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  Cam looked at the clock and groaned. “You’re telling me.”

  “Meh, have the kids hit stuff with sticks. That’s all you music teachers do anyway, right?”

  “And all you art teachers do is have kids throw paint on a canvas, right?”

  “Touché.” She paused in the doorway. “See you at lunch?”

  “See ya.”

  Cam had noticed Taryn his first day at Midtown Academy. She’d been eating alone in the teachers’ lounge and had given him a small, sincere smile when he’d asked if he could join her. He’d teased her about her wardrobe and asked if she was single-handedly trying to destroy all stereotypes about art teachers dressing like hippies. She’d primly told him that someone had to do it and why not her? Cam had cracked up, and they’d been friends ever since.

  Taryn had been hired the year before Cam, but he’d observed she didn’t have a lot of friends. It surprised him, given that she was smart, beautiful, an accomplished artist and great with the kids, but he eventually understood she intimidated a lot of people. Plus, she was an unapologetic flirt. Hell, she’d flirted with Cam until she realized she was barking up the wrong tree.

  The Academy staff had never warmed up to Taryn, but the kids adored her. Cam watched her take kids who swore they hated art and turn them into enthusiastic artists. The staff liked Cam, and he made an effort to get to know them, but they could be a rather clique-y group and, since they were a bit stodgy for Cam’s tastes, he didn’t socialize with staff outside work. Being of a similar age, with interests in the arts and low tolerances for stodginess, Cam and Taryn had naturally gravitated toward each other.

  Cam heard the chatter of kids’ voices approaching and a cheerful-sounding, “Hi, Mr. Lewis!”

  He glanced up from his desk and smiled at Sadie Hamilton, one of his first students to filter into the classroom.

  “Good morning, Sadie.”

  “You look tired.” She squinted at him. “Are you getting sick? My mom just got over a cold.”

  Cam found Sadie Hamilton to be bright, and she was one of his favorite students. “No, I don’t think I’m sick. I didn’t go to bed early enough,” he explained. “That’s why your mom and dads are always telling you to get enough rest. If you don’t listen, you turn into a grown-up like me who forgets.”

  Sadie giggled, but before she could reply, her friend Emily arrived and pulled Sadie toward her seat, chattering about something her stepmom had done. Emily, along with Sadie and her brother Dylan, weren’t Cam’s only students with less than traditional family structures. The Hamiltons had one of the best functioning from what Cam could tell, though. Sadie’s mother, Kate, and her partner, Robert, got along flawlessly with Sadie’s father, Carter, and his partner, Riley. Or, flawlessly from Cam’s perspective, at least.

  He’d put together most of the pieces of the family’s dynamics from what they’d told him, augmented by the gossip columns and the school’s very active rumor mill. Apparently, Carter and Riley had been friends for years, but they didn’t become a couple until after they were divorced. Of course, a lot of people believed they’d been having an affair behind their wives’ backs the whole time. Cam figured it wasn’t any of his business, but either way, they and Kate Hamilton were doing something right. Sadie and Dylan were happy, well-adjusted children.

  The fact that Kate remained civil with Carter and Riley, much less parented with them, was in itself a minor miracle. And one for which Cam felt deeply grateful. Teaching could be a difficult job under the best of circumstances, but warring parents made it a nightmare.

  The remainder of the students arriving reminded Cam he needed to focus on his job and he looked down at his day planner. Time to figure out which lecture from next week he could substitute for today’s. Preferably one that was quiet.

  * * * *

  Cam was ready to face-plant onto his bed after he unlocked the door to his loft apartment in Brooklyn. His typical forty-five-minute commute from Midtown East where he worked had taken over an hour and a half, thanks to delays at the East River ferry. Freezing rain made for a miserable bike ride to his DUMBO neighborhood, and he felt tired, cold and grumpy.

  He kicked off his boots near the door and added them to the pile. Five people living in one apartment meant a mountain of discarded footwear at any given moment. “It looks like a centipede lives here,” Cam could hear his mom muttering to herself. Not that he or his four siblings had ever listened, but every so often, her voice urged him to at least cull his contribution to the pile.

