It didn't make sense, and Princ.i.p.al Reid knew it.

Professor Sweeten arched an eyebrow. "Shay, I'm sorry to say that your student teaching experience is counted as a pa.s.s or fail grade. I'm afraid we'll have some very important matters to discuss at campus."

"Wait." Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry. "I...can't transfer to another cla.s.sroom?"

Professor Sweeten and Princ.i.p.al Reid both shared the same nauseating glance, the kind mentally delivered with a slap to the face and swift kick to the behind.

"Shay, I'm sorry," he said. "Your services are no longer required at our academy."

Don't cry.

I told myself to shake his hand.

I ordered my feet to march me out of the office with my chin high until I hid in my car.

And I stopped at the first gas station I pa.s.sed and bought ten candy bars-one for every day I worked at the school before Professor Sweeten destroyed my teaching career.

I managed one bite before the sugar coated my tongue in sticky, nougaty regret. I could buy all the chocolate in the world-or at least a large stake in the biggest company-but it wouldn't make me feel better. It wouldn't secure me a job.

It wouldn't repair a dream shattered into so many fragments I nicked myself trying to glue it back together.

Professor Sweeten wanted to meet me at the campus. Well, she could take her syllabus and shove it in places not recommended in the student handbook. She humiliated me enough. I wasn't letting her get in another strike while I still had chalk dust under my nails.

I pulled into the garage. The bays were mostly empty. Dad probably intended to fill the s.p.a.ce with more cars and never got the chance. It was just me and Zach's car and motorcycle.

And I was glad to see them. Since our blowout, Zach hadn't been such an a.s.s. In fact, I inadvertently called a truce during the past two weeks. I was too exhausted from waking at six, teaching, and coming back to do lesson plans. I couldn't fight with him and instead accepted the apple pie he baked as an apology for his outburst.

I never watched anything as s.e.xy as a six foot four Navy SEAL slicing up apples and pounding out a crust for a homemade pie. It tasted good, and I shoveled it in my mouth before I said something stupid. Or humiliating. Or entirely too revealing.

I tried to tip-toe out of the garage. No dice. He heard the door and called from the theater.

"Playing hookie already?"

He loved that I was student teaching, admittedly so he could imagine me as a school-girl. But now wasn't the time. I didn't know what to say.

I got fired.

You get a half-day when your dreams are destroyed.

Do I have enough money to build my own academy so I never have to deal with those douches again?

Actually, the last idea wasn't too bad.

I leaned against the doorframe to the theater. Zach grinned at me. I didn't understand it, but his dimples rea.s.sured me. Just his presence started to remind me of home.

It was still weird that he did crunches and pushups while watching his favorite shows, but I certainly didn't mind spying on his toned muscles during the slower episodes. He winked as he pressed against the floor.

He constantly trained during his leave. I asked why his time off was so long. Apparently, he had a special arrangement. I figured it had something to do with his scars, but Zach did everything he could to avoid talking about those.

Zach finished a set of one-armed push-ups and toweled off, pausing his show.

"Tonight, Chef Orlando is preparing our dinner," he said. "His representative says he's known for his Latin influences. I thought tomorrow we'd let the j.a.panese-inspired chef take a turn, though I think you're pretty set on Chef Vito." He winked. "I won't be upset if you say his spaghetti was better than mine."

I gave a timid shrug. "His was a bit more...professional."

"That's why I'm paying him the big bucks."

I smirked. Zach took the initiative and braved my wrath. He hired a chef, maids, and landscapers for the estate. I couldn't argue. Suddenly, everything operated a lot smoother, cleaner, and our dinners were always on time. Money made things so much easier.

Except when no amount of money could buy a chance to achieve your life's ambition. If I couldn't buy a pallet of luck, maybe I'd send a personal a.s.sistant to appeal to the Dean instead.

"What's wrong?" Zach lowered the chef's menu. "You okay?"

"Yeah." I shook my head. "No. I just...I gotta..."

The slightest curl of his finger called me to the couch. I dropped next to him. He made a show of wrapping his arm over my shoulders and crossing his feet on the ottoman. I didn't care how arrogant it was. It felt nice to be held. Hugged.

I curled against his chest and let myself mope for a long moment.

"That bad?" He asked.

"Worse."

"Wanna talk about it? I've had my share of bad days."

I bit my lip. "No. I'll take care of it."

"Shay. I want to help."

