Amy Maxwell & the 7 Deadly Sins (The Amy Maxwell Series Book 2) by Heather Balog Page B
Authors: Heather Balog
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secret agent friends everywhere. My heart skips a beat at the notion that he may be spying on me or having one of his friends spy on me.
“That is correct,” I reply, attempting to sound matter of fact and not the least bit affected by his sexy voice.
“Why are you even bothering?” he asks abruptly.
“Excuse me?” My defensive feathers are ruffled. Is he insinuating that I have no business in law enforcement? That I would not cut it? Oh, the nerve of him! After he had told me I would be a good agent! Why I ought to-
“Why are you wasting time with those paper pushers? They’re only book smart. They don’t have what it takes to be a real cop or agent. You know that old saying, ‘those who can’t…teach’?”
I did in fact know that saying. I often applied it to some of my children’s teachers who had rubbed me the wrong way with their superior attitude and know it all condescension. Just because I got Cs in high school and only made it through one semester of college didn’t make them any better than me.
“I think the best way for you to learn would be more of a hands on approach,” Jason is saying.
I am brought back to reality by his sensual voice. “What do you mean?” I ask, clearly confused.
“You learn by experiencing, by doing ,” Jason explains, managing to make the word doing sound incredibly erogenous.
“Oh, I understand,” I reply, blushing from his tone.
Jason lowers his voice and my skin prickles with anticipation. “And who better to give you hands on experience than me?”
“Oh, Jason, that’s quite kind of you,” I hear myself purring. “But seriously, you don’t have to.”
“Oh, but I insist-”
My fantasy is interrupted by the shrill ringing of my car phone. I whimper reading the name on the screen. I don’t have the stamina for this today. I have spent the entire day rushing from class to class, each one more exhausting than the first. But none of them nearly as bad as Professor Cummings’ class. Thank goodness I only have to deal with that once a week. A few weeks into this semester and I am already wishing it were December. Reluctantly, I press the button to accept the call.
“Hello!” Beth’s chirpy voice fills the car as I pull away from Evan’s school.
Resisting the urge to groan out loud, I attempt to sound cheerful. “Hello, Beth. What’s up?”
“Oh nothing,” Beth remarks in that casually breezy tone that she reserves for when something definitely is up and she is looking for the proper segue into that conversation. “How are classes going? You teach those young kids a thing or two yet?”
I recognize this tactic. Beth is buttering me up for a favor of some sort. Probably wants to stick her nose in about Thanksgiving. I do Thanksgiving every other year, and on those years Beth calls me up half a dozen times a day to tell me about a gorgeous centerpiece she saw that I should make (I don’t waste time on centerpieces…hell, my dishes don’t even match) or a recipe she stumbled upon that she must send me. However, it’s about two weeks too early for her Thanksgiving calls. She usually lets my Halloween candy digest before she starts tormenting me. There must be some other agenda today, one I am highly suspicious of.
“Wonderful. I’m at the head of my class,” I lie, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “What did you need, Beth?”
“What? I can’t just ring up my little sister and see how she’s doing? What makes you think I need something?” My sister’s voice definitely rises an octave, belying her intentions. Now I am really suspicious. She sounds unnaturally nervous and sneaky, which is causing me to get my back up. This has got to be one doozy of a favor.
“Ok, well then, I’ve got to go. I only have four more minutes on my Onstar phone account…” I threaten, forcing my sister’s hand.
“Ok, ok, I was just wondering if you could do me a teensy weensy favor…” Beth remarks in her annoying sing song-y voice.
I
“That is correct,” I reply, attempting to sound matter of fact and not the least bit affected by his sexy voice.
“Why are you even bothering?” he asks abruptly.
“Excuse me?” My defensive feathers are ruffled. Is he insinuating that I have no business in law enforcement? That I would not cut it? Oh, the nerve of him! After he had told me I would be a good agent! Why I ought to-
“Why are you wasting time with those paper pushers? They’re only book smart. They don’t have what it takes to be a real cop or agent. You know that old saying, ‘those who can’t…teach’?”
I did in fact know that saying. I often applied it to some of my children’s teachers who had rubbed me the wrong way with their superior attitude and know it all condescension. Just because I got Cs in high school and only made it through one semester of college didn’t make them any better than me.
“I think the best way for you to learn would be more of a hands on approach,” Jason is saying.
I am brought back to reality by his sensual voice. “What do you mean?” I ask, clearly confused.
“You learn by experiencing, by doing ,” Jason explains, managing to make the word doing sound incredibly erogenous.
“Oh, I understand,” I reply, blushing from his tone.
Jason lowers his voice and my skin prickles with anticipation. “And who better to give you hands on experience than me?”
“Oh, Jason, that’s quite kind of you,” I hear myself purring. “But seriously, you don’t have to.”
“Oh, but I insist-”
My fantasy is interrupted by the shrill ringing of my car phone. I whimper reading the name on the screen. I don’t have the stamina for this today. I have spent the entire day rushing from class to class, each one more exhausting than the first. But none of them nearly as bad as Professor Cummings’ class. Thank goodness I only have to deal with that once a week. A few weeks into this semester and I am already wishing it were December. Reluctantly, I press the button to accept the call.
“Hello!” Beth’s chirpy voice fills the car as I pull away from Evan’s school.
Resisting the urge to groan out loud, I attempt to sound cheerful. “Hello, Beth. What’s up?”
“Oh nothing,” Beth remarks in that casually breezy tone that she reserves for when something definitely is up and she is looking for the proper segue into that conversation. “How are classes going? You teach those young kids a thing or two yet?”
I recognize this tactic. Beth is buttering me up for a favor of some sort. Probably wants to stick her nose in about Thanksgiving. I do Thanksgiving every other year, and on those years Beth calls me up half a dozen times a day to tell me about a gorgeous centerpiece she saw that I should make (I don’t waste time on centerpieces…hell, my dishes don’t even match) or a recipe she stumbled upon that she must send me. However, it’s about two weeks too early for her Thanksgiving calls. She usually lets my Halloween candy digest before she starts tormenting me. There must be some other agenda today, one I am highly suspicious of.
“Wonderful. I’m at the head of my class,” I lie, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “What did you need, Beth?”
“What? I can’t just ring up my little sister and see how she’s doing? What makes you think I need something?” My sister’s voice definitely rises an octave, belying her intentions. Now I am really suspicious. She sounds unnaturally nervous and sneaky, which is causing me to get my back up. This has got to be one doozy of a favor.
“Ok, well then, I’ve got to go. I only have four more minutes on my Onstar phone account…” I threaten, forcing my sister’s hand.
“Ok, ok, I was just wondering if you could do me a teensy weensy favor…” Beth remarks in her annoying sing song-y voice.
I
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