No.
No, it didn’t matter how hot or good-looking this “Professor Smartass” was. I’d made a terrible decision; making a slightly better one didn’t make it not terrible.
“Bottom line, man, you can always do what I do. Take a shot, or take some other pussy.”
“Sure,” Steele said, “but I’m not an alcoholic. And I am going to get Tara back.”
“And if not her, maybe you can take Elizabeth.”
Garrett started laughing, followed by a loud thud. It sounded like Steele had thrown something at Garrett. That was my cue to leave.
Well, as much as I could. I hadn’t driven. I’d taken an Uber out, not wanting to get too drunk to drive home and trapping myself here for the night.
Funny how that worked out.
I walked downstairs, ignored the fact that literally everyone from last night except Brock was staring at me, and walked outside. I pulled out my phone, called an Uber, and groaned when I saw it was twenty minutes until it picked me up.
That was fine. It was warm outside. I’d stay and just wallow in my self-loathing until the car came.
Five minutes passed, and this was exactly what happened. No one came out to bug me, and I tracked the motion of the Uber like a hawk eying its prey from above. Thankfully, it didn’t seem to be moving any slower than the projected pace, but I wished the damn vehicle would speed up. The sooner it arrived, the sooner it got paid—and the sooner I got the hell out of here.
The front door swung open. I kept my eyes on my phone. I prayed someone was just taking empty beer glasses out.
“You need a ride back?”
It was the voice of “Professor Smartass.” He’d sounded nice enough in their conversation. I didn’t really care how they “sounded,” though.
“I’ve got an Uber on the way. I’ll be fine.”
“You sure?” he said. “That’s going to cost quite a bit. I can drive you back to wherever you need to go.”
I bit my lip, locked my phone, and looked over my shoulder.
It was the guy I’d locked eyes with last night, right before I’d made the worst mistake in recent memory. Professor Smartass.
He was handsome as hell—just enough stubble to look sexy without being disheveled, well-groomed black hair, and soft, gentle eyes that belied the fact that he was a Bernard Boy. He looked kind of like a jock, minus the clothing.
Which, yes, I knew was a stupid comparison, but he didn’t look or seem like the rest of the guys.
“Professor Smartass?”
The man chuckled.
“I prefer Zack, but yes, that’s what they call me. And you?”
“Justine. Why do they call you Professor Smartass?”
My tone was, well, smartass. But Zack played it off with a nice smile and a casual shrug.
“I go to school at UNM. All these other guys either only graduated high school or dropped out.”
“Ah, so you’re the nerd.”
But that wasn’t a bad thing, even though I said it as such.
“Only relative to these assholes,” Zack said. “But anyway, enough about me. I can give you a ride home.”
He seemed different. Too bad he needed to be the polar opposite for me to consider it—and even then, that was highly unlikely.
