Crash Into You Read Online Nichole Rose

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Angst, Contemporary, Insta-Love, Romance, Virgin Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 95676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
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"Good question," I mumble, rubbing my jaw thoughtfully. "Financial issues?"

"Possibly. I was hoping you could take a look for me and see what you can shake loose about her," he says. "I don't want to arrest a kindergarten teacher for manslaughter if she isn't our girl, but this kid's parents are flipping shit. With the new zero-tolerance cyberbullying campaign, the mayor has already been on the phone this morning, making it clear he's watching this one closely."

I hesitate for a long moment, thinking about everything already piling up on my desk. The last thing I need is to get my ass involved with a case that could quickly turn into a media shitstorm, and this has the potential of doing exactly that if the mayor of L.A. is showing an interest. And then I sigh. I've known Hernandez for years and he is rarely wrong. If he's questioning whether they have the right woman, something doesn't add up. Letting an innocent woman go to prison because the mayor has an agenda isn't an option.

"Send over what you have," I tell him, hoping like hell I don't live to regret the decision.

Chapter One

Ivy

"You could have been a rich and famous model, you know that, right?" Erin Bradford says, blowing her bangs out of her face as she stacks a toppled chair in my classroom. Sweat dampens my best friend's hair, causing long blonde strands to stick to her forehead. Exertion pinkens her cheeks, and she's panting for breath. Her blue eyes still gleam with mischievousness as she glares at me, her ample chest heaving in her low-cut top.

"And miss all of this?" I throw my hands wide to indicate my classroom. We've been at work for fifteen minutes now and the place is still wrecked. Overturned chairs turn the room into an obstacle course. Pieces of paper, felt, and fabric litter the floor. There's a blob that looks suspiciously like glitter and Elmer's glue congealing on top of one of the worktables. And I'm pretty sure the strange odor emanating from the back corner is urine. It looks like a bomb went off…or thirty of them.

So maybe arts and crafts hour with a room of restless five-year-olds on a Friday wasn't my best idea ever, but I needed something to keep them occupied. The air conditioner in this wing of the building is on the fritz and it's abnormally hot out for April in San Francisco. It's also been sprinkling outside since noon, which means afternoon recess was cancelled.

Plus, it's so hard to say no to the little terrors when they bat their lashes and plead with me with those cute little faces and wide, hopeful eyes.

"Yes, all of this," Erin says, dropping down onto the pillows and beanbags piled in the reading corner. She grunts and reaches behind her, pulling out a toy dinosaur tied to what looks like an apple core with a glittery Popsicle stick jabbed through it. "What is this?" she asks, turning it around in her hands before she shakes her head and tosses it toward the trashcan. "Never mind." She flops backward onto the pile of pillows with a dramatic sigh. "I don't even want to know. My point is that you could be in some exotic location, surrounded by half naked men right now. And as your best friend, so could I. Instead, you've got my ass in here, cleaning up after the world's most insane five-year-olds."

"They aren't that bad," I laugh, retrieving a scouring pad to scrub at what is definitely a pile of congealing glitter and glue.

Several of my kids have rough home lives and require a lot of time and attention, but they are nothing if not resourceful and inventive. A little overeager and a bit like an energetic hurricane, certainly, but they are cute. It gets me every time. I am an unapologetic pushover when it comes to them.

"Teaching kindergarten is cruel and unusual punishment, Ivy!" Erin says dramatically. "It's too fucking hot in here. Freaking, I mean freaking!" she says when I shoot her a death glare. "And I'm about twenty pounds too big to make sweating look cute."

"Whatever," I say, rolling my eyes. Erin is about four sizes smaller than I am. She's smoking hot, with curves a lot of women would kill for. Trying to convince her of that is all but impossible, though. Ever since our freshman year in college, she's insisted she needs to lose about twenty pounds to be attractive. It's a serious hang-up with her.

"You are beautiful," I tell her, wiping my arm across my forehead, being careful to avoid smearing the glitter-glue across my face. "It is hot in here, though. Thank God it's Friday."

"Holla!" she says, making me laugh. "What are we doing tonight?"

"I'm covering for Joni at Mitch's Place," I remind her.


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