Chapter 12 #2
“You don’t get to do that. Not here. Not while my father is in the next room.”
“You’re the one who’s mad at me. I’m just clearing the tension between us. You act like nothing happened. We said it was complicated. I didn’t back down from that, but suddenly you are?”
He steps closer, his jaw tight, his voice low and heated. I shake my head, my frustration boiling over.
“This is not the time or place. You can’t just—”
“What?”
His eyes narrow.
His voice rises slightly when he leans a forearm against the wall beside my head, trapping me in place.
“Can’t just talk this out? Can’t kiss you or what? Did you even think about me? Did you even consider the risks after I safely brought you home?”
His accusation settles over me, heavy and suffocating.
Too caught up in my own thoughts to worry about how he was dealing with all this.
I press my palms flat against the wall behind me, needing something solid to anchor myself.
He takes advantage of my position by moving even closer, angling his body to lean sideways against the wall, blocking me from view of the rest of the hallway.
“Well, you had two nights AND this morning to mull it over, didn’t you? And yet you still kissed me back just now. You’re either scared—”
“I’m not scared,” I bite out, though the tremor in my voice betrays me.
His lips press into a thin line, his frustration matching mine.
“Could’ve fooled me.”
We stand there.
His gaze is intense.
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?”
“Are you sure you’re up for lunch? You’re supposed to be resting.”
“Bah,” he chides, waving a dismissive hand and moving away from the table. “A good meal is the best medicine. Besides, Diego and I have some things to discuss before the next class.”
I glance at Diego, whose calm exterior doesn’t betray an ounce of the storm still brewing between us.
“You’re not coming back, Papà.”
It’s ridiculous, and it’s another thing that could get me into trouble with the university.
“Of course I am. Partners don’t leave each other in a lurch. There’s important work to be done.”
He raises his index finger in the air as if my class could be doing anything close to groundbreaking work worthy of publishing and awards.
“Papà . . . we’ll talk about this when we get home.”
“We always do.”
That’s precisely what we don’t do.
We rarely talk things through at home.
He opens the door and slowly steps through, leaving Diego and me battling wills with each other.
“See you at home, Isabella.”
Diego’s smirk is the last thing I see when I turn away, fuming over the morning’s events.
“The hell you will, Mr. Kahale.”
His boots squeak against the linoleum as he moves closer, the sound grating against my nerves. I refuse to turn, keeping my back to him out of sheer immature defiance.
“You can count on it. While you and your dad have things to discuss, you and I have unfinished business too. I’ll pick you up at 4 pm. Be ready.”
The audacity of this kid.
Words fail me as I stare at the clock on the wall. It’s ticking, suddenly too loud. He doesn’t wait for a reply, his footsteps retreating from the room with maddening ease, leaving me frozen in place.
It’s only when the silence settles again that I exhale slowly, wondering how this day went down in flames so damn fast.