a stripper might shimmy out of.
When he finished, she was sitting behind Charlie’s battered steel desk, which had been spiffed up. She’d dusted the computer Charlie never touched and replaced his stacks with a neat rack of color-coded folders, a legal pad and pen at the ready, and some goofy desk toys—small magnetized pieces of metal that could be shaped into a sculpture, an acrylic box of blue water over white sand balanced on a pointed pedestal, tiny Tinkertoys, small cans of Play-Doh and a gel-and-glitter-filled wand. A magic wand? Really?
He stood across from her, hands on his hip. “You kept Charlie’s poster.” He nodded behind her at the shot of Marcus Moreno, MMA star, with the fighter’s description of what made a champion.
“I haven’t finished redecorating. Have a seat please.”
He wanted to say, Just say your piece, but knew he had to seem friendly, so he sat, scooted closer to the desk and softened his expression. His sisters said he always looked too fierce.
He touched the water box, setting it rocking. “This is cool.”
“Desk toys reduce anxiety, ease tension and boost creative problem-solving abilities.”
“And cast spells?” He picked up the pink wand and waved it in the air.
“You’re missing the point.” She took it from him, her fingers soft against his for an instant. He felt a small jolt. Her eyes shot to his, wide with surprise. Damn. It was mutual.
“Watch.” She tilted the wand between her fingers so the pink beads and bits of glitter and stars slid slowly downward, then up again. It was kind of hypnotic, but he kept getting distracted by the sight of her breasts just past the wand. “See? Soothing, right?”
Depends where you look. He cleared his throat. “Like magic.”
She set the wand on her desk and smiled uncertainly, her face now pink. He’d made her nervous, he could tell. “It was a shock to see you.”
“Yeah. Me, too.” Let’s get to the point so I can get out.
“How have you been?”
She wanted to chitchat? “Good. You?”
“I’ve been good. And your mother? How is she?”
Now she cared? She hadn’t given a crap while she was getting Robert to steal jewelry for her, keeping him out all night, scaring their mom to death. After Robert’s murder, his mother had dissolved into painkillers, becoming a shadow for five long years, her eyes empty even when they were open. She’d gotten clean, but relapsed again. For the past five years, she’d been solid, thank God.
“She’s fine,” he said flatly.
Cici’s smile faltered, but she rattled on. “Gosh, your sisters must be in college by now.”
That’s it. The twins were none of her business. “Look, let’s skip the small talk and get to the point.”
She recoiled as though he’d slapped her, her cheeks flaring red. Before he could apologize, she recovered. “The point,” she snapped, “is that I need your gym for my after-school program. Without a lease, I could make it effective today, but I’ll give you two weeks to find another location and move.”
This was worse than he’d expected. Much worse.
“In the meantime, I need to see the liability waivers for each student. Mr. Hopkins doesn’t appear to have held on to our copies.”
“You’re kicking us out?”
“Yes. That is my point.” Her blue eyes lit with fire, her chin was up, her jaw firm, no give at all. “I’m sure you can find a more appropriate venue for a fight club than a middle school.”
Anger flashed like a series of struck matches along his nerves. There were no venues he could afford, appropriate or otherwise. Not nearby, anyway. “What about the Discovery kids I train?”
“They’ll join my program. We offer tutors, workshops, guest speakers and other enrichment activities.”
“My guys aren’t into any of that.”
“That’s no wonder, considering your attitude.”
“What does that mean?”
“Isn’t it obvious? You made Devin fight when he had homework to do. This is a school. Studying comes first.”
“Are you kidding? Devin lives for homework. What he needs is the balls to defend himself from bullies.”
“So you teach him to be a bigger one?”
“Bullying is a head game. To beat it, you need better game. Trust me, without STRIKE, Devin Muller’s back to getting swirlies in the girls’ john.”
“These kids experience enough violence in their lives without you teaching them how to do it better.”
He gave a half laugh. “What I teach them is self- discipline, self-control and physical confidence. They fight in my gym, not the streets.”
She held his gaze. “A good principal’s focus has to be on helping students perform better in school.”
“A good principal knows kids need different approaches and trusts her staff to do what works for each kid.”
“You’re not on my staff, G.”
“Don’t call me that,” he snapped. “It’s Gabe or Coach Cassidy. No one calls me G.” Robert had given Gabe the nickname to make him sound more gangster. Hearing it was like sandpaper on a sunburn. “Look, Charlie was a great principal. He got fired for defending the kids no matter what scores showed up in the newspaper.”
“You assume I won’t stand up for my students?” Clearly riled, she tapped her desk with a short wooden dowel from the Tinkertoys.
“All I know is that Charlie got done in by politics. You’re clearly better connected than he was.”
She sucked in a breath. “My uncle had nothing to do with me getting this job.”
“Your uncle? Who’s your uncle?” Where the hell had that come from?
She blinked, startled. “Phil Evers is my— But that’s not the point—”
“Wait. The superintendent is your uncle? Oh, I get it. Phil Evers’s niece needs a job, so Charlie gets the boot.”
“That is not true.” Her face went from milk-white to bright red. “Phil wouldn’t know me on sight—not that it’s any of your business. My program works. That’s why I was hired. And I will implement it no matter what obstacles I have to jump, sidestep or knock to the ground.” She was completely fired up, ready to fight—body tensed, jaw locked, eyes hot, lips a stubborn line.
Part of him—his caveman soul—enjoyed seeing her this way, wanted to go chest to chest with her, hip to hip, thigh to thi— Uh, forget that.
