Page 35 of The Biker and the Professor
Once he’s dismounted the motorcycle, he pockets his keys and pulls me into him by one of my belt loops, kissing the side of my mouth. “Dawned on me this week that we’ve never been on a date before,” he says. “So, I’m rectifying that.”
“We’ve never been on a date before because we can’t risk being seen like this—intimate—out in public,” I point out. “I could lose my job.”
The last time we went to the supermarket together, I ran into the dean of C-Tech while Nero was in a different aisle, and while the dean had me locked into an unwanted conversation, Nero came in search for me and I ended up having to pretend, quite ostentatiously, to be ‘running into him’ also. It was both awkward and terrifying. Nero had been unphased, but it wasn’t his job that was on the line, was it?
“Read the handbook,” he says. “We can date.”
“We can dateifyou’re not my direct student. Even so, it’s still frowned upon and unprofessional. They’ll give me the boot no matter what that handbook says.”
He jerks his head to the building. “So you don’t wanna go in?”
“What is it?”
“Two of your favorite things. Art and wine.”
Ah, it’s a sip and paint studio. He never fails to surprise me with how much hepays attentionto me. It scares me how well he knows me. For the longest time, I’ve wanted to do this, but never got the chance or time. The idea makes me giddy, but at the same time, it’s risky.
Worrying my lip, I stare at the entrance, torn.
“Don’t stress,” Nero tells me, sounding disappointed. “Just wanted us to do something I know you’d love. We can go to the Drive-In instead. Easier to hide there.”
As he lets me go and starts walking back to the motorcycle, I make a decision. “No, no. It’s fine. Let’s do it.”
He stops and turns back to me. “You sure?”
Closing the gap between us, I lock my arms around his neck, tip up, and kiss him. “You’re worth the risk.”
~
It’s a risk I don’t regret taking, because this sip and paint date is amazing. I might love art, but I’m crap at it. This studio is more upscale than the others I’ve seen. Expensive wine, cheese, and fruit-bowls are provided. Nero had to have paid a pretty penny for our reservation because this is not the typical forty-dollar sip and paint. Very top-notch, veryme.
Nero looks both out of his element and out of place, but the way he’s looking at me and keeps feeding me fruits tells me he’s only here forme, and I appreciate the heck out of him for it.
Head buried in the sand, I’ve been ignoring the niggling under my skin, the prodding at my heart, and the insalubrious emotional attachments that I’ve been feeling over the past couple of weeks. Feelings which intensify with each passing day, with each kiss, each touch, each look.
But it’s becoming increasingly difficult to ignore those feelings, to ignore thetruth.
The truth is not appropriate, not realistic. The truth shouldn’tbe, but it is. We shouldn’t have allowed it to get this far.
Now, this…
He knows me. He pays attention. He cares far more than my ex-husband ever did. He’s…everything.
“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours, Professor?” Nero asks, waving his hand in front of my face.
I blink into focus. This has been happening to me quite frequently of late. Even in class. I tumble into these dazed, internal freak-outs, where I get trapped into a vortex of panicky thoughts about Nero and how deep I’m falling, how it needs to end before things get any deeper.
Plastering on a smile, I lie, “Just how much fun I’m having.” I take a quick sip of my wine to wash down the prevarication. “This is a really thoughtful date, Gunnar. I love it. Thank you.”
He gives me one of his lopsided half-smiles. “You’re such a chick.” Then he points to my disastrous canvas. “And a shitty painter.”
“Pfft,” I scoff. “Shows how much you know about art. This, my friend, is a masterpiece.”
He laughs, and it’s beautiful.
It’s beautiful because it’s rare.
The real masterpiece ishim.
