Page 33 of The Biker and the Professor
He’s in pain, it’s plain as day. But I have to act indifferently even though it’s tearing me up inside. I might not know a lotabouthim, but I knowhim.He’s a man’s man—big, tough, and stubborn.If I attempt to mollycoddle him, he’ll tell me off and leave, and that’s the last thing I want right now.
When he arches a brow at the bottle of wine and glasses, I snicker. “We can go grocery shopping tomorrow. For now, wine and water are all we have.”
We take what we want from the takeout boxes and dig in. I’d bought a side of coconut shrimp just for him, and he’s tearing it up.
“What’s the story with your parents, Nero?” I ask after a while, tired of waiting for him to talk to me.
“Don’t have any.”
“What does that mean?” His reticence is so frustrating. “Were they killed? Did you know them? What?”
He shrugs, then immediately winces from the gesture. “Don’t know who they are, where they’re from, or what they did. I grew up in the system, then in a foster home with around eight others. Scratch and Kenny included.”
Ah, his close-knit relationship with both Scratch and Kendra makes so much sense now.
“Were they good to you?” I prod. “Your foster parents, that is.”
He snorts and takes a sip of wine. “They were shit. Gambling addicts. We were on our own. That’s how we ended up with the club. Judge’s like a father to me.”
“We’re his family.”Cookie’s words from this morning come back to me. A little clarity was all I needed. Such a small little peek into his life, and so many things are suddenly clear.
Nero had no one but the club, and the closest people in his life, the people he cared about the most, were Kendra and Scratch because they literally lived the same life together.
“Thank you,” I tell him.
He lifts a questioning brow.
“For talking to me,” I clarify.
One corner of his mouth curves into a half-smile. “You’re something else.”
Right then, the doorbell rings.
“That’s got to be Cookie,” I say as I set my fork down and stand.
When I get to the door and open it, however, it’s not Cookie on the other side. It’s Kendra. She, too, has a shiner, but not nearly as bad as Nero’s. She looksalmostlike herself, if not a bit weary. But from the neck down, she’s dressed a hundred percent like Cookie in a pink “Sexy Bitch” camisole and a mint-green short.
“Don’t ask,” she grumbles when she catches me checking out her unusual choice of attire. “I haven’t been to my apartment yet. I needed a shower, and Cookie’s clothes are all…colorful.”
“Okay.” That makes sense. “Are you here to see Nero? You’ll have to come in because he’s—”
“Oh no, no,” she says. “I’m actually here to, uh, thank you for, uh…” —she nervously scratches behind her ear—“you know, posting my bail and shit.”
“And shit?”
She sighs and rolls her eyes. “Look, I know you’re some fancy teacher or whatever, but this is hard for me, alright? I don’t do…this.” She gestures back and forth between us. “I know I’ve been nothing but a bitch to you, and you still went ahead and did something like this for me without being asked. That says a lot about who you are as a person. And I mean, you know, that means, like, you’re good for him.Toogood for him.”
“Thank you for saying that. And you’re welcome.” I open the door wider and wave her into the house. “We’re having Thai food. Would you like to join us? There’s enough.”
Stuffing her hands into her pockets, she raises her shoulders to her ears. “Nah. I don’t think I should—”
“Cut the bull and come eat, Kenny,” Nero’s voice booms through the house. He’s been listening.
With a roll of her eyes, she obeys. “He’s so annoyingly bossy.”
“Tell me about it,” I murmur as I close the door behind her.
Leading her to the dining area, I invite her to take a seat before fetching an extra plate, fork, and wine glass from the kitchen for her. When I return to the table, I catch her whisper-teasing Nero for drinking wine.
