Page 10 of The Biker and the Professor
He needs to know that while I may allow his behavior on campus, it isnotokay for him to stalk me to this degree. How can he not know that? How can he think this is acceptable?
“We do,” he agrees. “Tomorrow. For now, get in, get some rest.”
Obstinate, I cross my arms. “You do realize I have a whole twelve years on you, right?”
“And?”
“And yet you speak to me as if it’s the other way around.”
“And?”
Arrrggh!He’s so freaking aggravating! “My God, you’re incorrigible.”
“Professor Blume?”
“What?”
“Come here.”
Nope, nope, nope. I turn on my heels and make a beeline up my driveway and straight to my front door.
As his deep laugh chases me, I realize it was a tactic. He knew my craven ass would run. Once again, he got what he wanted.
Dammit, but I need to be careful with this kid. He’s way too mature and manipulative.
It’s only when I’m inside the house, the door tightly shut behind me, that I realize I’m still holding his helmet.
Chapter 5
Toni
I’m forced awakeby both the chime of my doorbell and Marley’s whiskers tickling my face.
Eyes fluttering open, I find her silver ones squinting down at me. She’s such a needy little thing. I pet her, giving her the attention she needs.
I’m sprawled on the couch in my living room. Nothing new here. For some reason, I sleep better on this couch than I do in the king-sized bed upstairs. If I fall asleep in my bed two times for the week, that’s a lot.
The doorbell chimes again, reminding me of what woke me to begin with. Though I can’t understand who could be house calling me on a Saturday morning. No one rings my doorbell, not even Jehovah’s Witnesses. Save for Cookie, I don’t have visitors, and Cookie isnota morning creature.
As a yawn pries my mouth open, I peel my butt off the couch and stumble to the front door.
As I’m unlocking the door, the bell chimes again. Annoyed, I yank it open.
Nero Gunnar stands on the other side with a fresh face and a Chipotle paper bag in hand. Black, long-sleeve thermal, dark jeans, and his ever-present biker vest.
Confused, I rub my bleary eyes. “Wha—”
“Were yousleeping?” He sounds amused.
“Yes. You woke me up. Why are you on my doorstep on a Saturday morning?” I ask him, miffed that he’s so good-looking right now and I’ve still got sleep in my eyes. “Better yet, why are you on my doorstep at all?”
“It’s one o'clock in the afternoon, Blume,” he informs me, a small smile tugging at his lips. “And I’m here to give you your replacement car, and lunch.” He holds up the Chipotle bag.
Holy crap, I slept into the middle of the day?How?I never, ever sleep past eight. This is new for me.
I poke my head around his torso to my driveway, and sure enough, there’s a white Audi Q7 parked there. “Wait, isn’t that Cookie’s car?”
“We’ve got no fancy replacement cars at The Metal House, so Cookie volunteered to lend you hers until yours is fixed.”
