Orientation (Benchmarks) Read online

  Orientation

  The Benchmarks Series

  Kate Canterbary

  Vesper Press

  Contents

  About Orientation

  Before you dive in…

  Part I

  1. Jory

  2. Max

  Part II

  3. Jory

  4. Max

  Part III

  5. Jory

  6. Max

  Part IV

  7. Jory

  8. Max

  Part V

  9. Jory

  An Excerpt from Professional Development

  An Excerpt from Missing In Action

  An Excerpt from Fresh Catch

  Also By Kate Canterbary

  About Kate

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2019 by Kate Canterbary

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any forms, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of the author.

  Trademarked names appear throughout this book. Rather than use a trademark symbol with every occurrence of a trademarked name, names are used in an editorial fashion, with no intention of infringement of the respective owner's trademark(s).

  Created with Vellum

  About Orientation

  Max Murphy’s no-fail plan for kicking this year’s ass and getting his life back on track:

  Forget about the cheating ex. Forget all about him. No more sad sack moping. None of that downer vibe. None of it.

  Look for a new place to live in order to move out of my sister’s basement. Free digs are great but killing my sex life.

  Return the intramural softball league to glory and greatness.

  Fall in fresh, lusty love with Jory Hayzer, the hot new science teacher the minute I see him and his sexy Superman hair.

  Get the hot science teacher on my trivia team. Couples who play together stay together.

  Spend an entire school year wooing the very hot but also very skittish science teacher. Fall in hard, crazy love with him in the process.

  Freak out, screw it all up, and hope to hell there’s a way to make it right.

  Before you dive in…

  If you need some tunes to set the vibe, check out Kate’s book playlists on Spotify.

  Join Kate Canterbary’s Office Memos mailing list for occasional news and updates, as well as new release alerts, exclusive extended epilogues and bonus scenes, and cake. There’s always cake.

  If newsletters aren’t your jam, follow Kate on BookBub for preorder and new release alerts.

  Part I

  Summer

  1

  Jory

  Late, late, late, late, late. How the hell am I this late?

  If you asked my mother, she'd tell you I did this in varying degrees every year. She'd say it started in preschool, right around the time I was able to fully comprehend the notion of a new school year. I'd stalk the mailbox for my teacher assignment. I'd stay awake for days at a time, agonizing over which friends might be in my class. Lists upon lists of school supplies. An entire week was earmarked for breaking in shoes, trying on outfits, loading and unloading my backpack, timing my morning get-ready routine.

  She'd say my fits of new school year fastidiousness were the product of my perfectionism, my Type A personality, my anxious disposition. Even at four years old, I'd possessed all three the way I'd possessed my skin and bones and blood.

  If you asked me, I'd say the first days of school neuroses were passed down to me like a vintage pair of penny loafers. My mother was a teacher. She'd spent thirty years—and counting—in the company of Portsmouth, New Hampshire's fourth graders and no one was more high-strung come the end of summer than her. And that was a noteworthy feat considering my divorce attorney sister was a lifelong insomniac who survived on little more than iced coffee, Twizzlers, and the souls of those fools who dared to cross her.

  Regardless of the origin of my issues, they were mine and they visited every August, but they didn't look the same these days. At twenty-nine years old, I still obsessed over class rosters and supply lists and morning routines. The hunt for the perfect pair of school shoes never ended. Now, my obsessions included taking apart my curriculum and putting it back together in an order that pleased me, organizing and reorganizing my classroom, and running an entire quarter's worth of copies before the first day of school.

  And, apparently, showing up late for the start of teacher in-service at my new school.

  "Seriously. How the hell did I manage this?" I mumbled as I slammed the car door shut and sprinted toward the building. In Boston's soupy August heat, I knew running in my trousers, green gingham shirt, and funky tie meant I'd be sweaty and wrinkled before reaching the door. But then again—"Where the hell is the door?"

  I skittered to a stop where I'd expected to find the main entrance. Instead of a handful of stairs and gleaming double doors, I found a pile of jackhammered rubble, plywood, and caution tape. No detour sign in sight.

  I couldn't stomach another look at the time, instead swiveling my head from side to side in search of an alternative entry point. For lack of a better option, I headed toward the bus lane. I didn't remember enough of the building floor plan from my interview back in April to know where I was going, but after teaching in five different buildings over the past seven years, I knew there was always a door near the bus lane.

  With every step, my jittery mind created increasingly ridiculous horror stories. Cutting through the in-progress meeting while my new colleagues watched me search for an empty seat like the sad fool who couldn't keep it professional for a single day. Finding my way into the building only to discover I had the date wrong, much to the annoyance of the school secretary. Having to climb in through a window and managing to come crashing down on the principal's desk. Sitting through a perfectly lovely professional development session only to get fired at the end of the day because I was incapable of arriving at work on time.

  "Hey there."

