their liquor—let alone tequila—well. Liking her ass and mouth and her sparkle didn’t mean I liked the idea of watching her vomit all over the sidewalk.
I leaned forward to study the gold in her eyes, those little flares that drew me in and took me prisoner. “Of course. Tell me about this school you want to open.”
She lit up when she talked about creating an innovative school, and her authoritative tone was hypnotic, but there was no shortage of defeats and obstacles in her path. I never knew there was so much behind-the-scenes work associated with running schools, but Lauren’s hands were full with recruiting students, hiring teachers, finding board members, writing grants, and designing the educational philosophy, and that didn’t even include the physical space. Her quest to open this school was grueling, and I had no shortage of respect for her work.
I’d figured Saint Cosmas was the first site she visited—try fourteenth—and she claimed it was the best-looking one she’d seen, by far. If Saint Cosmas was decent, I was afraid to see the other flaming heaps of rubble. I also discovered I actually was the only person for this work, save for Sam and Patrick, and I knew I wasn’t leaving Lauren without some feasible options. Regardless of whether she was my naughty schoolteacher and her ass was ruling my fantasies, she needed someone on her side, and I was going to be her someone.
“Have you been doing this long? And how old are you?”
Lauren cringed but tried to hide it behind her drink. Shannon would have beaten me for that question, reminded me never to ask women about age or weight, and then beaten me some more.
“Twenty-eight. I’ve spent the past year in the fellowship I mentioned. That’s where I’ve been learning how to do all of this.”
“And you need a site in Dorchester?” I pulled my phone from my pocket and zoomed in on an area map.
“Around there,” she said, “and parts of Roxbury, and the surrounding neighborhoods. But at this point, Matthew, I’ll take anything you want to give me.”
“I’m thinking of three warehouses, and two vacant mills. The rehab on church complexes is through the roof. Extensive and expensive. Stick with mills.” I jotted notes on a damp cocktail napkin and pretended her last comment didn’t land right between my legs. “We could schedule time next week to walk the sites. Or…tomorrow. If you’re up for it.”
“I’m up for anything. If you are.”
A smirk pulled at her lips and I coughed to disguise my growl. She knew what she was doing, and she was enjoying it, too. “I don’t know what to expect from any of these.” I waved the napkin before tucking it into my pocket. “I won’t know much of anything until I walk the sites, but I can help with the architectural and structural sides of the project. If you want me, that is.”
Because I definitely want you. Anywhere you’ll have me.
And that shocked the shit out of me. She was cute and sensual, and short, and I didn’t like any of that. But I had to wonder: did I even know my type anymore? Did it matter? Weren’t the beasts just fulfilling a post-race adrenaline surge, and wasn’t I doing the same for them?
I didn’t actually like any of them, and I knew they didn’t give me a second thought. It was just sex, cold and mechanical, and I was intentional in choosing not to care about them. It was the most disconnected form of connection possible, and I liked it that way.
But right now, I couldn’t understand why I ever liked anything cold or mechanical when women like Lauren Halsted existed.
“I might.” Lauren nodded and reached for her drink. She met my eyes from behind the glass, and I swore I saw desire flicker in her gaze. Spending the better part of the past twenty-four hours swimming in my personal Lauren spank bank might have made me a pervy dickhead, but that one look told me I wasn’t there alone. “How did you get into this work?”
The Walsh history was