And he’d had a crush on Mrs. Phillips, the librarian.
That had all ended, the summer before his junior year which had brought him eight inches and forty pounds. Not his love for literature, but his pathetic crush.
He’d done little over those months except eat, sleep, and groan during the miserable growth spurt. Every bone in his body had hurt, including his toes.
But he’d come out the other side and had picked up rugby.
Which wasn’t typical in the States—except Garret had been born in California to an American mother and an Australian father, so he had love for both countries. His parents had divorced when he was in high school, his dad moving back to Australia and Garret’s summers permanently spent in a foreign country.
Not that Australia wasn’t great. There were parts that were amazing, and he loved the beaches, the people, and rugby. That he’d loved even before his growth spurt. After, he’d gotten good at the sport—so good that he’d managed to play professionally.
The only bad thing about spending summers in Australia had been being away from his friends and missing out on all the high school parties.
His lips curved when he remembered how upset he’d been about missing Beverly Hawkins' swim party. The girls had skinny dipped, and he hadn’t been there to witness it.
God, he’d been such a perv.
Was still a perv.
He was also fucked, he realized the moment that Heather walked into her office. He’d been waiting for the better part of forty-five minutes, her assistant plying him with coffee and snacks, and him assuming that another meeting had run long.
What he hadn’t expected was for Heather to come in, guns blazing, having already spoken with Katherine—Kay.
How did he know that she’d spoken to Kay?
Probably because she strode across the room, lifted her hand as though to slap him—though she didn’t—and glared. “I should slap you,” she muttered. “God knows you deserve it. But Kay has this pesky policy against physical violence, and so I’m going to abide by it, as much as it pains me to say.”
“I do deserve it,” he said.
She indicated he should sit before she crossed behind her desk and sat down herself. “Yes.” Her eyes went flinty, steel entering her expression in a way that made this woman way more terrifying than any of his coaches had ever been. “Next time you lie to me, our deal is off the table. I don’t fuck around, I don’t play games, and I don’t force people I work with to date my friends.”
“I—”
“Frankly, it was hard fucking enough to get Kay to agree to the date in the first place. She hates meeting new people, and going out in general is like a worst-case scenario for her.”
She seemed to be waiting for a response from him, so he told the truth. “Me, too.”
Heather threw up her hands, as if she knew he’d say that. “Yes. Exactly. Which is why I thought you two would hit it off. She’s beautiful and brilliant and a homebody.” Blue eyes narrowed further. “Like you.”
Garret winced. “I—”
“Fucked up.”
He nodded. “I was an ass.”
“A total ass. A slap-deserving ass.” She stood up and started pacing the room. “How dare you call her a cow! Do you know how insulting that is? How fucking dismissive and disgusting?”
“Look”—he pushed to his feet—“Yes, I was an asshole, but I don’t need a dressing down from you. I was a prick, case closed, and I already apologized . . . or well, I sent an apology to Kay’s apartment this morning.”
Heather stared at him long enough that he struggled not to squirm.
“You apologized?” she eventually said.
A nod. “Yes.” He sighed. “I shouldn’t have said that. It wasn’t fair to her or even, women in general. I was showing off for a friend and being a dick. And, not that this matters at all, but I read the book she gave me”—cough, hit him with—“last night. It was damned good.”
Another long moment of staring and subsequent resisting of squirming.
Why would a grown man feel the urge to squirm in front of a woman half his size?