Page 11 of Kismet

Shoving my hoodie over my head and sliding my arms through, I grab my phone again, thumbing out a response to him. Because it would be rude not to… right?

Me: Hey, Professor Philips. Sounds good. See you in a bit. ;)

I’m probably pushing my luck with all my winky faces I’ve been sending him via email, and now via text, but fuck it, he started it. Checking the time, I still have about a half hour before he should be here. Striding out of my room, I jog down the stairs and into the kitchen, grabbing an apple and a bottle of water.

Henry, one of my frat brothers, waltzes into the kitchen, hair a mess, wearing nothing but a pair of black boxers. “’Sup, bro,” he grumbles, voice thick with sleep.

“’Sup.”

“Why are you up and ready so early? Thought you don’t have classes on Fridays?”

“I’m going to Portland this weekend for a literary convention.” I bite into my apple, watching his brows pinch together, face morphing into confusion.

“What? Why would you do that? That sounds fucking boring.”

“Bro. My major is fucking English. Plus, my professor asked if I wanted to come.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” he sputters, head cocked to the side. “You’re attending with a professor? You have a weird sense of what sounds like a good time.”

He shakes his head, bare feet padding over to the fridge to grab a water, before turning and leaving without another word.

Pulling out my phone, I scroll through Instagram, finishing my apple. My feed is mostly filled with skiing and snowboarding pictures since the weather is getting colder.

On a whim, I race over to the search bar and type inStone Philips, hitting enter. Several profiles come up, but the first one is him. I’ve tried stalking him on social media since that night I saw him at the bar, but his profile is always private. Doesn’t mean I don’t try every now and again. Clicking on it, my eyes widen with surprise when the page loads.It’s not private anymore.

Goddamn, he’s so fucking sexy. It’s unreal. He has a fuckingmotorcycle?!Of course, he does. He was clearly wearing that leather jacket at the bar for a reason, then. Leather Daddy is also Biker Daddy? Holy fuck, I could pop a boner right now. The leather, the boots, the fucking black, beautiful bike. I’m in love. The end.

Scrolling down, he has a few pictures with his wife. Aida looks to be her name. She’s beautiful. It’s been a couple of years since I’ve seen her, and even then, it was in a dark bar. She has blonde hair now, whereas before, it was brown. They look good together.

We would look better, but whatever.

My phone buzzes and I almost drop it in panic when I see Stone’s name pop up.Fucking relax. He can’t tell I was just stalking him.

Stone: Hey. I’m here.

Me: Okay. Be right out.

Grabbing my bag and throwing the apple core in the garbage, I saunter to the front door, pulling it open.Holy shit.How does he have such a nice car? Parked in front of the frat house is a sleek, probably expensive as hell, Mercedes SUV. The rims are black and flawless, not a scratch anywhere, and the windows are tinted dark enough that I can’t see Stone inside.

Opening the passenger side door, I’m greeted by his smiling face. He’s dressed comfortably in gray sweatpants and a plain black tee. I swear, I have never seen someone fill out and pull off a simple ass t-shirt the way he does. But fuck if I’m not drooling at the sight.

“Hey.” Sliding into the seat, I toss my bag in the backseat, buckling my seatbelt. His car smells good—fresh and masculine—and the leather interior is black and cream, and in immaculate condition.

“Morning,” he rasps, putting the car in drive, and pulling out onto the street.Voicenotesby You Me At Six is thrumming through the speakers, his thumb drumming against the steering wheel.

“You like You Me At Six?” I ask curiously, because this is a fucking dope song.

“Yeah,” he responds, side-eying me. “Is that shocking to you?”

“I mean… kind of.”

He quirks an eyebrow at me. “And why’s that?”

“I don’t know. You’re just…”

“Old?” he answers for me, causing me to chuckle.

“No. Just… you’re a professor, and I don’t know. This band is sick. It’s cool that you like them. I don’t think you’re old. Are you? Old?”

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