Why did I believe him? I sighed. "I lost the student teaching position."

"What?"

"My advisor and the teacher knew each other. They set it up deliberately, just to ruin me. My advisor thinks I was buying my way through the program."

"That's bulls.h.i.t! Can you get a new position?"

"No. It's a pa.s.s/fail credit. If my advisor hates me-which she does-she can screw me. I can't do anything, the grades are up to her. And if the school doesn't want me..."

"We can fight it."

"I'll have to transfer."

"Advisors?"

I shook my head. "Colleges."

"No way."

"Sweeten will never pa.s.s me. I can't get another teaching opportunity at the Academy, and she'll never get another a.s.signment. I have to transfer to another college...if my credits even count." I pushed off the couch. Zach took my hand and pulled me down. "I gotta go take care of this."

"You're upset," he said.

"Yeah?"

"Let this simmer for a day. Maybe there's something we can do. We'll find a way to change your advisor and get you a new gig. It's not over. Don't worry."

My lip trembled. I didn't believe him. I sucked in a breath and tried to imagine anything else. Puppies. Good food. My favorite movie. My favorite kiss.

That one was easy. It was every kiss I ever had with Zach.

I'd have given anything to pretend that Zach wasn't my step-brother, if only so I could lose myself in his arms for just a little while.

Bad ideas. All of it.

"What are you thinking?" Zach asked.

Nothing I could answer honestly. Too bad the lump in my throat was just as painful to talk about.

"I've always wanted to be a teacher," I said. "Life goal."

"You'll get there."

"And if I don't? One bad professor today could be one awful administration tomorrow and one demented school board a year from now. It wasn't supposed to be this way. I wanted to be there for the kids."

"Why?"

"In case no one else was there for them."

His arm tightened over me. I sighed.

"When I was little, Momma was always yelling, and Dad was usually off with some new floozy on the side. They were both miserable, and they took it out on each other. And I was in the middle. Alone."

Zach toyed with my curls. "Yeah. I get that."

"When I got older, I realized instead of feeling sorry for myself, I could prevent a child from feeling that same way. I wanted them to know they were loved. What better way than to be a teacher?"

"You'll make a good one."

"And if it never happens?" I said.

"It will."

"You never know." I held his gaze. "What happens if everything you ever worked for in your entire life is suddenly...gone? Completely out of your control. Nothing you can do to prevent it?"

Now Zach looked uncomfortable. He shifted against the couch. I pulled away.

"Sorry," I said. "I shouldn't lay this all on you. I know what you're gonna say. And you're right. Look at my bank account. Why should I teach when I could have a home in the Maldives? I get it."

His jaw tensed. His dimples faded. "No. Some things you can't buy with money. Look, Shay. I don't have an answer for you because I don't know. You can train and spend your life thinking things are gonna work out. And then?" He flexed. The scars over his arms shimmered in the faint light. "It can all be over."

"Zach-"

"It won't be that way for you," he said. "I won't allow it to go down like that."

I sighed. "It's sweet, but I gotta do this on my own."

"Why?"

"It's...my job. My career."

He didn't let me look away. "You know you aren't alone. Not now."

My heart fluttered a bit too hard. I swallowed.

"I'm not a little kid anymore."

"So you don't need any help now?"

"I don't need you to protect me."

His voice edged. Apparently, other parts of him could get hard too. His words. His dedication. His promises. "And if I want to protect you?"

The conversation shifted. I bit my lip. We weren't talking about teaching or life goals or insecurities anymore. We broached a very dangerous subject, and stress already kicked my b.u.t.t from one side of the county to the other. I didn't have the strength to fight him too.

"What do you want from me?" I asked. "Really."

"A chance."

"To get in bed with me?"

"That and more."

Bed didn't scare me as much as more. I had been resisting our fling for so long, I never once questioned the pounding of my heart over the tightening in my core.

"It's not a good idea," I said.

"Says who?"

Society? No. That wasn't true. We made for dirty gossip, but nothing else. Our families? That was a joke. Neither of us had one anymore. We were as much family as anyone.

Says Me?

I thought it was a bad idea to trust a man who lied the first night we were together-either to get lucky or get money. Both reasons were equally bad, but neither seemed to fit Zach. h.e.l.l, I started to think the only reason he lived at the estate was for the pool.

Or because I lived here.

My blood scalded me, still heated from the last time I touched him, the last time I let him touch me. The pool jet wasn't half as exciting as his hands.