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I hit send and saw those three little dots pop up on the screen, letting me know she was replying.
“Get ahold of her?”
I looked at him. “Yeah.” I swallowed, my throat dry from the drink and how hot it had been in the club.
Sherry:I wish you would have gotten me. You’re okay though? Safe? Promise to text me when you get home and call me first thing in the morning.
I smiled. She really was a good friend, yet here I was in the car with our professor, having gotten a little too tipsy, and lying to her about what was really going on.
I promise.
I didn’t know what was going on, but what I did know was that I was glad Professor Goode had shown up when he did. I thought of what could’ve happened if he hadn’t been there, and it made my stomach twist into knots.
I looked over at him again. His jaw was set hard, almost severely so. Stubble covered his cheeks, and his focus was trained on the road. He looked angry, what with his hands tightly wrapped around the steering wheel, his body rigid, tight.
My body heated despite the situation.
I found myself turning and looking out the passenger-side window, knowing that I should’ve been smart and asked him what he’d been doing there. But all I did, instead, was close my eyes, wanting nothing more than to go to sleep.
All I wanted was for this night to be over with. Then I could figure out with a clear head what in the fuck was actually going on.
ChapterEight
Professor Goode
Icurled my hands tightly on the steering wheel and forced myself not to look at her, to make sure she was okay. She was in my car, with me, away from the motherfuckers in that club. I should have been relieved, but all I felt was more tension.
She hadn’t asked any questions. She should have. She should have been demanding I tell her what the hell I was doing, why the hell I was there.
I could see out of the corner of my eye that she was playing with the edge of her shirt, looking out the passenger-side window. A part of me wanted to pull over and demand she tell me everything was fine, that this was okay.
Even if I couldn’t step away from her.
But I didn’t pull over. I kept driving.
She finally spoke, her voice soft. “How do you know where I live to take me home?”
I pulled to a stop at a red light and glanced over at her. She was looking at me, a glossiness to her eyes, her expression letting me know the alcohol was still moving through her strong. I didn’t know how much she’d had to drink, but I didn’t like seeing her this way.
I didn’t admit that I did know where she lived, that I’d seen her record, that I knew everything about her. Instead I looked straight ahead and pressed on the gas as the light turned green. “I’m not taking you to your house. You’re coming home with me,” I finally said after a prolonged moment.
I could see her looking at me, assumed her eyes were wide. But she said nothing, didn’t argue, didn’t insist I take her home. I stopped at another light and glanced at her.
“You have nothing to say? No questions on why I am taking you to my house, why I was at the club? How I was there at just the right time?”
She still didn’t speak, and I saw by her expression that she was thinking about how to answer. I wanted her to be honest with me, but I wouldn’t press her. She’d talk to me eventually. She’d see how she was meant to be mine, how this very moment was the start of us.
The rest of the ride to my place was done in silence. I pulled into my driveway and cut the engine, just sat there, gripping the steering wheel and staring straight ahead.
“You asked me why I wasn’t curious about why you were taking me to your house instead of mine. Her voice was soft, and I could hear a little slur in it.
I looked at her then. “You drank tonight.” It wasn’t a question. Her intoxication was evident.
“A mistake I’ll probably pay for tomorrow morning.”
More silence ensued.
She took a deep breath in and exhaled slowly. “I didn’t stop you, stop this, because I didn’t want to.” She looked at me then. “I don’t want to go home, don’t want to be alone.” She licked her lips and looked down, the fall of her hair obscuring her from my view momentarily. “Because this is where I want to be.”
