Page 2 of Before He Was Her Headmaster

I almost snap that I don’t need anything.

But something stops me. I look at him again. He’s beautiful in a wild animal kind of way. His hair is thick and standing up on end, and his eyebrows are dark, angry slashes over hooded eyes. But for all his fierce beast-mode aesthetic, he seems like a gentle giant.He likes to help people.That has to be a line, right?

I deliberately run my gaze down his body, from the leather jacket down to where his dark jeans hug both muscular thighs and a prominent bulge at his crotch.

I jerk my gaze up to his face, and one of those dark brows lifts in surprise, like he wasn’t expecting me to check him out.

I wasn’t expecting to, either.

We stand there together for a silent, extended beat, and then he nods at me and backs up. Clearly, I don’t want him to buy me orange juice because if I did, I’d say something, right?

But I’m not sure what I want.

Then he frowns and stops, and a second later, I feel an unexpected warm heat behind me.

I spin around to find the trucker I caught a ride with leering over me. “Hey darlin’, you ran away so quick. I was hoping we could get a bite to eat together.”

I jerk backward and collide with Mr. Motorcycle’s front. He smoothly moves me to the side, putting some space between our bodies, then steps in between me and the trucker before glancing back at me. “You okay?”

I nod.

He jerks his head at the other guy. “Do you want to have dinner with him?”

I shake my head.

A grin, bright and unexpected, appears as quickly as it disappears before he turns back to face the trucker. He schools his features into a more serious look as he pointedly addresses the other man. “We’ll let you get your juice in peace, then.”

And without a word of conflict, he somehow moves the trucker away from me, pointing the older man to the restaurant.

I can tell they’re both older, but Mr. Motorcycle looks like an actor who would play a hot dad on TV, and the trucker looks like… well, my actual father, if he wasn’t rich and was missing some teeth.

I shudder and grab the orange juice I was just pretending to want. I’m looking at chips at the end of the aisle when Mr. Motorcycle returns and grabs the soda he had initially been looking for.

I step back into view. “Thanks for intervening.” My face heats. I know I don’t need to explain more, but an explanation tumbles out anyway. “I caught a ride with him, and he clearly got the wrong idea.”

“You were hitchhiking?”

“I’m done with that now. This is my destination.”

He frowns and looks around. “This truck stop?”

“This city.” I don’t elaborate, not wanting him to know I’m here for school. I want him to think about me as a woman. Tonight is my last night of freedom before I need to behave for three months.

Tonight, though, I want to misbehave. And I want to do it with Mr. Motorcycle. “I start a new job tomorrow. It comes with lodging, so I’m just looking for a place to stay tonight. Thought about crashing here, but if you have a better idea….”

His frown deepens, like he didn’t hear me just hit on him because he’s apparently fixated on my choice of accommodation. “You were going to spend the night at a truck stop?”

I shift uncomfortably under the stern appraisal of my not-great idea. “It would be fine.”

“Do you need money for a motel?”

A rush of heat colors my cheeks. It hadn’t even occurred to me to get a motel room. “I have money. But that’s a good idea. Thanks.”

I spin on my heel, but I don’t get far before his hand catches my elbow and turns me around again.

He’s closer than he was before, almost right up against me, and I catch my first whiff of his scent. Warm, spicy, masculine. He smells nice, not like a bad guy at all. And definitely not like a man who would fool around with an eighteen-year-old girl desperate to break free from the confines of her life.

Which isn’t a thing one can tell from a scent, but it’s the entire package. The concern in his eyes, the stern furrow now etched between his eyebrows.

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