Page 18 of The Biker and the Professor
“Upstairs,” I answer once I catch my breath.
Scooping me up into a fireman’s hold, he takes me upstairs to my en-suite bathroom. He lathers me with soap under a scalding shower, kissing me and fondling me the entire time.
Once we’re both clean, we dry off and climb under the duvet in my bed. My head on his chest, his arm keeping me tucked close to him, we lie without words. I’m so content and relaxed, that I fall asleep in my bed for the first time in weeks.
Chapter 8
Toni
Nero is gonewhen I wake up the next morning. Whether he left in the middle of the night or at dawn, I can’t tell, given how deeply I slept.
It has been ages since I’ve been able to sleep straight through the night without waking up at least twice.
I hoped he’d at least leave a note or his phone number, but there’s nothing. Not a single evidence of him ever being here. If not for the askew chairs and dining table downstairs, I could’ve convinced myself that last night was all a dream.
Imagine, I had my legs spread open for this man last night and I don’t even have his cell number. What am I doing with my life?
Last night was great, amazing even. But there’s simply no way it can happen again. I’m too grown for this kind of dalliance. Waking up to a missing man and no means of contacting him? Nope. Too grown.
As I go about my usual Saturday routine, I do my damnedest to boot him out of my head. I do some laundry, some light cleaning, and go grocery shopping.
By the time two o'clock rolls around, I realize that my efforts to rid him from my mind are futile and I cave. Retrieving the invoice from The Metal House, I transcribe the telephone number under the logo into my phone, save it, then call it.
A raspy female voice answers, “Thank you for calling The Metal House. This is Kendra speaking, how may I help?”
“Hi, good afternoon. Is it possible to speak with Ne—um, Grunt, if he’s around?”
“Unfortunately, Grunt is extremely busy today and isn’t taking any calls. Is there something I can help with, or do you deal with Grunt exclusively?”
Yes, yes, I do deal with Grunt exclusively, in more ways than one. “Um, actually, I just wanted to check in on the progress of my car,” I lie, rattling off the VIN.
“Oh, you’re the owner of the Porsche Macan,” she says, a strange change to her voice. “Well, Grunt’s working on it himself. He’s waiting on an auto-part that’s slated to be delivered sometime next week. Your vehicle should be ready in about ten to fourteen days.”
“Ah, okay. Thank you very much for that information, Kendra. Have a great day.”
As I’m about to hang up, she asks rather aggressively, “Are you screwing him?”
Her question knocks me so far back into a wall that it takes more than a few seconds for me to catch my tongue. “Excuse me?”
She laughs, her customer care voice completely gone. “Sorry for being blunt, but I don’t know anyone who hustles and saves like Grunt. Henevergives discounts, is a stickler with the dollar, and somehow, he’s working on your fancy-ass car for a pittance. There’s no way you’re not paying him in pussy—something that he’s not even short on. Dude gave you a whole eighty percent discount. Can’t believe this…”
What the hell? Who speaks to a complete stranger like this? A customer, no less. “Not that it’sany of your business, but no, I’m not exchanging sex for favors, nor did I ask for a discount.”
“Well, you still got it.” The exasperation in her voice tells me they’ve argued about this. “And the only reason I’m not on his ass about it is ‘cause he’s paying for the parts out of pocket. You must give some real good head.”
This woman is so unprofessional. “May I ask how much the original cost was?”
When she tells me the cost, I nod to myself, because it’s exactly what I expected it to be.Thousandsof dollars. Not hundreds like the invoice I’m holding currently reads.
“Can you do me a favor, Kendra?”
“What?” she asks with a wry laugh. “You wanna go down on me for favors, too?”
Ignoring her comment, I continue, “Is it possible to send me an invoice for the original cost without Grunt knowing?”
“Yep,” she replies without hesitation. “And I gladly will. Dude can’t be thinking with his dick instead of his head.”
“Also, please add an additional service charge—or tip—for fifty percent of the cost,” I add. “This tip should go entirely to Grunt since he’s the only one working on my car, as you said.”
