Too Good to Be True Read Free

bell?”
    At that moment, the chimes that marked the end of the period sounded, and my lethargic students sprang into life as they bolted for the door. I tried not to take it personally. My seniors were usually more engaged, but it was Friday. The kids had been hammered with exams earlier in the week, and there was a dance tonight. I understood.
    Manning Academy was the type of prep school that litters New England. Stately brick buildings with the requisite ivy, magnolia and dogwood trees, emerald soccer and lacrosse fields, and a promise that for the cost of a small house, we’d get your kids into the colleges of their choice—Princeton, Harvard, Stanford, Georgetown. The school, which was founded in the 1880s, was a little world unto itself. Many of the teachers lived on campus, but those of us who didn’t, myself included, were usually as bad as the kids, eager for the last class to end each Friday afternoon so we could head for home.
    Except this Friday. I’d have been more than happy to stay at school this Friday, chaperoning dances or coaching lacrosse. Or heck, cleaning the toilets for that matter. Anything other than my actual plans.
    “Hi, Grace!” Kiki said, popping into my classroom.
    “Hi, Kiki. Sounded like fun out there.”
    “We’re reading Lord of the Flies, ” she informed me.
    “Of course! No wonder you were laughing. Nothing like a little pig killing to brighten the day.”
    She grinned proudly. “So, Grace, did you find a date?”
    I grimaced. “No. I didn’t. It won’t be pretty.”
    “Oh, shit,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”
    “Well, it’s not the end of the world,” I murmured bravely.
    “You sure about that?” Like me, Kiki was single. And no one knew better than a single woman in her thirties that hell is going to a wedding stag. In a few hours, my cousin Kitty, who once cut my bangs down to the roots when I was sleeping over at her house, was getting married. For the third time. In a Princess Diana–style dress.
    “Look, it’s Eric!” Kiki blurted, pointing to my eastern window. “Oh, thank you, God!”
    Eric was the guy who washed Manning Academy’s windows each spring and fall. Though it was only early April, the afternoon was warm and balmy, and Eric was shirtless. He grinned at us, well aware of his beauty, sprayed and squeegeed.
    “Ask him!” Kiki suggested as we stared with great appreciation.
    “He’s married,” I said, not taking my eyes off him. Ogling Eric was about as intimate as I’d been with a man in some time.
    “ Happily married?” Kiki asked, not above wrecking a home or two to get a man.
    “Yup. Adores his wife.”
    “I hate that,” she muttered.
    “I know. So unfair.”
    The male perfection that was Eric winked at us, blew a kiss and dragged the squeegee back and forth over the window, shoulder muscles bunching beautifully, washboard abs rippling, sunlight glinting on his hair.
    “I should really get going,” I said, not moving a muscle. “I have to change and stuff.” The thought made my stomach cramp. “Kiki, you sure you don’t know anyone I can take? Anyone? I really, really don’t want to go alone.”
    “I don’t, Grace,” she sighed. “Maybe you should’ve hired someone, like in that Debra Messing movie.”
    “It’s a small town. A gigolo would probably stand out. Also, probably not that good for my reputation. ‘Manning Teacher Hires Prostitute. Parents Concerned.’ That kind of thing.”
    “What about Julian?” she asked, naming my oldest friend, who often came out with Kiki and me on our girls’ nights.
    “Well, my family knows him. He wouldn’t pass.”
    “As a boyfriend, or as a straight guy?”
    “Both, I guess,” I said.
    “Too bad. He’s a great dancer, at least.”
    “That he is.” I glanced at the clock, and the trickle of dread that had been spurting intermittently all week turned into a river. It wasn’t just going stag to mean old Kitty’s wedding. I’d be seeing Andrew for only the third