Page 47 of The Biker and the Professor
By now, I know better than to ask for anything other than beer or hard liquor, so I tell her, “A Corona, please.”
Onyx flashes me an ear-to-ear grin as I plop down beside Cookie in the white leather booth. He has a rather unique look about him. Great height, impressive brawns, a head of thick red hair, and a full ginger beard. But unlike Judge and Cookie, he’s clearly mixed with something “afro.” His hair is textured, his complexion is deeper, and the ubiquitous freckles covering his face seems like a pigmentation clash. He’s on his own level of hotness for sure.
Though I know most of the bikers by face, none of them, save for Scratch, ever speaks to me. They either stare, leer, or grin, but never utter a word to me. Probably a biker thing, I don’t know. They’re all strange.
“You good?” Cookie asks me.
“Yeah.”
“This section is sacred,” she assures me. “No one but family is ever allowed in here. A strategically chosen area. I can see everything from here.”
“You’ve got a really nice place here,” I compliment, truly meaning it.
“Thanks,” she says as she sips Cîroc from the bottle. “Not what you expected, is it?”
“Not even remotely.”
“What, you thought I got this rich from a dinky, rat-infested hole in the wall?”
I laugh. “Apparently not.” She also has a twice-a-week billionaire sugar daddy, but I don’t point that out. “By the way, you forgot to tell me this is an all-white party.”
She rolls her eyes. “Do you see me or any of the bikers wearing white?”
It's not until she asks the question that I pay attention to what she's wearing. A red halter top, frayed black shorts, and knee-length leather boots.
“We’re a society of our own, Prof,” she explains. “We never do what the masses do, we only tell them what to do.”
Although I understand none of what that even means, I nod my head. “So, you consider me a part of your society?”
She laughs and takes another sip of Cîroc, then jerks her chin to indicate the entrance downstairs. “Your boy’s here.”
There’s a sudden delay in my heartbeat when I snap my eyes downstairs to the entrance where Nero, Scratch, and Kendra have entered, a medley of lights dancing over their bodies as they move through the throngs.
Kendra and Scratch are without companions, but not Nero. Next to him is a pretty, sexy Latina in a white bodycon dress. Her straight, dark hair is so long it covers half her protruding buttocks. She tugs on his arm and he lowers his head to her height to hear whatever she wants to tell him. She looks young, about Kendra’s age, and somewhat timid, innocent.
My heart shatters into a million pieces as I watch them together. But what did I expect? Nero is hot and young with crazy sex appeal. I’ve seen how the girls on campus react to him. Girls his age will no doubt feel like a queen to get his attention.
As they move through the club, she sticks to him like a servant following her master. He’s not touching her, but she’s quite literally hanging onto him by the tail of his jacket.
I bet she loves it when he bosses her around, too.
Jesus. My heart. I can’t take it. Why did I think it was a good idea to come here? Oh, yeah, because I wanted to see for myself that he’s happily moved on. Well, there it is. It’s true.
“Leyana.”
Dragged from my thoughts, I shift my attention to Cookie. “Huh?”
She points her Cîroc bottle downstairs to the young Latina clinging on to Nero. “She’s from a wealthy family, but apparently fascinated with the club life. Showed up one day claiming to be interested in being a Club Cat. But she wanted Nero to break her in.”
“Break her in?”
“Club rules. A brother of her choosing has to break her in. But if that brother ends up liking her, he can make her his Steady, rendering her off-limits to the others.” She waves a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry about the details. It’s all Den of Heathen’s shit you won’t really ‘get’.”
I’m so confused. “Um, okay?”
“I knew she was full of shit from the outset,” she continues. “She’s just obsessed with Grunt. That girl saw his asssomewhereand stalked him back to the club. Talking ‘bout she wants to be a Club Cat.” Cookie cackles as if the whole thing amuses her. “She follows him around like a lost puppy, buys him expensive gifts and shit.”
“Dude, she paid me 1,000 bucks once to pick the lock on his studio so she could get in and lay in wait for him,” Onyx chimes in with a chuckle, knocking the ash from his cigarette into a tray. “Love my brother, but I wasn’t about to pass up an easy grand.”
