Writing On The Wall (The King Brothers Duology #2)

Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

ETHAN

“Hey Marco, grab the demarcation poles and tape. I’m gonna head inside and chat with the principal.” I spin my hat around backward before wiping my hands on my thighs. They’re not dirty, but I feel like it prepares me mentally for walking into the school I attended as a child.

“Hey, Mrs. Crawley,” I say to my old principal with a smile, the woman whose office chair I warmed more times than I can count as a kid. It still feels strange to interact with her as an adult.

“Mr. King,” she croons, extending a hand to me. Even after all these years, she’s still as classy as ever.

“Ma’am,” I answer her with a tip of my head.

“We’re so grateful you’re doing this for us. With summer approaching, the kids will be glad not to get third degree burns on the playground.”

I chuckle, recalling the memory of sweaty recesses and roasted elbows. “I bet they will.”

“I’m assuming you’ll need to rope off the playground for a few days?”

“Nah, we’ll mark off the poles while the concrete dries. The kids can still use the play structure as long as they stay clear of the taped-off area. It should be ready by the end of next week.”

“Oh, that’s perfect! Is there anything you needed from me?”

“No, ma’am, just letting you know we’re getting started.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you’re starting after school. Some of our younger teachers might have gotten a bit too distracted during school hours. Especially with your face bein’ on TV, and you gettin’ all famous on us now.” She winks.

I chuckle, unfazed by the so-called fame I’ve encountered since my appearance on a morning show for my brother’s business over Christmas. Apparently, my face went a bit viral—or so I’m told. I don’t pay much attention to social media, aside from following a few extreme sports personalities. Still, it did bring some exposure to my home renovation business and even sparked an opportunity for me to earn a role on one of those house-flipping reality shows.

“I wouldn’t wanna cause a stir.” I smile.

“I think that’s exactly what you’ve always liked doing, Ethan,” she laughs back. “I’ll be here if you need anything.”

My head tips in another nod, and I make my way through the hallway back toward the playground. My steps slow as I pass one of my old classrooms, the corners of my mouth curling up nostalgically.

The sound of laughter from a nearby classroom draws me closer. But I freeze when another loud cackle erupts, because I immediately recognize that voice. It belongs to a tiny but lethal package—One I’d rather not interact with any more than necessary.

I peek carefully around the doorway, and my stomach does a quick flip—a phantom reaction, like the urge to hurl when you catch a whiff of something that once made you sick. And the few altercations I’ve had with the woman now cozying up for a selfie with another man have certainly left me feeling queasy. Anyone with a mouth as sharp as hers and a gaze as antagonistic as the one that habitually pierces mine would provoke this kind of reaction.

Her companion curls an arm around her and presses his cheek to hers for another photo. That siren-call laugh bubbles out of her again, eliciting another stomach swirl. My hand goes to my middle as I take a step back, planning to execute a casual walk-by, but my movement alerts the tiny blonde.

“ You. ”

That one word is coated in so much disdain I have to fight a shiver.

I know we got off on the wrong foot the first time we met. By that, I mean I saw a woman in my brother’s fiancé’s office doing something reckless and may have unintentionally insulted her while simultaneously saving her from a small accident. But it came from a place of wanting to protect a stranger from harm.

Who stands on a rickety bench in heels and twirls , anyway? Talk about lack of common sense.

Yeah, okay, the delivery of my concern could have been better. But I still caught the woman and saved her from injury, and I stand by my act of chivalry, even if she did not interpret the interaction in the same way.

Regardless of my heroic intentions, I lit a fuse between us that day. If she’d had a weapon, I’m not sure I’d be standing here now.

Her husky throat clearing brings me back. “Ethan. Lurking much?”

“Ivy.” My eyes flick to her canoodle partner. “Flirt much?”

“Excuse me?” She laughs, but there’s zero humor in it. Not that I expected any. I’m pushing her buttons again, but it just comes naturally with her. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothin’,” My eyes move lazily around the classroom. It’s colorful and welcoming with printed words and pictures. I glance back at the couple, the muscle in my jaw pulsing at the clear display of familiarity and intimacy between them. I’m not sure why witnessing Ivy Marsh getting cozy with a man has me so riled up. Maybe I just pity him and want to save him from this woman’s wrath. “Have a good day, you two,” I reply dryly before I salute and turn to leave.

