Searching mine for something I’m not ready to give.
“I’m not doing this here. Go back inside and get your stuff. I’ve got to figure out how I will get my father home with my full schedule.”
My heart races with his close proximity.
His eyes drop to my lips.
His tongue runs across his own, implying what he wants to do next. I’ve seen this look before. It led to him kissing me, and me kissing him. Both things I can’t have happening right now.
“And don’t ever do that again,” I warn, pointing a finger in his face to drive home my point.
He hesitates for a moment, his jaw working as if he’s biting back a retort. Then, without another word, he steps away, his movements stiff and reluctant as he heads toward the closed door.
“Don’t worry about your dad. We have plans.”
“Plans?”
Bewildered, I follow him, my hand covering his on the door handle, preventing him from opening it.
“What do you mean by plans?”
He leans close, his face inches from mine, until he turns his cheek, his lips in my hair.
“Don’t worry about it, Professor.”
His cologne swirls under my nostrils, the scent as sensual as his breath on my ear. It’s meant to be intoxicating. A tease, and it’s working as my fingers slip away from his.
“I’ll get him home safely, just like I did for you the other night.”
He opens the door, forcing me to move out of the way before calling my father. I stay in the hallway for a long moment, pressing a hand to my chest as I try to calm the storm raging inside me.
My lips still tingle from the force of his kiss. My mind churns with anger, confusion, and something dangerously close to longing.
The audacity of getting Papà, an innocent bystander, involved in this game of his is revolting and, unfortunately, well played. A sliver of my mind salutes him for the calculated move, yet he’s soon going to realize that he’s overplayed his hand.
When I finally step back into the lab, Papà is still at their station, humming softly as he pours one solution into another. Diego doesn’t look at me while packing up his backpack. His shoulders are tense, and his movements jerky, but his expression is unreadable.
I don’t say a word, but the knot in my stomach tells me this is far from over.
At the podium, I shuffle my papers unnecessarily. My fingers graze the smooth edges as I attempt to focus on anything but the man who kissed me and the father who seems far too comfortable in his company.
Papà shifts, his stool creaking as he stands, and it startles me, worried he’s falling. Diego mirrors my worry with his arms suddenly reaching for my father. He brushes off Diego’s attempt to steady him, waving him away with a laugh.
“Well, Isabella, we’re going.”
He adjusts his clothes, pulling awkwardly under the sling, and then fixes the strap digging into his shoulder. I freeze, the papers in my hands momentarily forgotten.
“Going where?”
Diego grabs his backpack, slings it over his shoulder, and tucks his hands into his pockets. His movements are fluid as he watches the showdown between father and daughter.
“To lunch with my lab partner,” my father comments too casually, as if this will be an ongoing occurrence. Despite it being sort of cute that chemistry is bridging the gap in ages and how it warms my insides, I retain my frosty composure. “That new Mediterranean place. What’s it called?”
“Anoush’ella,” Diego supplies, his tone casual, though his eyes still bore into me.
My father claps him lightly on the back, clearly impressed.
“That’s the one. Great idea, don’t you think?”
