Ready For It (MacAteer Brothers #2) - M.L. Nystrom Page 0,2

my class were diligent in their work, and I was just as diligent in helping them. Then it dawned on me what the slimy weasel was hinting, and my back snapped ramrod straight. My fatigue disappeared, replaced by heated anger.

“I hope you are not implying anyone cheated. My students worked damn hard all year for those grades and deserved every one of them.”

“Is there a possibility they got the test answers ahead of time?”

Oh no, he didn’t! “Mr. Bradshaw, as per state requirements, the test booklets stayed locked in the guidance storeroom next to your office until testing day. Only the head guidance counselor and you have an access key, and everyone, everyone, in the main office has a line of sight to that storeroom. If you are proposing I somehow magically stole a key from you or Ms. Bunting, unlocked that closet in full view of the office staff, and somehow covered myself in Harry Potter’s invisibility cloak to avoid detection from you and the entire guidance department, I can say you are sadly and badly mistaken. Sir.”

I’m a tall woman, and some say my height is intimidating. My sarcasm can be as well. I admit my mouth has gotten me into trouble more than once, but in this case, Mr. Bradshaw retreated. The man in front of me shrank into his bargain basement suit like a turtle. “No, no, Miss Miser. I… uh… I only wanted to compliment you on a job well done.”

Yeah, right. “Thank you, Mr. Bradshaw. If there is nothing else, I’m still not feeling well and would like to go home.”

“Yes, yes, by all means, yes.”

Asshole! That man was a throwback to a bygone era that truly needed to be bygone. He’d made little remarks throughout the year about girls and dress code violations, female teachers acting too mannish, and the biggest one for me personally, why girls didn’t need to be in higher math and science classes. It still burned me up when I overheard him say to a male colleague that girls didn’t need physics to balance a grocery budget.

I got to my red Audi and paused as dizziness hit and my stomach roiled again. Jeez, what the hell? Maybe I should take Bevvie’s advice and go see the doctor today. I decided to go home instead of to the mall. I didn’t even open the top of my car as I drove. Normally, I’d be whipping around the curves of the road leading to my place, but in deference to my funky stomach, I slowed to a sedate pace. My condo complex sat up on one of the many mountains that overlooked the city of Asheville, North Carolina. It wasn’t a cheap place, and on my teacher’s salary, there was no way I could have afforded the luxury real estate. My lifestyle came from a trust fund, and if I stayed careful, it would last me the rest of my life. I owned a snazzy car, high-end housing, and kept a vast wardrobe. As long as I didn’t go crazy and buy a yacht, a mansion in Maui, or start wearing only haute couture, I was set.

I entered my condo and rushed to the bathroom to dry heave into the white porcelain. Fuck, this was getting old. My mouth tasted awful. I stood up and weakly opened the medicine cabinet to get my toothbrush and toothpaste. The box of condoms caught my eye, and my brain clicked into overdrive. Sore, sensitive breasts, bloatedness, and some irritability were all typical signs that I was gearing up for the great monthly purge. Vomiting, fatigue, and constant heartburn added something else to that glorious time. Usually I didn’t pay attention to dates and times, but I remembered my last period was during the last round of mathletes competition. I pulled up Google calendar on my phone and counted backward, my heart speeding up. Four. Five. Six weeks. Almost seven.

Oh, shit! My knees gave out, and I sat abruptly on the floor with a soft thump as the truth dawned on me. I’m fucking pregnant!

Chapter Two

Owen finished his peanut butter sandwich and swallowed the last of his Coke. Break was over, and work needed to get done. Done, as in this was the last week of his contract with this construction company, and the end of it loomed in sight. They were building houses in an upscale development in Nashville, and the work had become repetitive and boring. Same four house designs repeated over and