Page 15 of The Biker and the Professor
Just not mine.
Is he avoiding me? Why?Whyis he doing this to me? To punish me?
On Friday, I’m so sure he’ll attend class. Surely, someone would inform him about the assignment, right?
But when I arrive, deliberately late, his seat is empty.
I could flip my desk over. I’m so mad at him. Has he retreated over the line? Is this his idea of maintaining boundaries? Worse yet, is he about to drop my class? Impossible. Calculus is a must for his field.
Even though I’m one hundred percent against a physical relationship with him, I’mall forour silent relationship, our routine. So no, he can’t do this. He can’t take this from me. I won’t let him.
When I get home that evening, I stomp right over to Cookie’s house and punch the doorbell. She answers the door in a kimono and bunny slippers, a blunt between her fingers.
“Toni…hey.” She’s surprised to see me. I’m never the one on her doorstep. Always the other way around. “What’s up?”
I shift on my feet, antsy, irritated, annoyed at the world. “Can I come in?”
“Sure, sure!” she says, stepping aside for me to enter.
Her house smells like weed, vodka, and cinnamon. Her layout is similar to mine, but surprisingly homey, whereas mine is clinically contemporary. Warm, charming, and comfortable, with photos of friends and family on her walls and counters, mementos, and all sorts of tchotchke.
“Can I get you something to drink?” she asks.
Swiveling to face her, I blurt, “He missed three classes.”
Cookie blinks at me, the smoke from her blunt rising in the air. “Huh?”
“Nero,” I clarify.
“Who?”
Now I’m confused. “Nero. The guy who’s fixing my car?”
Her eyes circle. “Oh, you mean Grunt.” She takes a drag of her blunt. “Sweetie, you gotta use his street name. Half those brothers don’t know each other’s real names, myself included.”
“Okay. Grunt. He skipped all his classes this week, which resulted in him getting an F for a test he missed. He’ll be gettinganotherF for the assignment he didn’t turn in today.”
Cookie regards me as if wondering what on earth any of that has to do with her. Then, with a shrug, she walks over to her comfy-homey sofa and sits down, kicking her feet up on an ottoman. “Grunt’s not a kid, boo. He’s his own man. If he wants to miss class, then he misses class and deals with consequences later. Ain’t nobody can tell Grunt what to do.”
As she takes another drag of her blunt, she narrows curious eyes at me. “Why’s it matter to you so much?”
Yes, Toni, why does it matter to you so much?Huh? Huh? I avert my gaze. “I’m just concerned, that’s all. He’s a good student. I don’t want him to mess up his—”
“Are you screwing him?”
Her blunt question makes me flinch as though I got burned by a curling iron. “I—what? Of course not!”
She lifts a brow at me. “Do youwantto?”
A nervous scoff escapes me as I back up and almost knock over one of her house plants. “Don’t be ridiculous, Cookie. Nero’s a kid. And mystudent.”
Cookie guffaws at this. “Trust me, if you knew Grunt, you’d never use his name and the word ‘kid’ in the same sentence. Dude’syearsbeyond his age.” She outs her blunt in an ashtray on the side table. “You wanna bang him. It’s all over you. And you should. Heard his dick is worth writing songs about.”
“I—I…” I flounder for something to refute her presumption, but nothing comes, because what she speaks is the truth.
“I swear that man’s been on a pussy diet for months now,” she muses as she studies me. “Now I understand why…”
“Sorry, Cookie, but you’ve completely misread the situation,” I say as I turn and start for the door, needing to get the hell out of there. “If you see or hear from him, tell him he has until Monday to turn in his assignment.”
