Orientation: The Benchmarks Series

from anything that might cause him distress.
I couldn't explain it, but that was how I felt.
And I had a million questions for Jory. Maybe more. I wanted to know what he ate for lunch and whether he had a favorite Premier League team. I wanted to know why he liked teaching middle school science and if he wanted to carpool. I wanted to know if he wore glasses because I'd noticed a faint tan line at his temples, and I needed to prepare myself for the gut-punch of sexy nerd glasses along with his impatient frowns, the flawless light olive skin, and all that gorgeous Superman hair. And more than anything else, I wanted to know whether someone held a claim on him. I needed to know what I was up against.
I leaned back in my desk chair, bouncing my hands against the armrests as I watched the clock. That, plus some pointless pacing, was all I'd accomplished today. No ordering, no organizing, no sorting.
I'd made a solid effort at paging through a phys ed supply catalog around noon, but one look at a kit of oversized bowling pins had me calling up an old-fashioned candlepin bowling alley and asking about their hours. Something told me Jory, with his weird crab tie, would like the vintage vibe.
Jory and anyone else from the staff I could gather for bowling and beers, of course. Unless Jory wanted to keep it small. Just the two of us.
"Oh my god, stop it," I said to myself. I rolled my chair away from the desk, braced my elbows on my thighs, and dropped my head into my hands. I had to stop. I couldn't keep fueling this fantasy fire. We'd talked for minutes. For all I knew, Jory was being polite and I was inventing all of this. I always did that. I invented things and jumped ten steps ahead and fell before there were feelings to fall into, and I stayed there like an overturned turtle long after realizing I'd fallen for all the wrong reasons. "Stop, stop, stop."
A knock sounded behind me, and then, "Is this a bad time?"
Oh my god. I dropped my hands and jerked out of my chair with a force that sent it crashing into a tower of stacked soccer nets. They skittered to the side, knocking over a pillar of orange safety cones and a bag of softballs, sending both straight for Jory's head.
"What is wrong with me?" I panted, diving in front of him to snatch the bag and steady the cones before they flattened him on the floor. I gained control of the equipment before it could do any damage, but I'd also shaved a few years off my life.
"Sorry. Didn't mean to sneak up on you like that." Jory folded his lips together and blinked away from me. "Thanks for intervening, though. You've got some reflexes."
I settled my hands on my waist and blew out a ragged breath. Jory was here in my office, wearing adorable dark-rimmed glasses and just being perfect while my hot mess of athletic equipment almost welcomed him with a concussion. "I didn't hear anything you just said because I'm still reliving the moment when a sack of softballs went flying toward your head."
"You did warn me about phys ed teachers and all their balls." Jory ducked his head, laughing. "How about that tour?"
* * *
At the head of the hallway, I spread my hands out in front of me. "Welcome to the land of short people, also known as the elementary floor." I motioned to the doors closest to us. "This end is early elementary. That's Zucconi's room. She's kindergarten." I pulled open the door, glanced inside. "I'm surprised Shay isn't here today. She's usually the first one in the building when we get the all-clear to start classroom setup."
"Is that common?" Jory asked. "Do teachers spend a lot of time on preparation?"
Crossing the hall, I shrugged. "It varies. Some like to spend a lot of time in their rooms. Others take work home. The language arts and history teachers spend every Sunday together, working on plans and coordinating curriculum. They hate each other, Clark and Noa, but they do it because they want everything aligned."
"I think I met Noa when I visited for my interview last spring," Jory said, tipping his head to the side as he considered this. Why did he have to be so smart and wonderful? It hurt to stand here and not rub my thumb over his brow just to feel his thoughts. "Yeah. She's a little shorter than me, black hair, beautiful golden skin?"
I opened the next door. "That's Noa Elbaz for you. We'll swing by her room and Clark Kerrin's too, but I doubt they're here. They always work on lesson plans at her place." I gestured to the pristine classroom. "This is Jaime Rouselle's classroom. She's first grade and the first one here in the morning, but she doesn't hang around in the afternoons. Jaime and Shay are best friends. Most of the time, their classes are working together on projects and have all kinds of flexible groups and it's a whole big thing. They're the nicest, happiest, most energetic people in the world."
Jory circled a cluster of desks. He was slim, several inches shorter than me, and a goddamn snack. Seriously, I'd never wanted to feel a man cozied up in my lap as badly as I wanted Jory. "Everything is so small."
I chuckled. "Don't let that fool you." When we returned to the hall, I pointed at two more doors. "Second and third grade are over here. Emme Ahlborg and Grace Kilmeade. Here's what you need to know about them: they're the exact opposites of Jaime and Shay."
He peered into Kilmeade's room, nodding solemnly. He did that a lot, the solemn nodding. He was a solemn guy, a serious guy. I was the polar opposite—as my ball jokes proved—but that wasn't going to be an issue for us.