Chapter 1
Elara Pov
"Hey, Ronan, wait up, I need your help with something in the locker room," I said, my voice coming out a little breathy as I caught up to him in the empty school hallway after the last bell rang, the echo of slamming lockers fading in the distance.
The building was quiet now, just the hum of the fluorescent lights overhead and the faint smell of chalk and sweat from the gym nearby.
Ronan turned, his mop bucket in one hand, keys jingling on his belt, his broad frame filling the doorway.
He was the janitor, in his late forties, with that rugged build from years of hard work, salt and pepper stubble on his jaw, and those calloused hands that always made me wonder what they'd feel like on my skin.
My husband was home waiting, but f**k him—I needed this, needed Ron