  With rain dripping from his boots and no motivation to do a damn thing about it, he left them to dry.

  He spread out his hat, gloves and scarf, too, then hung his jacket on the slightly listing coat rack he’d picked up on a thrifting trip with Taryn. The white-painted cinder block walls were a pain in the ass to hang anything from, so he’d gone with the freestanding option. It beat the pile of jackets they’d had before.

  Cam trudged down the hall, debating if he should grab a quick bite before he passed out.

  “Hey, man.” Myron walked by the open-concept kitchen, his words muffled by a mouthful of peanut butter and marshmallow fluff sandwich. He ate one every single day, and Cam shuddered every time.

  “Hey.”

  Myron swallowed. “You look bushed.”

  “I’m dead,” Cam agreed. He pulled open the refrigerator door and stared at the meager offerings on his portion of the shelf. They’d had a pizza party at the school the other day, and Cam had taken home the leftovers. Thank goodness because he didn’t have the ambition for anything more involved.

  “Cold pizza it is,” he muttered. He retrieved the box and tossed it onto the counter.

  “Are you coming down with something?” Myron was a bit of a hypochondriac, and he eyed Cam with suspicion.

  “No.” Cam yawned. “I had a gig last night and worked today. I’m running on two hours of sleep.”

  “Ah.” Myron nodded. “I’m getting ready to go to work now.”

  Myron Goodman worked as a jazz pianist at a local lounge and had a side business selling refurbished phones online. He brought in a decent amount of money, and Cam thought it was all legit. Well, most of it anyway. He paid his rent on time, so Cam didn’t ask questions.

  Cam grabbed a slice and took a bite of Hawaiian pizza. “Anyone else home?”

  Myron shook his head. “I haven’t seen Louise in a couple of days, and Bernice and Kevin are out.”

  Louise Hicks and Bernice Weber were the only other names on the lease with Cam’s and Myron’s. But Bernice and her boyfriend, Kevin Dolan, were usually joined at the hip and, for all practical purposes, Cam had four roommates instead of three.

  Since Kevin chipped in on rent, no one argued. Although Cam was sick of finding Kevin’s beard hairs in the shower. He hoped they were beard hairs, anyway.

  “I’m gonna crash when I finish eating then,” Cam said.

  “I’m heading out in fifteen, so you should be good.”

  Cam wasn’t a light sleeper—especially when this tired—but the more roommates home, the noisier the place got, and he wouldn’t turn down a few hours of uninterrupted sleep.

  “Thanks, man.” Cam ripped paper towel off the roll, tossed another slice of pizza on top of it and jammed the box back in the refrigerator.

  Cam trudged to his bedroom and stuffed pizza in his face along the way. His room was the size of a shoebox, with just enough room for a bed, a narrow dresser he could only open with the bedroom door closed, and a makeshift clothing rack. Because the building was a former industrial space, and since they’d framed the bedrooms with the apparent goal of cramming as many in as possible, it had no closets. The bedroom walls were nine feet tall but open to the ceiling. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d heard his roommates having sex.

  Still, the rest of the place was pretty nice. He liked the cinder block walls, concrete floors and huge windows. True industrial spaces in the neighborhood were getting harder and harder to come b
y. They were hard to come by in the entire Tri-State area, according to Cam’s dad, who was an electrician in New Jersey.

  Cam finished his pizza, tossed the paper towel in the trash and sank onto the bed with a grateful groan. He should brush his teeth, but he could barely keep his eyes open. As he stripped down to his boxers, his phone tumbled onto the bed. That reminded him he hadn’t called his mother. They spoke once a week, on Thursdays, but he had missed her call last night.

  “I’ll call when I get up,” he muttered under his breath, knowing that if he didn’t, he’d have concerned-sounding voicemail messages saying, “I know you’re a grown-up, honey, but I’m your mom. I still worry.”

  Cam set an alarm on his phone, plugged it in to charge and crawled under the covers with a grateful sigh.

  I should text the bartender from last night, too. But his eyelids were too heavy to lift, and he was out before he could reach for his phone again.

  * * * *

  “Hey, Cam.” Ben smiled brightly at him and slid a bottle of water across the bar. Ember was hopping tonight.

