Page 45 of The Biker and the Professor
“Right here.”
Jolted by his voice, I whip around to see him emerging from behind a Jeep. It doesn’t matter how many times I see him, or even that we used to live together, after a period, no matter how short—could be even just a few minutes—whenever I see him again, it always,alwaysfeels like I’m seeing him for the first time.
I take him in. His beautiful sweat-sheened face, his stained wifebeater and overalls, his scuffed boots and dirty hands.
As his lips begin to curve into a smirk, I catch myself. I'm ogling him and he's enjoying it.
Remembering why I’m here and that I'm pissed as hell, I storm up to him and jab a finger at his chest. “How dare you!” Another jab. “Just who the hell do you think you are?”
He cocks his head at me, in that same way he usually does right before he would tell me to, “Make sense, woman.”
“Don't cock your stupid head at me,” I snap. “You know why I'm here. Youknowwhat you did, Nero.”
He scratches his jaw. “Actually, I don't.”
We've garnered the attention from the other mechanics now, but I don't care. They’re probably all in on it.
“I broke up with you, went on a date with Professor Fitzpatrick, and suddenly he shows up with a shiner and a bruised ego, telling me he was assaulted and warned to stay away from me?”
Nonchalant, he gets out an already stained handkerchief from his overalls and begins cleaning the dirt and grease from his hands. “You went on a date? Damn, Professor, you're not messing around. Found a new rebound already?”
An unnatural growl in my throat, I run up and begin punching him, again and again. I could breathe fire right now I’m so angry at him. “Admit it, asshole. You did this!”
He merely shrugs. “Don't know what you're talking about.”
Out of breath, out of steam, I step back and shake my head at him, disappointed. “I can’t understand how you could eventhinkthis is acceptable behavior. He's a good man. On top of that, he's your Physics professor.”
His jaw clenches as I say this. He doesn't like that I'm disappointed in him. Is that a sliver of remorse I’m seeing? Thank God, he’s human after all. “He's also my contender.”
There it is. I knew it. I suppose this is what I get for jumping in bed with a bad boy.
“This,” I say, gesturing between the both of us, “is why we could never be together. I would never, ever, think something like this is okay, romantic, orlove.”
“Nah,” he replies, taking a step toward me. “This has got nothing to do with my moral compass. Just tell the truth. Say what it is: you don't think I'm good enough for you.”
Moving backward, I sigh and shake my head at him. Smokescreen. Deflection. An unwillingness to accept and admit that what he did was wrong. He’s better than this. I know it and he knows it. Between the both of us, he’s always been the mature, sensible, and drama-free one. I feel so let down by him.
“Come get your crap out of my house,” I tell him as I take backward steps toward the exit.
“Already told you to burn ‘em,” he returns. “If you really wanted them gone, you’d do exactly that.”
Having nothing to debunk that truth with, I flip him the bird on both hands, lying through my teeth as I continue moving backward. “You don't own me, Nero Gunnar.”
Right before I turn to storm out, I catch his silently mouthed, “Liar.”
Chapter 17
Toni
It's summer break.
This means my guilty-pleasure days of seeing Nero in class are no more.
My existence without him is miserable. I miss him, so much.
I can never forgive him for what he did to Professor Fitzpatrick, but I also can't lie about how I feel. He's the best thing I've ever experienced. What I feel when I'm with him, is like nothing I've ever felt in my entire life. It’s ineffable. Beautiful and glorious and all-consuming. I’m in love with him and there’s nothing I can do about that, except to either wait for it to pass—if it ever does—or give in.
One afternoon, Cookie lures me over to help her once again to wrap pastries and load them into her wagon. I hadn’t spoken to her for a long while, because I figured she’s the one who tipped Nero off about my date with Fitzpatrick.
