When he stared at her, untapped feelings stirred and flared. He made her think about sex. He made her long for sex.
How would he be in bed? Rough and demanding? Tender and generous? Both, depending on what she needed? And he would know because he would read her like a book and—
Oh, for heaven’s sake. Still shaking and upset, she opened the Play-Doh and began to knead and roll the bright green clay to calm down, to help her think, to do some creative problem solving.
No way did Gabe want to move, but he’d be too proud to come back. She’d have to make the first move—ask for less money, though the less she got, the less she could offer her students.
She looked at her hand and realized she’d squeezed so hard, the dough had squirted from between her fingers like the spikes of some martial-arts weapon. Not good. She needed to make peace, not war.
GABE©STEPPED©OUT©OF©HIS©VAN in front of Discovery at noon the next day, muscle-sore from the landscaping job he’d left early to try to work out a deal with Felicity. His friend Carl was happy to hire him whenever Gabe could do it. He’d need more work to pay the rent she was extorting from him. He clenched his jaw.
Settle down. Be nice. This was for his boys.
He regretted bringing up the way she’d used Robert, but the rent she’d asked was insane and she’d known it. Clearly, she wanted him out.
But he needed to stay. Even on the west side, he’d have to pay at least a grand a month, and he’d lose half his kids for lack of transportation.
He could manage a thousand, he figured, if he scrimped, bought no equipment, worked more for Carl and took double shifts with the cab he shared. He hoped to hell he wouldn’t have to tap into the scholarship cash.
Outrage surged in a hot wave. So she’d lost funds for her stupid homework club. That didn’t justify breaking the deal she’d made with his boys. This was extortion, pure and simple.
Kind of like blackmailing her with a media threat for more time?
He shrugged, uneasy about his own behavior.
On the way over, he’d grabbed award-winning gyros from Giorgio’s Grotto, the Greek restaurant owned by his mother’s new husband, as a peace offering.
A shared meal cured a lot of ills. He liked cooking for people he loved. He wasn’t much for hugs or flattery, but a loaf of herb bread hot from the oven, served with basil butter and gazpacho from farmer’s market heirloom tomatoes said plenty about what was in his heart.
Part of his trouble with Cici was he kept mixing up anger at her with wanting to get her naked. He didn’t understand her, didn’t even like her, but she spiked his wiring somehow, blowing all the circuits with a look, a move, a twitch of her glossy lips.
He’d felt like this way back, when he’d watched her thump into the pole outside his house. She was so short that at first he thought the car was driverless. When he ran to see if she’d been hurt, she turned away to scrub off her tears, then acted tough as nails. He could see she was terrified to tell her mother. He had the idea her home life was grim, even if she was a Scottsdale snot.
Raul owed him a favor, so he’d fixed the bumper for free. When Gabe had brought her that drink, she’d looked at him with so much amazed gratitude, you’d have thought he’d found her long lost kitten.
A feeling had surged in him then—the urge to take care of her, be with her, figure out her quirky workings.
They never talked about it, but the vibe was always there, a constant low hum. And her candy smell hanging in Robert’s room liked to kill him at times.
Her office door was half-open, so he tapped on it, then went in.
She looked up from a yellow pad, her eyes crackling, her mouth tight, her movements jerky with anger. Not at him, though. Couldn’t be.
Something more recent, he figured, noticing that she’d smashed the magnetic sculpture flat and set the wave box rocking wildly.
He picked up some Tinkertoy pieces on the floor. Had she tossed them there? Damn. He hoped to hell Giorgio’s gyros had the power to soothe a savage principal.
The smile she managed looked almost painful.
He stopped the thrashing wave box with one finger and put the Tinkertoys on her desk. “Bad day?” he asked gently, braced for her to throw something at him.
“You could say that,” she said through gritted teeth.
“Lunch should help.” He set the sack on her desk. She simply looked at him. “From Giorgio’s Grotto,” he added, to get the conversation going.
Crickets.
“Best gyros in town.”
Still nothing.
“And I’m not just saying that because my mom married Giorgio.”
This time she broke. “She did? That’s…great.”
FELICITY©TRIED©TO©SMILE past her pain. Gabe had returned, which meant he wanted to negotiate. He’d brought food and was offering personal news, clearly trying to be friendly.
“Yeah. He’s a good guy. He makes her happy.”
Thank goodness. Robert’s mother was okay. That relieved her, especially after Gabe had bristled the first day at the mere mention of his family.
“So…you hungry?” he asked.
“Not really. Bad day and all.”
“Want to talk about it?”
He was trying hard, inviting her to vent. “It’s complicated.” The less he knew about her troubles, the better her negotiating position.
The incident that had churned her stomach and made her wreak havoc with her desk toys was hearing from her teachers the rumor that she was about to be fired.
Word about the lost funds had beaten her to school, too.
Her teachers’ reactions had troubled her. There was no outrage, no anger. Just shrugs and resignation. Typical. That’s how they treat us.
They didn’t think less of her for it, but only because they hadn’t thought much of her in the first place. That stung. And she was determined to come through for them. That meant making a deal with Gabe.
“I’ve got time,” he said, but she knew better.
“You’ve got work. Please eat while we talk.”
“You keep it for when your day gets better.”
“Thanks. My cupboard’s pretty bare. New apartment.”
“Sure. Takes a while to settle in.” They were outdoing each other being nice. It was getting sickening.
He seemed to realize that, too, and his expression went intent. “Look, I was out of line yesterday…what I said at the end.”
“We were both upset.”
He nodded. “The most I can pay is a thousand.”
Thank God. He would pay. Hope surged. “Fifteen hundred,” she shot back, keeping her face neutral.
“No way.” His eyes flared, but only slightly, so she knew he was still in the game. “Twelve hundred. And that’s final.” His tone and locked jaw confirmed his words. He couldn’t pay more.
“Deal,” she said. “We’ll prorate this month to $600. Pay me on Monday.”
“I’ll need to shift some funds.” He frowned.
“Then make it Wednesday.” A concession would make him feel better about the deal. “Thank