  “Hey.” Cam smiled back. He raised his voice over the mix he’d queued up to play during his break. “And thanks. Good to see you again.”

  “You too.” Ben leaned on the bar. “I’m about to take my break. Wanna go out back with me while I have a smoke?”

  “Sure.” Cam didn’t smoke, but he’d enjoy talking to Ben again. After his nap yesterday, he’d forgotten to text Ben—he had called his mother, thankfully—and was glad he didn’t seem upset.

  Ben grabbed his own bottle of water and a hoodie, then came out from behind the bar. He brushed his fingers against Cam’s waist when he passed. “You want your coat? I don’t think it’s raining anymore, but it’s fucking freezing out.”

  “Yeah, let me grab it.”

  “Meet you out by the dumpsters?” Ben flashed a grin at him. “Wow, if that isn’t the worst pickup line ever, I don’t know what is.”

  Cam laughed. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

  It didn’t take him long to retrieve his jacket from the DJ booth then make his way through the maze of back hallways in the club to the rear exit.

  Ben was smoking a cigarette when Cam pushed open the door and stepped into the cold April night. He wedged a piece of wood between the door and frame to prevent them from getting locked out. The alley smelled faintly of garbage and cigarette smoke, but the cold air kept it from being too unpleasant. July and August were unbearable.

  “Good call on the coat.” A shiver hit Cam. The DJ booth had been sweltering earlier and now the sweat froze on him. He tucked his hands in the pockets of his black wool jacket.

  Ben nodded. “Yeah, it’s fucking cold, even for April. I’ll try to make it quick.”

  “Sure, no problem.”

  “So, how hungover were you yesterday morning?” Ben flicked ash off the cigarette, and the cherry on the end glowed red in the dim alley.

  Cam groaned and burrowed his hands deeper into the coat pockets. “Ugh. Class was rough.”

  “You’re a teacher, right?” Ben sounded a touch guilty. “I think I remember you saying that, anyway.”

  “Yeah. I teach elementary music at Midtown Academy.”

  “Fancy.”

  Cam smiled. “It’s a private school, but it’s not one of the crazy exclusive ones where parents have to sign their kids up the moment they give birth. We’re well funded, especially compared to the public schools, but not super pretentious.”

  “Cool. You like teaching there, then?”

  “Absolutely, although I did not enjoy it on a Friday with a hangover. I’m not going to lie. I changed my lesson plan and went with lectures about music theory and composers instead of having the kids play instruments. My head couldn’t take it.”

  “Whoa, that seems advanced for little kids.”

  Cam shrugged. “I’m not getting into complex theory or making first graders write long essays or anything. But we start with the basics and build from there. My fifth graders recently wrote a short paper about their favorite composer. That kind of thing.”

  “Huh.” Ben stubbed out his cigarette and dropped it in a nearby empty tin. “I don’t remember having music classes like that back from where I’m from.”

  “Where is that?”

  “Indiana.” He grimaced and reached in his pocket. He popped something—a mint maybe—into his mouth. “It was nothing but cornfields and American flags. I came to New York with dreams of being an actor, and I wound up bartending.”

  “Not an uncommon story in New York.”

  “Nope. We’re a dime a dozen here.” Ben stepped closer.

  Cam smiled at him again. “I think you’re a bit above average. I haven’t seen you act, but your bartending is top-notch, and you’re no slouch in bed.”

  “Yeah? Glad to hear it.” Ben slid a hand into Cam’s back pocket. “I wasn’t sure when I didn’t hear from you today. You don’t seem like the kind of guy to wait a few days just to play it cool.”

  Cam winced. “No, I’m not. And I’m sorry. Today was nuts. It’s not that I wasn’t interested.”

  “No pressure.”

  “I would like to hook up again,” Cam admitted. He grasped the front of Ben’s hoodie and tugged him closer. “As long as you’re still up for the casual thing.”

  Ben’s breath—minty with a hint of smoke—wafted across his lips. “I’m up for that.”

  Cam closed the distance between their mouths. The kiss sent a satisfying hum through his body before he pulled away. Good to know his memories of the night with Ben—while slightly foggy from too many vodka shots—were accurate.