“What are you doing here, anyway?” she calls toward my back.

My thumbs hang loosely in my pockets while I pivot to face her again. She’s closer now, those big green eyes framed by gold-rimmed glasses and a sharp scowl. I take in the man beside her. His preppy look—sweater vest with a bowtie—causes a tug of my mouth. Figures she’d go for a man like this. I bet he’s no better than a little puppy dog, happy to be ordered around.

“I’m workin’ on the playground, Marsh. That okay with you?” My eyes flicker to her windows and the view of the structure outside. “You’ll even get to stare daggers at me from inside the comfort of your lovely classroom.” I flash a teasing grin—the one that seems to ruffle her feathers.

She exhales sharply, and it’s a marvel that her glasses don’t fog up with the effort.

“Careful, Marsh. The steam coming out your ears might cause those things to rust.” My eyes trace the rim of her frames, noting how they hover just above the freckles on her cheeks.

She lets out a growl, and her boyfriend steps closer, grinning like a cheesy bobblehead doll.

He hangs a pale hand over Ivy’s shoulder and holds the other one out in front of me. “I’m Toby.”

I try to ignore it, but my gaze is still drawn to the spot where his hand rests on the bare skin of her arm. I tear my eyes away, but I’m equally annoyed by how easily they meet those giant green orbs with the big V-shaped crease between them. I sense the need to end this conversation as quickly as possible, because I’m not sure what the hell is going on here. I shake Toby’s hand without breaking Ivy’s stare. It’s unnerving having this much feisty energy zeroed in on me, like she’s peering into my soul and garnering all the intel she needs to make a voodoo doll so she can torture me later.

Ivy folds her arms, shifting slightly nearer to Toby. “Well don’t do anything dumb out there.”

A short puff of air comes out with my laugh. I roll my lips over my teeth, trying to hide my amusement. Yeah, I deserve that one. I may have insinuated that her choices weren’t the smartest on the day we first met. If she’d stop biting my head off every time we see each other, I’d try and apologize.

Toby is still smiling like a puppy awaiting a treat. I frown, taking him in again from head to toe. The man is wearing loafers, for goodness sake. I turn, still scowling about her boyfriend’s fashion choices as I look at Ivy. As usual, she takes my expression personally. And I realize it’s time to extricate myself from the ticking time bomb glaring at me.

“See you around, Marsh.” I tip my head before leaving the room.

Another feminine growl echoes down the hall, making me shake my head. That woman is scary as hell.

I head outside to meet Marco. He’s leaning on the posthole digger as he waits on me, our supplies laid out beside him.

“What’s that scowl for?” He squints at my face.

“Nothin’. Let’s get started,” I deflect, unclipping a measuring tape from my belt. I survey the area, pulling out the blueprints for the updated playground.

“You found a woman to piss off, didn’t you?” Marco strolls behind while I pretend like that skirmish with Ivy didn’t just make me feel alive for the first time since— dang —since the last time I saw Ivy two weeks ago. We’d both been invited to meet my brother and his fiancée, Ember, for drinks. Since Ivy is Ember’s best friend, it made sense that she was asked to be the maid of honor when Colton asked me to be his best man.

“Why do you assume I go around looking for women to irritate?” I pause from looking at my plans to question Marco.

“Maybe it’s the angry blonde who looks like she wants to put your face on a dartboard.” He says, nodding toward the parking lot behind me.

Sure enough, when I turn, there she is, wearing an expression that says she’d enjoy watching me get eaten by sharks.

With a shake of my head, I fold the plans and stuff them in my back pocket, then I hoist a bag of cement over my shoulder. “I may have pushed a few of her buttons, but she started it.”

Marco chuckles but lets it go, and we dig the six holes for the posts while I force myself to forget about the blonde spitfire in question. It might prove difficult, considering my brother and her best friend are engaged, but I know the less time Ivy and I spend together, the better. Because that woman has complicated written all over her.