walked into my classroom unannounced doesn’t register to me; instead, the leather riding boots hold me captive, sending me back to the night that I don’t ever want to relive. I force my eyes up, the leather of his cut pushing me deeper into the memory, and for a split second, I think he’s someone else.
Anger slowly creeps its way up my spine. My eyes frantically sweep his chest; the patch sewn on the left side of his vest comes into view reading Knights Rebels MC. Exhaling a breath I didn’t know I was holding, I will my erratic heart to calm. It’s not them.
Everyone in Rushford knows who the Knights Rebels are. Years ago, our small town feared them; known to run on the wrong side of the law, people kept their distance. The Rebels ran this town the way they saw fit. Guns, drugs and women, they went above and beyond the law. I’m not sure what happened, but a few years back, they started cleaning their act up and they now hold the respect of most of the town. Charity runs keep them active in the community; their crazy parties keep them popular with the women, but most importantly, keeping the drugs out of town earns them that respect.
I keep my distance. Associating with them is something I’ve never done, even if they have cleaned up their act. After what happened with Zane, my asshole ex, I avoid people like them. I know all too well what they’re capable of, the reminder branded on my skin.
Pulling my thoughts from the past, I look up at the man who just barged into my classroom.
“Hello, can I help you?” I address him, standing from my chair and walking around the front of the desk. He ignores me and goes straight to where Zayden sits.
“Hey, buddy, how you doin’?” he squats down to Zayden’s level.
“Hey, Dad.” Zayden carefully looks up, a glum expression on his face. He lowers his head, and I wonder how much trouble he will find himself in tonight.
I had no idea Zayden’s dad was a part of the MC. The name Knight clicks in my head and it all falls into place. Shit, he’s not just part of the MC. His family is the MC.
The man eventually looks up at me, finally giving me his attention. His watchful gaze follows the length of me before he stands to full height. His dark hair is a sexy mess, as if he just ran his hand through it. The five o’clock shadow over his tense jaw shows signs of graying; not in an old man kind of way, but that of a sexy, hot, older guy. His piercing green eyes, the color of jade, make me look twice.
Smiling at me, the man takes a large step toward me, his presence overpowering at the sheer height of him. I falter, a little shaky on my heels and look up at him. I feel short on the best of days, wearing heels to keep my head above most people’s chins, but standing in front of him with his at least six-foot frame towering over me, I feel like a small child again. Extending my hand toward him, he takes it in his as I greet him. “Hello, I’m Miss Turner, Zayden’s teacher. I was expecting Mrs. Knight,” I rush out like a fumbling schoolgirl. Oh, my God, kill me now.
He stares down at me, his green eyes never leaving mine nor saying anything; his large calloused hand still firmly grips mine.
“Yeah, sorry about that,” he finally responds, breaking our weird moment. “Z’s mom only just called me about the meeting; she's been held up.” He clears his throat, like it’s a lie, but continues, “I came when I got the call.”
He finally releases his awkward hold on me and takes a step back. With the loss of his grip, I have to move my hand to the front of my desk to support my unease. For some reason, other than stupidity, I have no idea what he said so I just nod my head. He grins, noticing my reaction, and I smile back, lost in his.
Jesus, Kadence, get it together, you’ve met good-looking men before.
I take a deep breath, shaking off the stupid look I’m sure I’m wearing. I’m surprised and appalled by my attraction. I’ve never reacted to someone like this before.