Page 43 of Scarred King

When I return to the living room, he looks at me with pleasure. “You really don’t understand how lucky you are.” He stands up and puts his cellphone into the rear pocket of his jeans. “Some women spend hours getting ready and still don’t look as good as you do after only five minutes.”

I smile happily at his compliment and he puts his hand on my back and leads me outside.

“Feel free to rub your chest up against my back,” he laughs and hands me the helmet. The file is placed carefully in the motorbike’s storage box, and when he starts driving, I decide to take him up on his suggestion. I hug him tightly around his stomach, press my chest against his back and move it slowly. My hand moves down to his belt buckle and from there to the bulge between his legs. The motorcycle screeches to a halt and I hug him tightly again.

“I’ll have an accident,” he scolds angrily.

“But you asked for it,” I laugh.

“You’d better stop,” he doesn’t sound angry anymore and he resumes driving. I fight the urge to check and feel how would he react to my fluttering caress, and blush when I remember how he licked me right after I came. The way he treats my body is unfamiliar to me, it’s as if as soon as we get into bed my brain allows my body to take full control. I’ll probably never get that.

The motorcycle stops at the entrance to a café near the Charles River, he takes his file with him and we sit at a corner table outside. The weather is warm, but there’s a pleasant breeze.

The waitress arrives, dressed in loose jeans and a black T-shirt. “See?” I tell him in reproof, “That’s how waitresses are supposed to dress.” She looks down at her clothes and then looks back at us awkwardly. Her gaze stops on the scarred side of my boss’s face and she looks shocked. A second later she sees the angelic side, and smiles at him bashfully. It’s amazing, I think to myself amused, it’s as if she’s serving two different men. She’s disgusted by one and flirting with the other. He seems to be used to this reaction. He orders coffee and then totally ignores her. I order lemonade and pancakes.

“Why are you ordering this unhealthy shit?” he asks as soon as the waitress leaves.

“I’m addicted to junk food,” I announce unapologetically.

“You don’t sleep for three days and then you sleep for sixteen hours straight, you study from morning to night, eat crap and you have all these obsessive disorders. It’s really an unhealthy way to live.” He lights a cigarette and nods at the waitress who has returned with our drinks.

I burst out laughing and he raises an eyebrow questioningly.

“You’re a drug dealer, manage a brothel, encourage women to dance naked for their living, everyone around you is constantly sniffing that white powder that helps them deal with the horrors that they have to go through, and now you’re blowing that crap on me and you have the nerve to criticize me?”

“There’s something to what you’re saying,” he laughs, “but still, you shouldn’t compare yourself to me.”

“You’re right, I shouldn’t.” The waitress returns and places my plate of pancakes in front of me. I smother them with maple syrup. He makes a disgusted face and in response I shove a loaded fork into my mouth and chew happily. I lick my lips, take a napkin from the dispenser and rearrange the napkins that slide out. “What did you mean when you said ‘obsessive disorders’”?

Liam looks at me, wondering. “You really don’t see it?” He takes three napkins out of the dispenser and scatters them on the table. I arrange them into a tidy pile and put them back in the dispenser. He does it again and when he sees that I grumble, he puts them back and laughs. “You are so weird,” he says and leans forward to stroke my cheek.

“It’s not a disorder,” I protest. “I just need things to be in their place neatly.”

“You’re right,” he strokes my cheek again and leans back. “Tell me how the conference went.” He sips his coffee and smiles at me.

“You're really interested?” I ask suspiciously.

“Yes,” he replies, and I drink some lemonade and start talking. I tell him about meeting the professor at the airport. About the beautiful hotel, and how excited I was to meet all the people I knew from photos in magazines, I tell him about the panels and lectures and the tempting offer I got from Professor Karim and how I turned it down. I stop to drink some more and continue telling him about the evenings I spent with my adored professor, the fascinating discussions. I tell him about the offer of my professor to advise me for the next two years and the respect he paid me during his lecture. I’m so intent on myself and my enthusiasm that it’s only when I start telling him about the female admirers that surrounded the professor that I see his expression is cold and his jaw is clenched.

“But all that’s over and done with,” I conclude and realize that I fell into his trap and told him everything without holding back. “I’m here now, and tonight I’m going back to my job.” I smile at him and he lights another cigarette, looking immersed in his own world. He glances to both sides, scans the scenery in front of him and looks back at me with a hard expression.

“Elena, we need to talk about some things that are going to change now.” He blows out the thick cigarette smoke.

“Yes, we do,” I groan. “I’m adding two extra courses and I have to figure out how it will fit in with my work at the bar.”

“That’s just it,” he says coldly. “I think you should stop working at the bar.”

“Oh, Liam,” I tighten my hair to my head. “Stop trying to fire me. I need this job.”

“You no longer need it, because you won’t be studying with this professor anymore,” he answers dryly.

I spray the drink out of my mouth and start coughing. He leans forward and pats me on my back. “You sounded so serious for a minute there,” I laugh and start coughing again.

“I’m very serious,” he says calmly, and I jump up.

“Listen to me carefully now.” I shake a finger threateningly at him. “There is one thing in my life that I will never compromise and never give up and that is my studies.” I rock on my feet nervously. “Everything else in my life is minor stuff in comparison. I’ll give up all of them in a minute.” I look for my purse and remember I didn’t bring it with me. “I know for sure what my future looks like and I won’t let anyone, especially you, change that for me.” I’m so shocked by his patronizing demand that I start pacing by the table. “Just as this started,” I point at him and then at myself, “that’s how it’s over. Right now.”

“We’ll see,” he replies calmly and totally ignores my tantrum. He throws some bills on the table, takes his file and places his hand on my lower back.

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