He paused at the end of the table, smiling a great, warm smile that heated her like an electric blanket. “I don’t want to intrude.” He glanced at the boys, his brows lifted in curiosity.
“Tucker Manning, meet three of Copper Corners’ finest sophomores—Jason, Jeff and John, the Triple Js, as they’re known to their friends. Guys, meet your new assistant principal.”
Tucker set his bottle on the table and solemnly shook each hand, making enough eye contact to make the guys uncomfortable.
“They helped me rearrange my rain forest. Here, sit.” She patted the space beside her for Tucker, since the three students filled the opposite bench.
Tucker took a tentative seat. She could see him measure the distance so they wouldn’t touch at shoulder or hip.
Though the boys continued eating, Tucker’s presence had definitely put a chill on the meal. The man gave off authority like body heat.
“Are your parents aware of where you boys are?” he said, making it worse. He’d used a relaxed tone, but it came out stern and he’d called them boys.
“Pretty much,” Jason said, shrugging.
“Maybe you’d better be certain.” Tucker took his phone from a back pocket and extended it.
“’Sokay,” Jason said. “We should get going, Cricket.”
Jeff wolfed the last of his slice and John grabbed a piece to go, leaving three from the second pizza on the tray. She knew full well they would have cleaned up if Tucker hadn’t sunk the mood.
“Hang on,” she said. “We can talk to Mr. Manning about starting the ecology club.”
“That’s okay,” Jason said. “Thanks, Cricket.” The other boys mumbled their thanks, then all three lumbered away.
“Way to be a buzz kill,” she joked to Tucker. Despite the distance between them, she felt his body heat and smelled his cologne, a spicy musk that teased like his smile.
Tucker must have noticed how close they were, too, because he slid off her bench and onto the opposite one.
“Was it something I said?” she asked.
“This is better,” he said firmly. “And being alone with students at night is not a good idea.”
“They slaved over my room. The least I could do was feed them.”
“You’re young and single and very pretty, Cricket.”
“Why, thank you.”
“All three of those guys were smitten.”
“Nah. It’s not me. It was the food. No teen turns down free pizza.”
“It just doesn’t look good.”
“It’s okay. It’s so noisy we couldn’t even hear ourselves flirt and forget playing footsie—the lights are too bright.”
His brows lifted in alarm, which reminded her that she’d loved startling him with extreme ideas that long-ago night.
“Kidding, Tucker. Jeez. I’m twenty-seven. That’s antique to sophomores.”
“I also advise against allowing students to call you by your first name. You need them to respect you.”
“Respect has to be earned.”
“The kids need a teacher, not a pal. If you’re too chummy, they’ll take advantage of you, blow off assignments, talk back, refuse to listen. And then you’ll end up at war.”
Cricket stared at Tucker. He sounded like some tired veteran advising a new recruit how to survive a battle. “I want to reach my students at a human level, Tucker. I’m not their prison guard.”
“Too much familiarity is a mistake. Some teachers don’t smile for the first month. Maybe that’s overboard, but they have a point. Keep your distance, set high standards and you’ll give your students what they need—subject knowledge, thinking skills and the self-discipline to get what they want in life.”
“What happened to you, Tucker?” She reached across the table to playfully shake him by the shoulders. “Did they brainwash you at administrator school? You weren’t hard-hearted in college.”
He’d been tender, not tough, that night, and passionate, not reserved, and she’d felt as if she’d belonged in his arms.
She distracted herself from that thought by grabbing Tucker’s beer for a big gulp from the bottle.
“Hey!” he said.
“Sorry. It just looked tasty.” Which was exactly what she’d said when she’d snitched some of his Corona that night.
Tucker’s face stilled. He was remembering the moment, too, she was sure.
“How about some Skee-Ball?” she said to change the subject.
“I don’t think so.”
“What’s a little Skee-Ball between consenting adults?” It was just a light flirt, but their gazes locked like heat-seeking missiles. Fire zoomed through her.
Tucker sucked in a harsh breath, twirling his wedding ring. Again.
As if catching the vibe, a Skee-Ball light began to spin and flash red and the siren blared. Emergency, emergency. Lust alert. Calling all ice water.
Cricket crossed her legs to settle herself.
When the sound ceased, Tucker spoke. “I don’t think we should consent to anything together, Cricket. There’s too much…you-know…going on here.”
“You-know?” She couldn’t help teasing. “What’s you-know?”
“You know what you-know is,” he said, low and sexy, his eyes sparkling in the light, his smile crooked, the effect as romantic and inviting in the bright pizza parlor as it would have been in a dimly lit bistro.
She sighed. “Yeah. We both know.”
“I’m married. And I’m your boss, more or less. Playing Skee-Ball or sharing a beer or just sitting here talking, however innocent, is a bad idea.”
“I hate it when you’re right.” She leaned forward, chin on her fist. “I hope your wife appreciates you, Tucker.”
“I’m sure she does,” he said, but his eyes flickered away. What was up with that?
“What’s her name anyway? And where did you meet?”
“Her name is Julie and my, um, brother introduced us.”
“Where is she tonight? How come you’re eating alone?”
“She’s out of town. Working. She’s, um, an airline pilot.”
“An
