Catching Whitney (5 page)

My eyebrows raise in surprise. “Oh. Well, that’s quite a coincidence.” I can’t seem to think of anything else to say. What a time for my brain to malfunction. I swallow and clasp my hands together in front of me.

Aidan takes a couple of steps, reaching my desk, then leans back enough to perch his perfect butt on the edge. He’s facing me with an expectant look.

“I want to hear all about Caleb, but I have to ask you something first.”

I nod. “Sure. Shoot.”

He inhales a deep breath and closes his eyes, then opens them again as he exhales. His gaze bores into mine. “What happened? Why did you sneak off?”

I sit back down. I’m not sure this is a conversation I can have without my knees giving out. “I. Uh.” I look at the door to be sure no one is within earshot before I speak softly. “Well... I guess I was a little embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed? Why? We had an amazing night. That’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

I keep my eyes on my desk, unable to look him in the face. “I’m not the Whitney from that night. Not really. I’m actually a reserved, conservative woman who plans out her future carefully.” I raise my face to look into his. “We were playing our little game, and it was fun. Then it was over and time to go back to reality. We both knew it wasn’t serious, and no commitments were expressed or expected. Honestly, I still can’t believe I went through with it.”

Aidan continues to look at me with an odd expression, and his body radiates tension. Finally, he speaks.

“True. No expectations were set. I was just surprised that I didn’t even get to say goodbye.”

I smile at him sheepishly. “Sorry. I honestly wasn’t sure you’d want to. Like I said, that was my first time... doing that. I don’t know anything about proper one-night-stand etiquette.”

He smirks. “Well, you haven’t changed that much. You’re still saying what you think.”

I release a small somewhat nervous laugh. “Yeah, that part seems to have stuck with me more.” I take a moment to drink in his handsome features. This isn’t good. Not at all. He’s staring at me in that way that makes my spine tingle. I need to change the subject fast. “So. Caleb. I didn’t know you had a son.”

“If you’d stuck around a bit longer, you might have learned that.” Okay, this isn’t really changing the subject the way I thought it would. And he seems a bit miffed, which makes no sense to me at all. I decide to get right to the point.

“Caleb is an amazing kid. Very bright. I think he’s struggling to adapt to his new environment, though.”

Aidan frowns and pushes away from the desk. “What makes you think that? He seems perfectly happy at home. When I ask him about school he tells me everything is cool.”

I sigh. “I’ve seen this a few times. New home. New school. New friends. It’s tough to adjust to so much change. Especially when you’re so young. He seems less excited about participating. I also noticed he’s keeping to himself a lot during recess.”

“Maybe he’s just getting bored.”

My back stiffens at the insinuation that my classroom is boring. He notices.

“That didn’t come out right. I mean maybe the new has worn off. It’s no longer the adventure he first thought it was. You know how kids are. Most don’t like school after a while.”

I try not to take that personally because I know he doesn’t mean it that way. He has no way knowing how much I pride myself on keeping things fresh and fun for my students.

“No. I work really hard to keep the kids interested. I think it’s something else. It’s like he’s lost his spark.”

Aidan looks me over, and I belatedly realize I used the same term he mentioned to describe our connection that evening.

“Maybe.” He pauses for a moment, then crosses his arms. “Or maybe you’ve lost yours.”

I stand, finding myself very annoyed at Aidan. “Excuse me? What is that supposed to mean?”

It’s Aidan's turn to sigh, and I, for the first time, notice he looks tired. “Nothing. I don’t know what I mean.” He rubs the bridge of his nose. “So, how do we help him?”

I put my hands in my pockets. “I think at first we just observe; encourage him to express how he feels. Watch for signs that he needs someone to listen or reassure him.”

Aidan nods but seems to be lost in thought. “Yeah.”

