Page 11 of The Biker and the Professor
My mind is boggled. “We? Cookie?What?”
How does he know Cookie? What the hell is going on?
Right then, Cookie’s G-Class comes careening into her driveway, blaring Cardi B. This is another reason why the neighbors detest her.
“Didn’t stalk you,” Nero explains. “Cookie’s Judge’s sister. I came to see her with him one evening and saw your car. That’s how I know where you live.”
“What? Who the heck is Judge?”
“President of our MC, and the owner of The Metal House, where I work.”
Cookie shuts off her wagon and hops out, waving at me as she strolls up her driveway. “Hey, Professor. I heard you found yourself in a ditch last night. I’m guessing you ate one too many of those limoncello squares?”
Embarrassed, I scratch a nonexistent itch on my forehead and mutter, “Uh, yep.”
She cackles at my expense. “Well, the Audi is yours for as long as you need it. It hasn’t gotten any action in almost six months, so might as well. Just try not to run it in a ditch, yeah?”
“Thanks, Cookie.”
She winks at Nero. “Grunt here is one of the best at The Metal House. He’ll have your baby looking spanking new in no time.”
As she skips up to her steps and disappears into her house, I bring my attention back to Nero, “Grunt?”
“My street name.”
“You have a street name?”
He shrugs. “All bikers do. You gonna invite me in or what?”
“Invite you—I—”
Do I really want to do this? Invite him in? Somehow, I get the feeling that if I do, I’ll be inviting him into more than just my home. There should be boundaries. I’m his professor, for Pete’s sake.
On the other hand, he’s also my mechanic now, so wedohave legit things to discuss. Also, I have his helmet.
Decision made, I step aside so he can enter. “Come on in.”
I close the door then lead him further into the house. “Evidently, I just woke up—shockingly, so. Just give me a few minutes to run upstairs and freshen up. The kitchen is over there, the living room is here, the guest bathroom is down that hall, those sliding-glass-doors lead out to the backyard patio…make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right back.”
With that, I sprint upstairs and flee to the safety of my bedroom. I need some time and space to process the fact that Nero Gunnar, my student, is inside my house. The same twenty-year-old that my grown-ass self has filthy, inappropriately sexual thoughts aboutfartoo often. A college student that I’m ninety-nine percent certain wants inside my panties.
He touched my hair, I rode on the back of his bike, wrapped my arms around his middle, pressed my cheek against his back…and now he’s here. Inside my home.
I’vegotto pull myself together. I’m stronger than this.
Right there and then, I decide to act my age, be the grown-up in this non-relationship, focus past the fog of lust and see Nero for who he is: a cocksure kid with a fantasy of banging his professor—a feat he can later brag to his friends about.
After taking a quick, cold shower, I clean my mouth and get dressed in the most neutral, unattractive, non-suggestive clothes I can find. Sweatpants and an ugly green Christmas sweater I’d picked up in a hotel gift shop a few months ago. These baggy selections fortify me, like a suit of armor.
Heading downstairs, I find Nero standing in front of the entertainment center in my living room, observing one of my framed pictures, Marley brushing up against his leg.
What a traitor she is.
As if he senses me, he turns. Although he smirks at my attire, he doesn’t call me out on it. He instead holds up the framed photo and asks, “Your parents?”
“Yes.” I offer nothing more.Boundaries. No way am I about to discuss my family and life with him. “About my car—”
I’m disrupted by the sudden whistle of the kettle. I whip around in the direction of the open-plan kitchen.
