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

Chapter 10

CHAPTER TEN

ETHAN

“I’m heading inside for a second.” I turn to Marco, flipping my hat backwards. “Can you get the tarps laid out?”

“You got it. Try not to be too big of an ass to Miss Marsh. ”

“I’ll do my best.” I salute, trying to disguise my involuntary smile with sarcasm.

There’s really no reason for me to enter the school. But I’m still a sucker for punishment, because I can’t ignore the annoying urge to see her.

I’m just checking on her because Colton and Ember asked. That’s all.

Today will be our last day working at the school. All that’s left to do is attach the tarps to the poles. It’ll take a few more hours before we’re done, but I figured I may as well see how Miss Feisty Marsh is doing before I get all sweaty.

I peek my head into each classroom I pass, my steps faltering as I approach an open door bearing the name Mr. Jenkins . My jaw clenches, because Mr. Toby Jenkins has his scrawny arms wrapped around Ivy as she burrows cozily into his neck .

Well. Looks like I won’t be poking any tiny bears this morning.

I stomp back through the corridors and march outside to meet Marco.

“Lucked out, did ya?” He grins smugly.

“What are you talking about?”

“You’ve got that I didn’t get to stir the pot and I’m sulking look.”

I scoff. “No way you can tell if someone’s face has that kind of look.”

“I’ve seen this one before.” He sniffs like he’s got me all figured out. “It’s an obvious lead-in to a trope.”

“What do you know about tropes ?”

“Only what I’ve learned from Reese Witherspoon movies. So…everything.”

“I don’t know what to do with that.” I blink at him, pursing my lips.

“I’m kidding. I only watched Sweet Home Alabama . The rest I learned from your books.”

“My books,” I repeat, unsure where he’s heading with this.

“Yeah, the ones you always hide under your seat. I read ‘em every now and again.”

“I don’t know what to do with that either.”

“Don’t worry,” he says, picking up a tarp. “I won’t tell anyone you’re a giant book nerd who reads old-timey books.”

I shrug. “Didn’t you hear? Reading is cool now.”

I’ve always been a reader, but that fact seems to throw people off. They never know how to connect the joking, good-time guy with someone who also loves books and staying home to read. My family doesn’t even know how deeply my love of books runs.

Marco scratches his chin, looking thoughtful. “You got any more? ”

I can’t help the slow grin that splits across my face. “Yeah. I’ve got more.”

Marco and I spend the next two hours securing tarps to poles, just in time for the kids’s first recess. My shoulders and back ache with the satisfaction of honest, hard work.

I stretch my arm across my chest, loosening my muscles. As I turn, I catch sight of Ivy’s small figure framed in her classroom window. I continue flexing, and even from this distance, I can feel the intensity of her molten stare—until she abruptly pivots and vanishes from view.

Marco and I go out to the parking lot to load the last of our supplies after that. But my eyes can’t help drifting over to Ivy’s car. The backseat is still piled with random stuff.

I wait for Marco to drive away, stalling in my truck before eventually deciding to torture myself. I climb out, lumbering back into the school. It’s probably a good idea to let C.J. know we’re all done. I mean, I told her we’d be finished soon when I spoke to her earlier, but it would be rude not to say goodbye to my old principal, right?

I purposely take the route that goes past Ivy’s class, indulging in my self-inflicted torment. Then, she rushes out distractedly just as I approach her classroom door, a deep frown creasing her brow. She bumps into me, and her hands and forehead collide with my chest.

“Oof, sorry,” she mumbles, her face buried in my shirt.

I catch her by the shoulders and steady her, ready to make a joke about her being too clumsy and ending up in my arms once again. But my flirty smile falters when I see the way she’s avoiding eye contact. In all my interactions with her, she’s never backed away from an opportunity to at least throw a few eyeball daggers my way.

“Hey, you okay?” I ask tentatively while the eyes in question dart back down to the paper she was reading before .

“Ethan? What are you—Oh, yeah. I’m…uh…I need to go.” She chews on her bottom lip, barely even acknowledging me as she walks on. I watch her scurry away, her wedge heels moving in quick, short steps, and it requires more effort than I’m willing to admit to snap myself out of the trance she’s just put me in.

“Where are your minions?” I jog to catch up with her, slightly shaken by the effect she’s having on me.

“They’re at recess.” She continues ahead, her eyes burning a hole in the paper in her hand. Then she stops at a classroom and peaks her head inside, growling when she finds it empty.

