Chapter 7 Resistance
The woman’s gaze flicks between us, sharp and unimpressed. “Do you actually know this man, Mr. Ashbrook?” she asks.
I turn toward him before he can answer, lift the book in my hand slightly and arch a brow, like I’m offering him an out. His eyes drop to the cover and recognition hits instantly. His jaw tightens for a fraction of a second before he looks back at her.
“Yes,” he says. “We’re.... familiar with each other.”
The phrasing is careful and detached. Like he’s making damn sure it doesn’t sound like anything more.
She nods, “Either way,” she says to me, crisp and professional, “....visitors are required to report to the front office and sign in before approaching staff or classrooms.”
“I’ll keep that in mind next time I drop by,” I say, smiling at her. It takes effort. She opens her mouth to say something but Ryan cuts in smoothly. “I’m sorry about this, Mrs. Francis. I’ll take care of it right away.”
She nods, already scanning down the hall. “See that you do. Hey you! no running.” she snaps at someone out of view, heels clicking as she strides off. I watch her disappear around the corner before turning back to Ryan. “She seems pleasant.”
“She’s the deputy principal,” he says flatly.
Then he looks me straight in the eye, and whatever shield he had up before is gone. There’s confusion there, and wariness.
“What on earth are you doing here?”
I lift the book slightly between us. “I’m being thoughtful.”
He reaches for it on instinct but I pull it back just out of reach. His eyes flick up to mine...sharp and warning. Then he exhales and lets his hand drop. He turns, opens the classroom door, and says calmly, “Read the next chapter on your own. I’ll be right back.”
Then the door closes again.
He faces me with what’s clearly meant to be a glare. It doesn’t quite land. There’s too much softness in his mouth, too much restraint in his eyes. Like he’s trying to borrow severity from someone else and finding it doesn’t fit.
“How did you know where I work?”
Instead of answering, I flip the cover open.
His gaze drops to his name. The school. He closes his eyes for half a second and blows out a short breath. “You should’ve left it at the gate,” he says. “They would’ve passed it on to me.”
I tilt my head. “And miss the chance to see you again? No way.”
He looks unimpressed. I gesture toward the classroom door with the book. “For what it’s worth, I was enjoying the lesson. Very captivating.”
“A grown man loitering outside a high school classroom,” he says coolly. “It’s questionable at best.”
I scoff, but I can’t help the smile that slips in after. I lean back against the wall and take him in properly this time.
“I like your voice.”
His gaze sharpens immediately. “You what?”
“It does things to me,” I continue, unbothered. “It’s distracting, messes with my head. Gets under my skin and makes it hard to think straight. I've been carrying it around since last night. ”
For a second, he just stares at me like he’s genuinely questioning reality. He opens his mouth like he has something ready, like he’s about to snap back or shut this down....but nothing comes out. Not a word. His lips part, then press together again, breath stalling somewhere in his chest. He looks flushed, too, color rising up his neck, across his cheekbones, like his body is betraying him before his mind can catch up. I catch it and a subtle smirk curves my mouth.
I meet his eyes and add quietly, “I could listen to you read a grocery list and forget where I was.”
He looks away first.
“I’ve got a class to get back to,” he says, already shifting his weight toward the door. Then, almost as an afterthought, he adds, “I trust you know the way out.”
It's a clean dismissal, polite and controlled. His eyes flick to the book in my hand. “You can keep it.”
Then he turns, and that’s when something inside me snaps tight, panic clawing up my chest before I can reason it away. I watch his hand close around the door handle and my body reacts like I’m about to lose something vital. The intensity of it confuses the hell out of me.
“Wait,” I say, too quickly.
He pauses but doesn’t turn yet.
“Have dinner with me.”
He turns slowly, disbelief written plain across his face,“Excuse me?”
“Dinner,” I repeat, steady now. “Or a drink, whichever you prefer”
He searches my face like he expects the punchline to show up any second. I step a little closer, lifting the book just enough to make the title catch the light. “I’ve got an assignment. I need to actually write a piece on this. Could use some insight from someone who clearly knows it.”
He glances at his watch, brows knitting. “Have you considered actually reading it?” His voice carries that mix of incredulity and judgement that makes my chest tighten. “I’m having trouble understanding how you’d review something without any understanding of what it is.”
I shrug, letting my tone slide between nonchalant and teasing. “I’m a slow reader. Takes too long. And like I said, I like your voice. I’d rather you explain it to me.”
He shakes his head, serious now. “I can’t.”
“Sure you can,” I counter. “Just pretend I’m one of your students.”
His eyes narrow. “I’ve got things to do. Some of us actually take our jobs seriously.”
He starts to turn the handle. “Now, if you’ll excuse me,”
I step a fraction closer, my voice low.... firm “Can I have your number then?”
A lock of hair slips loose and falls onto his forehead when he turns again. It shouldn’t matter. But my eyes stick to it like it’s a fault line. I have the sudden, irrational urge to reach out and brush it back, to see if he’d flinch or let it happen.
“No,” he says simply. Flat and final. “You can’t.”
I give a short nod, like I’ve accepted it.
I haven’t.
Something flares in me instead, a quiet decision snapping into place. His no doesn’t stop me, it hooks me. Dares me. I step forward, closing the space he clearly wanted to keep. It’s intrusive and intentional. There are only inches between us now. His gaze flickers over my face, my mouth, my chest, then locks back onto my eyes. “What do you think you’re doing?” He asks, his tone a warning
I don’t answer right away.
I reach into my pocket, pull out my wallet, slide a business card free. The wallet goes back where it came from. My eyes never leave his as I push his suit jacket aside just enough to place my hand flat against his chest.
His heart is hammering, I like it more than I should.
I lift the card between us. “In case you change your mind,” I say quietly. “About helping with the piece..... or dinner.” Then I slip it into the pocket of his shirt.
His gaze sharpens and for half a second, I think he might shove me back, so I step away first.
“You need to leave. Before I inform security.”
And that’s it. He turns away from me and heads back into the classroom, the door closing between us with a soft, decisive click. I stand there longer than I should. Long enough for my pulse to settle into something more dangerous. Then I scoff and smile despite myself.