His eyes lift to meet mine. “Yet?”
I lean forward to rest my forearms on the table. “So, what has you drinking all alone in a shitty bar on a Thursday night?”
He gestures to the papers in front of him.
But I shake my head. “Even I know drinking while grading isn’t very… professorly.”
His jaw tics, and his eyes narrow slightly.
Interesting.
But still he stays cool, and takes a drink. Several gulps this time. “I do things a little differently, I suppose,” he says.
“I can see that,” I murmur, letting my gaze drift over him again.
His expression shifts, turning a bit curious as his gaze drops to the patch stitched over my chest. The one for the Basin Kings.
But he doesn’t say anything.
“How many exams left?” I ask.
He studies the patch a beat longer, then meets my eyes again. There’s nothing in them to give away how he might be feeling, as his finger steadily taps his glass. Then, he pushes the stack of papers aside.
I smile as I lean back again and take a slow drink.
He lifts his glass to his lips. “What if I’m not into guys?”
I shrug. “Never hurts to try. And your vibe says otherwise.”
He takes his drink, then lowers his glass to the table with a small nod. “You’d be right.” His eyes then flick towards my table, where Mac, Dom, and Cory are still deep in car talk. And I know what he’s probably thinking.
“They know,” I say, following his eyes. I glance back at him and let the corner of my mouth lift. “And for the record, I don’t discriminate.”
He huffs out a breath of laughter. “Fair enough.”
I lean in a little closer, looking deeper into his eyes. I still can’t see past his calm, closed-off exterior, but I’m intrigued. This quantum mechanics professor who drinks whiskey on a Thursday and is as cool as ice. He’s a puzzle… and I like puzzles.
But not tonight.
I drain the last of my drink and set the glass down. “So,” I say, my voice low and easy, “we done talking now?”
His lips twitch, and for the first time all night, I see something subtle spark behind his eyes. “What do you have in mind?”
I tilt my chin towards the door behind him. “There’s an office back there.”
He keeps his eyes on mine for a moment longer, then downs the rest of his drink in one smooth motion and slides out of the booth, heading straight for the office.
Yeah. I definitely like him.
THREE
The office is exactlywhat I’d expect from a bar like this—dim, cluttered, and smelling faintly of old smoke and booze. Harsh fluorescent light flickers overhead, highlighting a beat-up desk littered with papers and bulletin boards full of curling flyers and half-forgotten reminders.
I turn as the door clicks shut behind me, and my pulse picks up as biker guy locks it.
My eyes rake over him as I take in the tattoos wrapping his hands, arms, and neck, and the way his leather cut clings to his strong, broad shoulders where his dark hair hangs loose. And his equally dark eyes bore into me as he takes a step forward, looking like he wants toruinme.
And I want to let him.
