Nobody Looks Good in Leather Pants (or bowties), Dear Professor Book #1

Part 13

Luca made a noise that sounded like a low growl, it made the hairs on the back of my neck prickle, but his voice was steady as he said, "I'll be in the office today. After you've read through your . . . messages, please come to my office on campus so we can discuss next steps."

"Next steps?" I croaked.

"Eat your breakfast," Emily's voice met my ears. "You're going to need it."

I lifted my eyes—with effort—to where my friend stood in the doorway, looking tired but not hungover. "What?"

"Eat your breakfast." She adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder, her mouth a flat line.

I could only gape at her dumbly, wondering if I was still asleep.

Maybe this is all a dream.

Before I'd recovered from her proclamation, she repeated, "You're going to need it," then turned and strolled out of my room and out of my apartment, the front door closing softly—yet still sounding like a cannon to my ears—as she left.

"See you soon, malen'kaya lisa," Andrei—I mean, Luca—said, and I heard a motorcycle come to life on the other end just before he clicked off.

Even though the line was dead, I held the phone to my ear for a full minute, maybe longer. I was flabbergasted. Me, frozen on my bed, unable to think or move—this continued for some time.

And then I breathed. And I glanced around. And I tasted the inside of my mouth.

"Shower. Toothbrush. Now!"

It was enough. Enough to get me out of bed and moving, not thinking about the future, but thinking about the now. I stripped, I showered, I brushed my teeth. I found a bottle of ibuprofen and swallowed two pills with a class of water.

Grabbing an outfit from the top of my folded laundry pile, I quickly pulled on the navy cotton skirt and plain white T-shirt, my heart lodged in my throat, my heart beating sporadically.

"Calm down," I whispered, pressing a hand to my chest, "Calm down."

A moment.

I just needed a moment to collect my thoughts.

Emails.

I turned to my bed and picked up my phone, trying to remember any detail from last night that might explain what happened. My fingers trembling, I navigated to my outbox and flinched, counting six messages sent between 11:00PM and 2:30AM.

Sucking in a breath, I clicked on the first.

Luca, I've changed my mind. We should be friends with benefits. Here's my number for bootycalls

I groaned, dropping the phone to the comforter next to me, my heart lodged in my throat. "Shit, shit, shit, shit, shitty shitty shit shit!"

My face fell to my hands and I took several breaths meant to calm.

"I am such an asshole," I muttered to no one, "Anna the Asshole."

Once my heart slowed enough and my bravery reserves were somewhat replenished, I plucked the phone from the bed with grim resolve. To my surprise, he'd responded to my cheeky message,

Dear Anna, That's not what I want for us. Come to my office tomorrow. I must speak to you.

-Luca

A surprised exhale escaped my lungs as I re-read his note, my heart doing something new, fluttering in a way that was both painful and hopeful. But the compulsion to keep reading kept me from pausing to debate his meaning.