Read Online No More Mr. Nice Guy by Jennifer Greene - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jennifer Greene
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break. Outside there was a marvelous wind, chasing October’s leaves from the trees, keening through the darkness. Clouds blocked and unblocked a view of the moon, as if they were playing a child’s game of peekaboo.
She tensed again just slightly as they neared Alan’s office. Her car was there and had to be picked up, but it wasn’t a night she wanted to be separated from Alan, even for a minute, before they got home. Still, seconds later they passed the office, and her brows flickered up in surprise. “Did you forget my car?”
“For now.”
Smiling, she curled up on the seat and relaxed. He felt as she did. Her eyelids fluttered sleepily down to half-mast for the drive, and opened again only when the car stopped. Abruptly, her lips parted. Expecting to see her apartment, she saw dark woods weaving in moonlight and the dead end of a narrow road.
Alan switched off the engine, leaned back against his door and smiled at her. “I’ve got an important question to ask you,” he said softly.
Her heart thumped in triple time. “Yes?”
“I want to know all about you, Caro, and I was just realizing I don’t know much about your childhood. Can you start with your earliest memory, and go on from there?”
Well, she’d always advocated getting to know each other, hadn’t she? Biting back a sigh of frustration, Carroll began to tell Alan about her nursery-school days.
***
Yawning, Carroll pushed open the classroom door and flicked on the light. Bleary-eyed, she surveyed the purple unicorns dancing on the walls, the plush red rug in the center of the floor and the box crammed with stuffed animals in the corner. There was no desk. As a speech therapist, she didn’t believe in pushing a classroom atmosphere on the kids.
On this particular morning, the sandman had left a gritty feeling in Carroll’s eyes, and the self-righteous corner of her brain was chiding her for arriving at work on half power. Three hours of sleep just wasn’t enough. Furthermore, she had the sneaky feeling that if she looked in a mirror, she’d see a fairly idiotic grin on her face.
Yawning again, she set down her container of orange juice and a paper bag that smelled suspiciously like doughnuts, then took off her coat. Beneath, she wore jeans and a white sweater with clowns embroidered on the front of it. She’d chosen to wear cloisonné dangling earrings that were shaped like little balloons in rainbow colors. Cathy loved balloons and lots of color, and Cathy was her first student this morning.
Blinking sleepily at the clock, she noted that she had, thank heaven, fifteen minutes before the child would arrive. She flopped down on the rug with the little girl’s speech folder in her hand. The file absorbed her attention for a moment. Born with a hearing problem, Cathy had angelic blue eyes and a froth of blond curls. She was four. Five months ago, when her mother had first brought her in, Cathy had taken one look at Carroll and screamed bloody murder. The mother had been beside herself.
Carroll had not. Most kids hated speech therapy and with reason. A child who had failed to talk built up a fear of trying to speak, and that was exactly what Carroll had to ask her students to do—try. Risk failing. Fail. Try again, and again, and again. Speech was easy to teach. Building self-confidence in children with fragile egos was the tough job, and Carroll loved it.
But right now she couldn’t keep her mind on Cathy for more than three seconds at a time. Alan’s face kept intruding on her consciousness. She hadn’t gotten home last night until after two, and then she’d gone home to a lonely bed. Not what she’d been expecting when they’d left the medical conference.
A wistful smile curved her lips. She still felt hung over from laughter. On a lover’s lane, they’d shared embarrassing stories from when they were kids, critiqued nearly all the flavors on the Baskin-Robbins’ ice cream menu, shared other passions and peeves…heck,
She tensed again just slightly as they neared Alan’s office. Her car was there and had to be picked up, but it wasn’t a night she wanted to be separated from Alan, even for a minute, before they got home. Still, seconds later they passed the office, and her brows flickered up in surprise. “Did you forget my car?”
“For now.”
Smiling, she curled up on the seat and relaxed. He felt as she did. Her eyelids fluttered sleepily down to half-mast for the drive, and opened again only when the car stopped. Abruptly, her lips parted. Expecting to see her apartment, she saw dark woods weaving in moonlight and the dead end of a narrow road.
Alan switched off the engine, leaned back against his door and smiled at her. “I’ve got an important question to ask you,” he said softly.
Her heart thumped in triple time. “Yes?”
“I want to know all about you, Caro, and I was just realizing I don’t know much about your childhood. Can you start with your earliest memory, and go on from there?”
Well, she’d always advocated getting to know each other, hadn’t she? Biting back a sigh of frustration, Carroll began to tell Alan about her nursery-school days.
***
Yawning, Carroll pushed open the classroom door and flicked on the light. Bleary-eyed, she surveyed the purple unicorns dancing on the walls, the plush red rug in the center of the floor and the box crammed with stuffed animals in the corner. There was no desk. As a speech therapist, she didn’t believe in pushing a classroom atmosphere on the kids.
On this particular morning, the sandman had left a gritty feeling in Carroll’s eyes, and the self-righteous corner of her brain was chiding her for arriving at work on half power. Three hours of sleep just wasn’t enough. Furthermore, she had the sneaky feeling that if she looked in a mirror, she’d see a fairly idiotic grin on her face.
Yawning again, she set down her container of orange juice and a paper bag that smelled suspiciously like doughnuts, then took off her coat. Beneath, she wore jeans and a white sweater with clowns embroidered on the front of it. She’d chosen to wear cloisonné dangling earrings that were shaped like little balloons in rainbow colors. Cathy loved balloons and lots of color, and Cathy was her first student this morning.
Blinking sleepily at the clock, she noted that she had, thank heaven, fifteen minutes before the child would arrive. She flopped down on the rug with the little girl’s speech folder in her hand. The file absorbed her attention for a moment. Born with a hearing problem, Cathy had angelic blue eyes and a froth of blond curls. She was four. Five months ago, when her mother had first brought her in, Cathy had taken one look at Carroll and screamed bloody murder. The mother had been beside herself.
Carroll had not. Most kids hated speech therapy and with reason. A child who had failed to talk built up a fear of trying to speak, and that was exactly what Carroll had to ask her students to do—try. Risk failing. Fail. Try again, and again, and again. Speech was easy to teach. Building self-confidence in children with fragile egos was the tough job, and Carroll loved it.
But right now she couldn’t keep her mind on Cathy for more than three seconds at a time. Alan’s face kept intruding on her consciousness. She hadn’t gotten home last night until after two, and then she’d gone home to a lonely bed. Not what she’d been expecting when they’d left the medical conference.
A wistful smile curved her lips. She still felt hung over from laughter. On a lover’s lane, they’d shared embarrassing stories from when they were kids, critiqued nearly all the flavors on the Baskin-Robbins’ ice cream menu, shared other passions and peeves…heck,
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