  "H-Hey," I stammered. I closed my fingers around 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. "Y
ou'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 sound panted out of me. I didn't know I'd gone from stressed to starved in the span of minutes, but here I was, confused and—and absolutely melting for this man. "I'm not sure what that means."

  Max reached behind him, opening a door that led to another hallway. "Right here," he repeated. "The first door on your left is the library. That's where you're supposed to be."

  I stared over his shoulder as I gathered up the fragile, needy parts of myself I'd let go uncaged in the minutes since meeting Max. I didn't know what I was thinking. Rather, I hadn't thought. I'd followed this big, sweet golden retriever even when I knew better.

  "Thank you," I said, not quite meeting his eyes. He leaned back against the door, making way for me to pass, but only if I angled my body. I didn't do that. I shuffled past him, the entire length of my arm brushing his chest as I went. Hard, hard, hard he was. I fixed my gaze on the buttons open at his throat, wondered whether I'd find him smooth or fuzzy if I slipped my hand under the fabric. Yeah, he was fuzzy. I was as positive as a proton about that. "It wasn't dumb."

  "What?" he asked, the word barely more than a cough.

  I risked a glance at his face. The smile remained but it didn't reach his eyes. "Green for science. It wasn't dumb. I think that too. That's…that's exactly why I wear it."

  I couldn't surrender another minute to this man, not even if I wanted more than anything to do precisely that. Tightening my grip on the strap of my messenger bag, I marched toward the library.

  "You're not late," Max called. "We always hold the first half hour for coffee and bagels. We're big into the coffee and bagel scene around here." He paused, probably waiting for me to turn and acknowledge his words with something more than a relieved exhale. Then, "Do you like bagels?"

  I lifted my shoulders, let them fall. "Cinnamon raisin, yeah. Warmed, but not all the way toasted."

  He made a noise that sounded like approval, a rumbling murmur that said, "Yes. Just like that."

  "I like sesame, even if the seeds make a damn mess." He studied the front of his shirt, as if he expected he'd discover errant seeds there. "But I might try that cinny raisin some time."

  "You should." I glanced back at him. "I'm Jory. Hayzer. Jory Hayzer."

  His brows furrowed as he worked out my name in his head. There was no hiding these machinations as they were splashed all over his face. "Jory. Like Rory, but with a J."

  I bobbed my head. "Yeah."

  His smile could've thawed ice. It was possible he was thawing my ice as we spoke. "I like it."

  "Thanks." Smiling wasn't my nature. It always looked like I was forced or uncomfortable. Slight grins were more my speed. But somewhere between my perfectionism and stoicism and ever-present anxiety, I found a true smile for Max. "Thank you for showing me the way," I said. "I should get in there. I need to assess the bagel situation."

  His eyes turned stony and his lips flattened into a striking line as he jabbed a finger in my direction. "Defend that cinny raisin territory, Hayzer."

  Max delivered that order as if he was calling plays from the sidelines. Serious, stern, allowing no room for argument. I adored it. Adored it. I couldn't decide whether it was my unanswered desire for a strong, certain presence at my side or the knowledge Max possessed as much strength as he did sweetness.

  "I'll do that," I promised, still smiling.

  The stern façade dissolved. "If you wanted, you could come find me after your new staff sessions today. I'll be around all day." He propped a hand on his waist, shrugged. If this was his way of affecting casual, it was even more adorable than the no-nonsense coach vibe. "It's mostly administrative stuff. Ordering supplies, organizing athletics schedules, sorting balls." He smirked. "Phys ed teachers. We've got a lot of balls."

  "I bet you do," I replied, a laugh thick in my words. "And where should I find you and your balls?"

  "In the closet."

  I blinked. Once, twice. "Excuse me?"

  The smirk deepened. "That's where they keep me around here. In the closet." Max gestured to the dark hallway. "My office is the phys ed supply closet. The imagery isn't lost on me."

  At that, I laughed out loud. "I believe you mean the irony."

  He snapped his fingers, pointed at me as he bobbed his head. "Yeah, that. Irony."

  "Is that something I should be aware of here?" I swept a glance down the hall, adding, "The closet and such?"

  Pausing, he gifted me another up-and-down look. "This is a good place. Good people. Everyone is welcome here and we make a point of it. I've been at Bayside since the doors opened and I've never regretted it." His gaze locked onto my belt buckle before meeting my eyes. "Like I said, come find me later. I'll show you around and introduce you to the good copier and tell you anything you want to know about this school. Or anything else."

  His words loosened something inside me. Something buried deep, far past the brittle overgrowth of cynicism and distrust. "I might do that, Coach."

  2

  Max

  Six hours after watching Jory step into the library, my hands were still shaking.

  Shaking.

  I'd made four completely unnecessary trips to the front office in that time. All on the off chance of catching a glimpse of him while strolling past the library. But the problem with doors and walls was I couldn't see through them.