  A shiver racked Ben’s body, and he pulled away from Cam. “How about we take this someplace warmer? I’m freezing my balls off here.”

  Chapter Three

  Jesse took pains to be outside Midtown Academy on East 27th Street by two-twenty p.m. on the following Wednesday, phone in one hand and a bag of snacks for Dylan in the other. He read his messages and email and glanced up from time to time at the other adults gathering around him on the tree-lined sidewalk. Several attractive faces caught his eye. Hot damn, this was a good-looking bunch of caregivers. Mostly parents, he guessed, with non-parents mixed in. Nannies and babysitters, and people like Jesse. Okay, maybe no one else quite like him, but surely there were other non-parents on the pickup lists, too.

  He tore his eyes away from a sexy brunette in riding boots who kept smiling at him and stared at the school’s elegant façade instead. He admired the variations in the six interconnected brownstone buildings, though he could almost feel the brunette’s eyes on the side of his face. Jesse didn’t plan to do anything about it—he preferred not to get involved with the parents of small children. Families were more baggage than he liked to handle.

  No problem with extra baggage when you were fooling around with Carter, an annoying voice in his brain murmured. That was because Carter hadn’t made more of their stint as friends with benefits or pressured him to be anything other than an overgrown playmate to Sadie and Dylan. Jesse was immensely fond of the Hamilton kids. They were quirky and hilarious, but, most importantly, they weren’t his, and Jesse could hand them back to their parents anytime things got too complicated. In his opinion, complicated relationships took the fun out of life and sex.

  The school bells rang, and Jesse pocketed his phone in his leather coat. At two-thirty-three, the doors of the main entrance swung open, and the first wave of children emerged. Jesse knew from previous pickups that the academy dismissed rooms by number and floor. Dylan’s and Sadie’s classrooms were located on the second floor toward the back of the school, and it often took a while for them to make it outside, so he didn’t think it odd when ten minutes passed without Dylan making an appearance. He straightened after he caught sight of a petite woman with golden brown skin and a pixie haircut wearing a red pea coat. He recognized her as Dylan’s homeroom teacher, but he didn’t see Dylan with the group of students behind her.

&n
bsp; Stepping up with the crowd of other caregivers, Jesse focused on catching her eye. Despite the flurry of activity involved in handling twelve second graders, she met his gaze quickly. Recognition crossed her face, and she raised a finger in a “please hold” kind of signal. After her last charge had walked off—with the flirty brunette in the riding boots, no less—Dylan’s teacher stepped forward.

  “Mr. Murtagh, right? I’m Miss Danvers.”

  “Yes, hello. We met last fall. I’m here to pick up Dylan.”

  “Yes, Mr. Hamilton told me to expect you for pickup today. As did Dylan,” she added with a smile. “Repeatedly, at regular intervals during the day.”

  A warm feeling spread in Jesse’s chest. “I see. Dylan’s just excited he didn’t have to tag along to the doctor’s office with his father and Sadie. Anything I should know before I take him home? I mean, besides knowing where Dylan is?” Miss Danvers’ cheeks turned pink, and Jesse pushed down thoughts about her level of attractiveness. Which was really high, not that he could do anything about it.

  “Dylan forgot his recorder in the music lab,” Miss Danvers replied. “I let him go back to get it rather than waiting for tomorrow and Mr. Lewis should be walking him out in a moment.”

  Jesse furrowed his brow. “Recorder? As in the musical instrument?”

  “That’s right.” Miss Danvers nodded. “The second grade is learning to read music this year to prep for more formal musical training next year. The children practice with the recorders every day to further their memorization techniques.”

  Before Jesse could respond, Dylan’s voice rang out.

  “Hey, Jesse!”

  Miss Danvers stepped back and was replaced by a man Jesse guessed to be Mr. Lewis, the music teacher. Jesse didn’t pay him much mind and instead focused his attention on the little boy in the blue parka looking up at him with a big smile. Dylan Hamilton exuded boyish energy. He had a strong will and a wicked sense of humor and was as quick to laugh as to argue with his older sister, Sadie, over almost anything at all.