“For being late. And . . . disrespectful.”
There’s an edge in his tone like he’s forcing the words out. I narrow my eyes, studying him carefully. There’s no smirk, no deflection, just a seriousness that catches me off guard.
“Why now?”
His jaw tightens, the muscle feathering beneath his skin.
“Because I realized I was wrong.”
As he steps closer, I stiffen, tightening my grip on the counter as the space between us shrinks. The faint scent of leather and cologne clings to him, mingling with the sharper chemical notes of the lab.
“I don’t need your apology.” My voice is firm, though it wavers slightly under the weight of his stare. “This class demands respect and punctuality. The students are entitled to it, as am I.”
“And you’ll get it,” he says quickly, continuing to close the distance, which is getting uncomfortable and almost intrusive. “I mean it. I know I messed up.”
Tension crackles like static electricity between us. He looks different without the cocky bravado. Almost vulnerable, though there’s still an intensity in his eyes that makes my pulse flutter in a way I don’t want to acknowledge.
“This isn’t how things work. You can’t just show up here without an appointment and expect?—”
“I’m not expecting anything,” he interrupts.
His hand reaches toward mine, resting on the table, and I snatch it away. A frown wrinkles over his face at the same time his hand retracts.
“I just . . . I needed you to know I’m serious about this. About learning. About this class. About you.”
I exhale sharply, meeting his gaze while the last two words of his plea dance in the sterile lab. Innocent or provocative. They could go both ways. They should only go one, and yet, oddly, I’m yearning for both.
I lick my lips, my throat drying. To distract myself, I glance at the helmet on the counter. A passing thought if he rides only to class or races the streets at night as I do, seeking irresponsible freedom from an otherwise responsible life.
“Actions speak louder than words, Mr. Kahale.”
When I meet his eyes, it is an unintended challenge. He steps closer, crossing the lines of personal space, and my breath hitches. I hold my ground, unwilling to let him see his effect on me.
“Look, I get it. You don’t trust me. I wouldn’t either. But I’ll prove it. I just need a chance.”
The raw honesty in his voice sends a shiver down my spine. I hate the way my defenses falter, even slightly.
“Why?” I ask the question slipping out before I can stop it.
He hesitates, his lips pressing into a thin line as he searches for the right words.
“Because I care about this.”
There’s a sudden rasp to his voice, his dark eyes boring into me as his words ghost over my flesh.
My heart pounds, and I concede, taking a few steps back, needing the space to think and breathe. He’s having a strange effect on me. Something that definitely wasn’t even remotely possible on Monday.
Yet, today, with his hat-in-hand demeanor, I’m imagining things that I hope are not there, and I’m reading into the meanings of word choices as if I were an English professor.
“You’re still not supposed to be here, Mr. Kahale.”
Firmness returns to my voice, though it feels hollow compared to my fluttering insides.
“If you’re serious about this, you’ll respect my rules, including observing office hours.”
His eyes flicker with something I can’t quite place. Resolve or boredom. He nods, stepping back to give me the distance I so clearly need.
“You’ll see,” he says quietly, his tone carrying a promise I’m unsure he can keep.
