Chapter 15
DIEGO
Twenty-four fucking hours and I’m still losing my mind over her. I’ve replayed every fucking word and action between us, trying to figure out what the fuck to do. I’m driving myself crazy to the point that I have to ride. Get off my couch and out the door to sort this shit out.
The engine roars beneath me as I tear through the empty street. My jaw clenches, and I grip the handlebars so tight that my knuckles ache. I can’t stop replaying what happened, like a fucking movie I can’t turn off.
I was trying to apologize.
Trying to explain that I didn’t mean to be so aggressive with her. But fuck, seeing her spread over my bike, my arm around her neck, and her taking it so good, how could I not? I got caught up in the feel of her wet pussy, her tit in my hand, and her pulse in my palm.
But no. She took it and twisted it.
Suddenly, I’m the villain.
My chest burns with anger and something I don’t want to name, something that feels bigger than disappointment.
She hadn’t thought about the risks before. Not when she got on my bike the first time. Not when she kissed me. But now, it’s all risks and blame. Basically, it’s my fault, like I didn’t know what we were risking.
Of course, I fucking did, having weighed them and determined they were worth it, and she hadn’t at all? That doesn’t seem like that pinned-up, cold-blooded professor I’m lusting for.
And what the hell was that ride home?
She blames me, tells me to take her home, and then clings to me like her life depends on it. Curve for curve, she leans with me, pressing so close I could feel the heat of her body through my jacket.
My mind was screaming, trying to figure out what that meant.
Why would she ride like that, as if we were okay, as if we were still something, when she made it damn clear she wanted nothing to do with me?
It’s like she’s fighting herself. It’s driving me insane trying to figure out which version of her is real.
My teeth grind as I hit a red light, the bike rumbling beneath me.
I let out a sharp breath, glancing at my phone mounted on the center of the handlebars.
I should call Dom. He’d know what to do.
But the second I picture his smug face and the inevitable I told you so about liking the climb more than the view, I shake my head.
Hell no.
Not tonight.
Instead, I pull up Holli’s number, hovering my thumb over the screen for a second before quickly typing a message.
Need to talk
Where ya at
The light turns green. I shove my phone back into its mount, speeding off before anyone behind me can honk. The streets blur as I weave through traffic, my chest tight and my thoughts loud. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not like this.
My phone buzzes against the mount. I glance down, seeing Holli’s reply flash across the screen.
At Silhouette
Come through.
I sigh, veering toward the familiar route to the bar. It isn’t my favorite spot, but it’s where Holli always ends up with the twins. Right now, I need someone who won’t criticize me for being an idiot.
When I pull up to Silhouette, my chest is tight, and my thoughts are conflicted. Parking my bike alongside the twins’s clown bikes, I notice Dom’s is absent. I take off my helmet, run a hand through my hair, let out a shaky breath, and go inside.
The vibe is always the same here. The smell of stale cigarettes lingers despite not being allowed inside. Loud, drunk women looking for their next relationship while the guys are looking for their next lay.
My boots scuff against the sticky floor as I scan the room. My eyes land on Holli almost instantly. He’s sitting in our usual corner booth with one arm slung lazily over the back of the seat while he nurses a beer.
Next to him is Emilio, predictably loud and animated, gesturing wildly as he’s probably recounting another of his idiotic escapades. Across from them, Massimo leans back, his hands wrapped around a pint glass, his face open and readable as always.
“Micro dick!”
Em’s voice cuts through the din of the bar like a goddamn megaphone. He waves me over, his grin wide and mischievous.
“Look who finally decided to show his face. Let me guess. Got yourself into some trouble you need bailing out of?”
My jaw tightens as I slide into the booth next to Holli, who’s taking it all in like the king on a throne.
“Not now, Em.”
“Not now?” Emilio leans forward, his grin morphing into a smirk.
“That’s not a no, bro. Come on, spill it.
Did you finally crash your fancy bike? Lay it down like a pussy?
Or is this about a chick? That old man back of yours not able to fuck a girl?
Probably can’t get it up anymore. Sucks for the chick. ”
“Cool it, brother,” Massimo grumbles, his deep voice cutting through Em’s chatter like a knife. He takes a long sip of his drink before setting it down with deliberate care. “You don’t have to be a jackass every time Diego shows up.”
“What? I’m just saying what we’re all thinking.” Emilio shrugs, taking a swig of his beer. His eyes narrow slightly as he studies me. “Relax, man. It’s not like the world’s ending if you can’t fuck anymore. You can take up gardening or some other old man shit.”
My fists clench under the table, my patience hanging by a thread. With all this suppressed anger, I’d love to go a few rounds. Bikes are my escape, but I can easily add bar fights to the list.
“You done?” I growl, slamming my fists on the table, ready to clear the fucking thing with Em if I need to.
He opens his mouth to retort, but Massimo grabs him by the shoulder and hauls him out of the booth before he can get another word in.
“Come on, let’s grab another round,” Massimo says, steering Em toward the bar. Emilio protests half-heartedly, muttering something about me needing to lighten up and stop being such a girl, but he lets himself be pulled away. Holli watches them go with an amused expression.
“All right.” His tone is quiet, more serious than his smile. “What’s going on?”
“I fucked up.”
I let out a sharp breath, running a hand through my hair. Holli slides his beer in my direction, and I down the remaining contents.
“It’s . . . complicated.”
“Everything with you is complicated, Diego. Start talking.”
I hesitate, my fingers drumming against the edge of the table.
Holli’s probably the last person I’d turn to for this kind of thing under normal circumstances, but I need to get this out of my head before it eats me alive.
Back that up, the twins are the last, so perhaps Holli isn’t such a bad choice.
“It’s the professor,” I say finally, the words heavy in my throat. “We had sex.”
I can’t bring myself to say “fucked her,” even though I did.
Aggressively.
It seems disrespectful to her.
I don’t want to paint her in the wrong light with Holli, even if he’ll never meet her.
“Holy shit.” Holli raises an eyebrow, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Oh, this should be good.”
“It’s not good,” I snap, my frustration bubbling to the surface. “It’s a fucking disaster.”
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.”