Nelson chuckled. “Well, it was always intended to be insulting, in fairness. He’s dead wrong about it being awful. No accounting for taste, though. Was he handsome?”
Breathtakingly so, yes. “What? I wasn’t flirting with him, did you miss the part where he insulted me to my face?”
Hank and Nelson exchanged a smirk. “Uh huh, okay not flirting,” Hank agreed, sarcastic as fuck. “So what happened next?”
“What’s his name, this insufferable bastard? Or shall we just call him IB?” Nelson gave me a teasing smile and I glared at the two of them.
“Were you two drinking before I got here?”
Hank snorted a laugh, taking another sip of wine. I’d take that as a yes.
Rolling my eyes, I answered Nelson. “John. His name is John.”
“Sounds fake,” Nelson muttered.
“Definitely fake,” Hank agreed.
It was really hard to remain annoyed and not smile at their antics. The both of them were pushing seventy on a good day—neither one would admit to being a day over fifty though—and they bantered like schoolgirls.
“Well, fake or not, John then went on to assume I was the artist's muse, then said he was looking for Tristian Ives.” I pursed my lips, pausing for dramatic effect. “Because John heard he—Tristian the man—would be covering Dr. Bailey's class.”
Nelson smirked, he always called me Ivy because he said Tris wasn’t pretty like I was.
“Oh, how was it taking over the lecture?” Hank asked, getting thoroughly distracted.
Nelson whacked him lightly with the back of his hand. “Hush, I want to hear more about fake-name-John. Why was he looking for you, Ivy?”
I scowled. “Focus, old man. He thought I was a guy.”
Nelson just shrugged. “Easy mistake to make with a name like Tristian. What happened next?”
I’d need another glass of wine at the rate I was gulping it. “Well, he sat in the back of the class and listened like a creep, then followed me out to my car to try and ask me out on a date or something—”
“Oh, I knew this was gonna get good,” Hank whispered, and Nelson nodded his agreement.
“—which resulted in him implying I looked like crap, I told him where to shove his bad manners and left him standing there in the parking lot.”
Both men blinked at me.
“That’s it?” Hank asked, tipping his head to the side in disappointment.
I frowned. “I was late for work at RBD’s.”
Nelson sipped his wine, squinting at me. “What else happened, Ives?”
I rolled my eyes. He was like a damn bloodhound. As briefly as possible, I told them about how John had shown up on my date at the bar, and how he’d taunted me about my boring, self-centered date.
“And he was right,” Nelson mused. “How does that make you feel?”
“Oh shut up,” I snapped. “It was an easy guess considering Chad barely stopped for a breath in an hour of chatter about putting and drivers.”
Hank was frowning, though. “But you still slept with him? Chad?”
I shrugged. “I have needs, too.” Or, maybe the technical term was high sex drive and no stable relationship.
“I don’t need to hear about your needs, kid,” Nelson told me in a gruff voice, going all paternal again. “We heard quite enough of that last night when you brought that British boy home.”
I wrinkled my nose. “He was British? I don’t remember that.” One last gulp finished my wine. “Anyway, I need sleep. Let me know when you think you’ve fixed that ring, and I’ll take another look.”
Nelson waved me off, still irritated that I’d spotted his flaw no doubt. I rinsed out my glass in their sink, kissed their prickly cheeks goodnight, and then returned to my own apartment.
Why the fuck I’d thought it was a good idea to tell the two of them about John, I had no idea. Maybe I’d just needed to decompress with someone older and wiser than myself? Not that they’d given me any useful advice on how to deal with the big, sexy bastard. But it’d shifted a small amount of tension out of my mind, summarizing it all out loud.
Maybe now I could push his imperfect face out of my mind and forget we ever met. Chances were, he was only passing through and I’d never see him again. Right?
five
JOHN
The woman was infuriatingly stubborn. Maybe under other circumstances, I’d appreciate her strength of character but not when I was on a fucking deadline. Every day that ticked over, I was questioning myself. Maybe I’d gone about this all wrong. Maybe I should’ve been trying to weasel my way into the Grimaldi family directly, like my competition would undoubtedly be doing.
It wasn’t like I hadn’t been trying, either. I’d been turning the charm level up to blinding and genuinely groveling to try and get Tristian Ives to give me even the time of day, but she was unshakable.
After a full week of sitting in on her lectures, and finding convenient excuses to run into her around campus, I was running fast out of patience. And time. Somehow she eluded me all weekend, despite the fact I’d tailed her back to her apartment—so I knew where she lived—but come Monday morning I was irritated.
So it was for that reason that I decided to take a more forceful approach.
“Fucking hell,” Tristian muttered when I stepped out in front of her before she made it into the lecture hall. “You again? Haven’t you taken the hint by now, John?”
I smiled and watched as her gaze ducked ever so briefly down to my mouth. Tristian Ives wasn’t half as disinterested as she liked to act, because that wasn’t the first time I’d caught her looking at me with…heat.
“What hint is that, Tristian? I’m just here for my favorite class. Again.” I tucked my hands into my pockets, nodding for her to walk ahead of me into the theater.
She scowled, suspicion all over her face, but continued through the door anyway. I shadowed her all the way over to the lectern rather than taking my usual seat at the back of the room.
“What?” she snapped, whirling on me.
I just smiled and placed my hands on her slim hips to move her out of my way.
“John, what the fuck—” she hissed, but I turned my smile on the class.
“Good morning, class,” I greeted the room, projecting my voice without the need of a microphone. “Thank you for tolerating me this past week as I audited all of Dr. Bailey’s classes. I am Professor John Smith, and I’m here at Boles to replace Dr. Bailey indefinitely.” I turned my Cheshire Cat grin on Tristian, who looked like she was about to throw up. “Tristian has been doing an excellent job covering Bailey’s absence, and I very much look forward to working together. Shall we begin?” I extended my hand to one of the empty seats in the front row, inviting her to sit that sexy ass down.
The moment it took her to shake off the shock was way too enjoyable for me. It didn’t last nearly long enough, then her shocked gaze hardened with fury as she took a seat with the rest of the class.
She sat there, spine rigid and jaw tight, like she was just going to glare daggers at me for the whole three-hour lecture. Joke was on her, I actually knew what I was doing in this role. That was why I had an edge over my competition for Poppy Flowers and why I’d chased this route at accessing it, because my day job—between stealing shit to satisfy my addiction—was at Aalto University in Finland, teaching Art History.