Orientation: The Benchmarks Series

the strap of my messenger bag as I glanced up at the wide slab of man in front of me. In the back of my mind—the section not consumed with keeping my job—I knew this man was all of my favorite things. Tall and broad, bronzed like a statue, and a smile so bright it rivaled the sun.
I was none of those things. I refused to speculate whether that made them my favorites.
"Need some help?" he asked.
My gaze landed on his polo shirt. Specifically, the way it hugged his shoulders as if testing the fabric's limits. The school crest was embroidered over his heart and that was a wonderful invitation to eye-fondle his chest. A ball cap shadowed his eyes, but I was certain he was blond underneath it. The golden fuzz on his forearms guaranteed it.
I could've spent all day cataloging the finest of his features, but I was still late. I stabbed a finger toward the building. "How do I get in?"
"They're not done with the front entrance yet, are they? Can't believe it's taking so long. At this rate, we'll have to catapult kids into the building."
If it was possible, his smile deepened as he mimed pulling back a catapult before launching it forward. The way his biceps flexed was…well, I ran a hand over my mouth to make sure I wasn't drooling.
"What can I help you with?" He gave me the kind of up-and-down that wasn't meant to bring goose bumps to my skin but succeeded nonetheless. "Are you here for the in-service? The one for new staff?"
I jerked my chin up in response before I could manage the word, "Yes." I didn't trust myself to offer more, not right now. It didn't matter whether he was the best thing about this entire city. I was late to my first day of work, and I couldn't screw this up. I needed this year to go well because I couldn't go looking for another teaching assignment in a few short months. I'd put everything on the line to get this job—and drained my savings to move here—and it needed to work.
"Well, that's great. Good to have you." He scooped a thick arm through the air as he turned toward the building. "Come on around back with me. I'll show you my best kept secret."
It took me a moment to shelve all thoughts of my big, helpful stranger's best kept secret and blink away from his tight backside as he moved down the sidewalk. I had to lengthen my strides to keep up.
"Are you, uh, do you—" I called to the strong line of his shoulders.
He shot a confused glance over his shoulder before slowing to match my pace. He yanked his ball cap off his head and raked his fingers through his—I knew it!—honey-blond hair. "What is the matter with me?" he asked, mostly to himself. He replaced the ball cap and met my gaze with a bashful grin, like a golden retriever guilty of wagging too hard and taking out an entire rosebush in the process. "Max Murphy. I teach health and phys ed." He smiled down at the sidewalk. "The kids call me Coach Maximum."
I couldn't help the laugh that broke loose. "I can imagine they do."
"Let me guess." Max cut a glance in my direction, still smiling. He tapped a finger against his lips as he hummed. His gaze dropped to my slim trousers. "Middle school, for sure. You don't crawl around or sit criss-cross-applesauce with the littles in those pants."
That earned him another laugh. "You're right about that."
Nodding, he studied my gingham shirt and tie printed with pink and blue crabs. It was too damn hot for ties, but in the continuing saga of my overpreparation for school, I'd reasoned it was better to arrive overdressed and leave with a tie balled in my pocket. "I'm going to say science."
I waved at my tie. "What? No evidence to support that inference? Math teachers never wear pastel crabs or something like that?"
Max shook his head as we rounded the building. "Nah," he replied, chuckling. "You're the only new middle grade teacher this year." He tugged a lanyard from his pocket and waved his key fob at a panel on the building. When the locks disengaged, he held the door open for me. "That, and you look like a science teacher."
I stepped into a blessedly cool, dark hallway, never more thankful for air-conditioning than I was right now. But I had to know—"Which part of me looks like a science teacher?"
I glanced at Max in time to see a wave of pink washing up his neck. "Um, I, uh, I'm not sure." He shrugged, his gaze darting toward my shirt and then away, anywhere but me and my sweat-wrinkled gingham. "The green, I guess. Green for science. Is that a thing? Do content areas have designated colors? I don't know why I thought that. That's dumb, right? It's dumb. Never mind."
We stood a shoulder's width apart, the hallway empty. Max tipped his head up, blinked at the dimmed lights in a way that suggested he'd only now noticed their absence. He ran a hand over his chest, still watching the ceiling. Every visible inch of him was large and solid, as if his body had decided he was meant to spend his days using it for sport long before his mind could form such an idea. I figured he was in his late twenties, maybe early thirties.
He swallowed, turned his attention back toward me, and smiled when he found me staring. Again, I worried about drool. Stubble shadowed his neck and jaw in an invitation I couldn't accept. Not today.
"I'm late," I said, giving him this isn't what I want hands and please understand I'd rather sweat on a hot sidewalk all day if it meant staring at your ass in those shorts eyes. "Can you show me where I'm supposed to be?"
"Right here," Max replied, his words sandpaper rough.
My lips parted as a starved