My knee bounces as I reach for the pitcher to pour the remains into his glass and chug it. His light eyes watch me intently, waiting for me to finish and then motioning for me to continue.
“What happened?”
Before leaning closer, I glance around the bar, ensuring the twins are not around.
“We crossed a line. A big one. Had sex up at World’s End. On my bike, for fuck’s sake.”
“Damn, that’s hot.” Holli whistles low, his grin fading slightly. “But that doesn’t sound like crossing a line if she was into it.”
“I’m not sure she was,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. “I kind of took it too far, and now everything’s fucked.”
“Too far?” He leans back, studying me for a moment. “She freaked out on you?”
I nod, my jaw tightening, wishing the twins could bring that pitcher of beer over here and leave.
“Blamed me afterward. As if she didn’t voluntarily climb on the back of my bike in the first place. And then, on the ride back, she?—”
I stop, shaking my head and drumming my fingers on the tabletop in annoyance.
“It doesn’t make sense, Holli. She was pressed against me, riding like we were . . . like nothing’s wrong, and then the second we get to her place, it’s all regret and blame again with how she looked at me.”
Holli lets out a low hum, brushing back his perfect hair.
“And this chick is your professor or a professor at your school?”
“Mine.”
His eyes widen, and his head tilts as if he didn’t hear me.
“The only class you’re taking this semester?”
“Yeah.”
“As in the only class you need to graduate? That professor?”
The dumbass rephrases the question as if I didn’t just answer it.
“Yeah, Holli. I had sex with my one and only professor.”
I slump against the back of the booth, my back hitting with a loud thud that gets complaints from the people in the booth behind me. Ignoring them and frustrated, I slam my fist on the table, rattling the empty glasses.
“You’re fucked.”
I roll my eyes as if I didn’t already know that.
I texted the wrong friend.
Maybe I should have ridden my ass over to Dom’s and insisted he help me deal with this shit. Holli is Mr. Goodtimes all the time. He’s probably never been twisted up over a woman in his life.
“I don’t know why I even came here,” I mutter, looking around the bar to see Em eating jello shots off a girl’s exposed stomach as she lies across the bar.
Massi is rooting him on with a hand clasping his shoulder and lining up more jello cups across her body. Fuck if I’m getting a pitcher of beer anytime soon after seeing that.
“Hey, you know I’m shit with all this chick stuff,” Holli’s confession draws my attention back to him. “But maybe she was just using you for a good fuck. Older women will do that.”
He sounds as if he speaks from experience. On any other given night, I would ask him about it, but not now. I need answers, even if they are half-assed from him.
“No way. She’s not that type.”