Dang.

I blink away the fog of what that noise just did to me.

Whatever the effect it had on me, it evaporates when I realize whose class we’ve stopped at.

I’ll admit, this whole exchange is bruising my ego the teensiest bit. I still don’t even know what the heck I’m doing here in the first place. But I ignore my pride, because I’m still concerned about the visible distress in Ivy’s eyes.

However, it’s like I’m not even here as she whisks past me, catching another teacher as she’s walking her class down the hall.

“Hey Stef. D’you know where Toby is?”

“Uh…I think his class is doing a science thing in the gym. You okay?” Stef looks slightly annoyed as she glances over me and back to Ivy.

I watch Ivy’s hands tighten into fists. “Yup. Thanks.”

I’m once again trailing after her while she rubs at her forehead, obviously still in distress. Her muttered “frik” has me frowning, too. She rushes into a new classroom and whirls around, pinning me with another furious glance.

“Why are you here? Can’t you see I’ve got things to do?”

She’s like a vicious snapping turtle. She’s making me work for every inch of civility, but I can tell that the stress in her clenched jaw is only disguising itself as anger.

“Gee, I dunno, Ivy,” I lift my hands then let them fall against my side. “Maybe ‘cause you clearly need help with something and I’m not a heartless monster?”

She leans against a desk while one dainty eyebrow slants with suspicion. “You want to help me?”

“I’m considering it. How bad do you need me?” I flash a cocky smile, trying to get a rise out of her. But the innuendo is lost on her as she glances back and forth between the sheet scrunched in her fist and the whiteboard hanging on the wall.

“Can you please help me?” she grinds the words out through slightly clenched teeth.

“That cost you, didn’t it?”

She’s back to avoiding eye contact as she ignores my question. She hands me the paper before stomping over to the whiteboard.

“I have to sub for a class in a minute while my students go to P.E. It was a last minute thing…anyway. Can you write those letters on the board, same as they are in the grids on the page?”

I hold onto the paper, but I’m still trying to catch her green eyes while she folds her arms, studying her shoes. Something about this specific task has her retreating. The evasive eye contact, lip gnawing, foot shuffling, hand hiding—I may not spend a lot of time with Ivy Marsh, but I have a feeling this is her majorly stressed out look.

I glance down at the page and find eight five-by-five grids with letters jumbled inside. It seems simple, but I don’t dare say it to her.

“This is like Boggle or something?”

“Yeah. It’s a game to test their spelling words. They’re hidden in there. The uh…the other teacher prepped it. It’s not so mething I’d plan.” Her eyes meet mine for a second before she’s studying the white-board. “So, will you do it?”

For some inexplicable reason, I want to scrutinize her more, to freeze this moment long enough to discover the secrets she’s hiding. But she’s obviously uncomfortable, and I don’t think stretching this interaction out will help me thaw her icy exterior. The one that only seems to ice over around me.

“Sure,” I say. Then I step closer, my gaze locked onto hers as I bend to pick up the marker beside her.

“Thanks,” she whispers from behind me after I turn and start copying the grids onto the board.

“Your boyfriend usually helps you with this stuff?” I’m not exactly sure what ‘ this stuff ’ is, but hell if I’m not desperate to find out.

“Uh…”

“Mr. Jenkins,” I clarify dryly. “He’s your boyfriend, right?”

I don’t know why I think I need the verification, but saying the words makes my stomach roil.

Weird.

“Oh. Yes, yeah. He’s my boyfriend. Yup,” she says, emphasizing the pop at the end of the word.

Well, there it is.

She’s officially off limits. Not that I care.

She watches in silence while I finish copying the grids. When I’m done, I turn to hand her the page. “Hope I got it all down right.”

“I’m sure it’s fine. Thanks.”

I hate seeing the feeling of powerlessness etched on her face. This woman is a wild force of nature whose fire should never be dimmed. But because I’m an ass, I don’t offer to build any bridges. No. Instead, I carry on with my new favorite thrill. I poke the bear.

My eyes flicker to her heels, then back to her eyes. Because I need to see them light up with passion again. If getting mad at me ignites that spark, then poke, I will.

“Still wearing those death traps?”

Her eyes widen as the storm rolls in.

“You’re a butthead, Ethan King.”

There it is.

One side of my mouth turns up in a satisfied smirk, and we’re back to our usual state of mutual disdain. “Guess you’re having dinner with a butthead. See you tonight, Marsh.”