I see the worry on his face, and I move to place a comforting hand on his arm, but stop myself just short of reaching him. “He’ll be fine, Aidan. This is one of those things that usually takes a little time and patience while he settles in.” I smile, hoping it’s believable. I have no doubt Caleb will be fine once we help him relax and feel at home, but my smile is forced because I realize that I’ll be working with Aidan during this process. He lives here. In my town. I’ll probably see him often. If I could have looked into the future and saw that my one wild indiscretion would follow me the 100 miles it took to get home, settle in, and put his kid in my class, I would have never taken that step. This is an outcome I could never have expected the night I slept with Aidan Walsh. This year just became very complicated indeed.

I roll over and glare at the alarm clock. It’s 5:14 AM, and I’m still wide awake. I can’t clear my head of the conversation with Aidan. We’d agreed to observe, interact, and report to each other if something seemed amiss. While I’m ecstatic to actually see a parent take so much interest in his or her child’s well-being and education, I’m also a bit panicked. Of all people, why did it have to be him? And why didn’t I know he had a son? Is Caleb’s mother still in the picture somewhere? Aidan doesn’t wear a wedding band, so it seems clear he’s single - at least legally. I remember Caleb mentioning Rebecca. Is she his girlfriend? How long have they been together? Were they together when Aidan and I had sex?
Was I the other woman?

I groan and put a pillow over my face, groaning louder once the noise is muffled by the soft, fiber-filled rectangle. I know I have to stop running all these questions through my head. I can’t change anything that happened. It’s history. I have to move on. I tell myself that my reaction to Aidan’s presence in my classroom was simply just shock. I never thought I’d see him again. I’m sure it’s normal to feel flustered in this situation.
Normal? C’mon, Whitney. There is nothing normal about any of this.
And once again the voices in my head are arguing with each other. I wish they’d all shut the hell up so I could sleep.

I spend the next two hours tossing and turning with the occasional dozing in between. I must have slept at some point, though, because I remember dreaming about Aidan. He was in my classroom, doing all kinds of delicious things to me on my desk. That isn’t the kind of visual I need to carry around with me, especially at work. I give up all efforts at getting sleep and finally decide to get up and greet the day. Thankfully it’s Saturday, and I don’t have any plans for the morning, so I can take it easy. Our school has a booth at the county fair this weekend, and I had promised to help run it for a couple of hours this evening, but otherwise my day is free.

After a long hot shower, I dress in a pair of faded jeans, a light sweater, and my favorite pair of boots. I pull my hair up in a messy bun, letting a few curly, auburn strands frame my face. The humidity is thankfully disappearing as September nears October, and my natural waves are finally starting to look more like hair and less like I stuck a fork in a light socket. I apply a little makeup and survey myself in the mirror. I look comfortable but not sloppy. My signature style in a nutshell.

Grabbing my keys, I head out of the door and slide in the driver’s seat of my 1990 VW Beetle. I named my beetle Sir Bubblebutt—I get odd looks when I tell people that. Not everyone gets the reference to Sir Mix-A-Lot and having junk in the trunk, but then most people don’t get me either, so I don’t really try to explain anymore. Sir B, as I sometimes call him, is getting old, but he’s comfortable, and thanks to my mechanic who also happens to be my dad, he runs like a top. I drive Sir B to the fairgrounds and decide to have a look around, maybe grab some lunch, and possibly risk life and limb on a few of the rides before I have to take over at the school booth. With any luck, I’ll get my mind to wander somewhere other than the vicinity of Aidan.

As I enter the Midway, I soak in the familiar sights and sounds. I’ve always loved the fair. The smell of a variety of foods I should probably never eat mixed with the exorbitant costs of games that are almost impossible to win draw me in every time. And I can’t forget the rides, which any reasonable person will admit should require a living will before you buckle in.

Entering the Exhibit Hall, I stroll down the various aisles of watercolors, pencil drawings, and framed photography displays. I’m admiring a particularly gifted drawing of a horse when I feel someone approach me from behind. I always thought people were exaggerating when they say they felt the hair on the back of their neck stand to attention, but here I am, feeling that very odd sensation. And then I hear his deep, melodic voice.

