Page 8 of Beautiful Trauma
“Oh, hello, Ezra, um Professor Meyer.” Henry looked even more nervous than when he’d approached me after class. I didn’t wish car trouble on anyone, but I would prefer it was the source of his increased agitation rather than the confrontation with me or seeing me again so soon afterward. “I came out and found a flat tire on Jessie’s car.”
“Who’s Jessie?” I didn’t ask which tire since the ones on the passenger side looked fine. I didn’t inquire if he’d found a spare while he rummaged around in the trunk. I went straight to the heart of the matter.Who the fuck was Jessie, and why was Henry driving his car?
“My r-roommate.” Henry had probably mistaken my possessive growl as irritation. The truth rested somewhere in between jealous as fuck and pissed off.
Christ, Ezra.My thundering had made the boy stammer.He’s no boy, and you damn well know it.I released a breath and started over again. Softening my voice, I said, “Did you find a spare tire in the trunk? On a late model car, the access to it is most likely beneath the carpet.”
Henry straightened his shoulders, and his voice lost all traces of unease and trepidation when he said, “Not all of us can afford fancy Audi sedans and luxurious high-rise apartments overlooking the Ohio River.”
“I’m not insulting your boyfriend, Hen—Mr. Sullivan. I’m merely stating older vehicles often had removable carpet in the trunk which you pull up to access the spare tire. I can help you change it.”
“You’re just a jack-of-all-trades, aren’t you? There’s no carpet and no spare tire.” His assertiveness was starting to work on the tenuous hold I had on myself. His innocence had captivated me, but his defiance challenged me. If he wasn’t my student, I would bend him over the trunk and remind him who was in charge. The errant thought made my dick twitch.
“Triple A?” I asked, pleased my internal struggle wasn’t evident in my tone. “Phone a friend, perhaps?”
“I don’t have Triple A, and I doubt Jessie does either.” Right. If Jessie couldn’t afford a car built in the twenty-first century, then it was unlikely he could afford roadside assistance.
“I am a member, and I will happily call for service. They’ll come out and change the tire for you.”
“No,” Henry said adamantly. “Jess doesn’t like owing anyone, especially a stranger.”
“Well, what do you propose then? I can’t just leave you stranded in a parking lot. Do you have a friend you can call to pick you up?”
“I have friends,” Henry said defensively. “They’re just not picking up or responding to text messages right now.”
“I’ll order a Lyft for you then,” I said, pulling out my phone.
“I can’t let you do that, Professor Meyer.” I hated the formality but knew I had to insist he maintain it as a reminder of who I was to him. I’d never even allowed myself to entertain lustful thoughts about a student, let alone have a sexual relationship with one. I saw firsthand the way it could ruin careers, relationships, and reputations. No hot fuck was worth it.
“You’re notlettingme do anything, Mr. Sullivan.” I tapped the Lyft app on my phone. “Kindly give me the address of where you’re going.”
“It’s not—” His words died when I glanced up from my phone, and he saw the ferocious expression in my eyes. “Forty-four sixty-eight Grant Street.”
“That wasn’t so hard.”Wait.I’d just entered the same address into my GPS. “You want me to drop you off at a pizza joint?”
Henry rolled his eyes. “It’s not just a pizza joint; it’sthepizza joint, which you must know if you have the address memorized.”
I shrugged. “I’ve never eaten at Mamma Maria’s. My friend just ordered a pizza online and asked me to pick it up on my way to his house.”
Henry’s posture grew rigid. “What friend?” He sounded jealous, and against my better judgement, I liked it. A lot.
“It’s none of your business, Mr. Sullivan. Shut the trunk, lock up your boyfriend’s car, and get in. Don’t give me shit about it either since we’re going to the same address right now.”
“Fine.”
Henry’s pout was adorable and his borderline stomp when he reluctantly did as I asked made me want to lay him across my knees and spank the disobedience out of him. My amusement swiftly died when Henry slammed the door closed after he flopped down beside me; not because I was worried he’d hurt my car, but because I was trapped in a confined space with his crisp, citrusy scent, reminding me of the lemon orchards in Italy’s Amalfi Coast.Jesus, I was doing it again.
“Follow the highlighted route,” my GPS said when I restarted my car and shifted it into drive.
“You can turn the navigation off since I know where we’re going.”
I exited the navigation app, and other than Henry giving me directions, we rode in silence for a few minutes.
“You have nicer things than a professor at a community college should be able to afford,” Henry said, breaking the silence.
“It’s not wise to assume things about people, Mr. Sullivan,” I said sternly. “I’m a professor at the University of Cincinnati, which partners with several community colleges in the area. I’m only here for the summer semester to teach this class since I’m trying to prove to the dean that Biology of Human Sexuality would be a valuable course to offer our students.”
Henry snorted. “So you’re using us like guinea pigs then?”