Dirty Professor

I blew out a long breath and tried to recover from the mild panic attack I had while watching them. By the time Sean emerged through the gate, I had regained most of my composure. I stepped out from behind the SUV and gave him a little wave.

“Hey, sorry about that,” he said with a smile. “You ready to go?”

“I am,” I said happily.

“Good, my truck is over there,” he said, pointing with his keys in his hand. “Follow me.”

I followed him to a brand new, black Ford Raptor pickup that looked like something out of Terminator. It had huge tires and chrome rims, and a grill that looked like it could eat its way through traffic.

He threw his bag into the truck bed, then pressed the keyfob to unlock the doors. He opened the passenger door and took my hand to help me climb up into the truck.

I got myself situated in the seat, which felt like a plush leather recliner, and snapped the seatbelt. Sean came around to climb into the driver’s seat. He started the truck and drove slowly out of the lot. The truck growled and threw me back in the seat when he pulled onto the highway and put his foot to the gas.

“This is some truck,” I said, looking around the cab, which was a hundred times nicer than my Honda Civic.

“I’m from Texas,” he said, flexing his eyebrows at me. “We love big trucks.”

“Obviously,” I said with a smile. “Was that Madge Sinclair you were talking with?”

“Yeah, do you know Madge?”

I lied, just a little. “I know of her. Did you tell her you were having lunch with me?”

He frowned and shook his head.

“No, Madge doesn’t like me talking to reporters,” he said, rolling his eyes. “If I told her I was having lunch with you she would have wanted to tag along. And I wanted to have you all to myself.”

“Well, that’s… nice,” I said.

I was having a hard time focusing on the topic at hand because our pseudo-sex from the night before kept running through my mind. I decided to address the 800-pound gorilla to get it out the way.

I said, “Listen, about last night…”

“I’m really sorry about that,” he said with an embarrassed sigh. “I was drunk and I got carried away. I hope you can forgive me. I’m usually not like that… Well… I am, but…”

“I was going to apologize to you,” I said with a grin.

“You were?” He chuckled and slapped his palms on the steering wheel. He held out his right hand for me to shake. “Well, I’ll accept your apology if you’ll accept mine.”

“Deal,” I said, shaking his hand. Every nerve in my body sat up and took notice when his fingers closed around mine. I slowly tugged my hand from his and looked out the windshield to change the subject.

“So, where are we going?” I asked.

“Before I tell you that,” he said, his tone turning serious. “I have to ask a question. And I need an honest answer.”

“Okay…”

“Why do you want to interview me?”

“Well, it’s more of a profile piece,” I said quickly.

“Okay, why do you want to profile me?”

“Because you’re Sean Donovan.” I knew it wasn’t a good answer, but it was all that I could come up with on short notice. I cleared my throat and searched my brain for a better explanation.

“I know I’m Sean Donovan,” he said, keeping his eyes on the road in the heavy traffic. “But do you know how many interviews I’ve done? And how many profiles have been written about me?”

“No…”