“Wonderful drawing, especially for someone so young.”

I turn to face Aidan only to step back quickly and almost run into the table display behind me. He reaches out quickly and pulls me toward him, helping me avoid the embarrassment of destroying the carefully constructed presentation of sixth-grade artwork. Now the embarrassment stems from practically being in his arms in front of about twenty other people. I notice a few of them are watching us with great interest. I place a hand on his chest - partially to steady myself and partially to put some space between us.

“Hello, Aidan.” I mean to say it in a friendly, you-aren’t-important-to-me-at-all kind of way. Instead, it comes out in a breathy, I’d-like-to-rip-your-clothes-off-and-throw-you-to-the-ground kind of way. Adult communication loses once again.

“Hello, Whitney. It’s nice to see you again.” He smiles, and it causes small little crinkles in the outer corners of his eyes. It’s obvious he smiles often; I like that about him. We both smiled a lot that night, but I can’t let myself go there. It was a fling and nothing more.

I smile back, although inside I feel like elephants are using my heart for a trampoline. I’m sure if it were quiet enough, he could hear the loud thumps beating through my chest. I feel the need to retreat. I’m suffocating from his nearness, and I need air.

“Oh, yes. Nice to see you too.” I glance at the door looking for an escape route, then attempt to excuse myself. “Well, have a nice day.” I step around him and power walk toward the doors.
Nice, Whitney. Real smooth. That didn’t look like a desperate attempt to flee at all.
Annoyed with my inner critic, I snap, “Oh shut up!” as I let the doors slam behind me. Except they don’t slam.

“Who do you want to shut up?” Aidan is right behind me.
Damn
.

“No one. I’m just... never mind.”

He puts a hand on my arm to keep me from running away again. “Since were friends, sort of, and I don’t really know too many people here, would you mind showing me around the fairgrounds? This is my first time here.” He notices my hesitation. “I’ll buy you lunch for your trouble.” I sigh, torn between wanting to be a friendly, sensible adult and wanting to run like the coward I am. He pushes further. “Please, Whitney.”

He says my name in a way that instantly takes me back to his hotel room. He said my name many times in the hours we spent in his bed. Each syllable was full of promise and this time feels no different. I can’t help but look up into his eyes. They seem to plead with me and for some reason my brain starts to short circuit.

I’m absolutely sure my lips form the words, “I’m sorry, I can’t.” Except my ears, and his, hear my voice say, “Sure. I’d be happy to.”
Well, hell.
I can’t even trust my mouth anymore. It’s no longer taking commands from my brain.
This is certain to be a recipe for disaster.

He smiles at me again, and I wonder if I’m going to have to spend the afternoon being mean to him so his gorgeous lips will stop making my legs malfunction. I steel myself and smile back.
I can do this. I can resist his charms. I’m a bad-ass single woman. I don’t need him, or anyone else.
I’m sure if I repeat this enough I might actually believe it one day. Here’s to hoping.

“So, what do you want to see first?”

“I want to see it all. I’m not a cat, but I’m sure you can keep me sufficiently wrangled during the tour, so I’ll let you start where you like.

I smirk at his reference to my cat wrangling abilities. “Okay, but keep in mind that if you do stray, I’ll have to trap you. Do you have an affinity for boxes? Or is there something else that tempts you?”

Aidan’s expression changes for just a moment. It’s something serious, and deep, and almost frightening. He quickly regains his smile, tinted with a hint of orneriness. “Yes, there is something else that tempts me. But as the wrangler, you’ll have to figure that one on your own. I can’t make it too easy for you.”

I laugh. “Challenge accepted.” I start walking toward the midway, and he falls in step next to me. We walk for a few moments, and the silence is only slightly awkward. I clear my throat, trying to think of something to say, but Aidan saves me the trouble.