Professor Feelgood

by Leisa Rayven

  “No, ma’am.”

  She’s also a little senile.

  “Rock Hudson?”

  “No, ma’am. “

  “Are you sure? You look like Rock Hudson. With a beard.”

  “Ma’am, I’m sure I’m not Rock Hudson. He’s dead. He has been for a long time.”

  “What? Why you little creep. I’m calling the cops.”

  Also, she’s paranoid.

  There’s another, more frantic knock. “Asha, open the damn door. I’m not sure what the penalties are for not being Rock Hudson, but I don’t want to find out.”

  I roll my eyes and unlatch the chain. When I pull the door open, my breath catches in my lungs.

  Jake’s there, looking tall and lean. He’s smoothed down his hair and even trimmed his beard. But it’s the tux that does me in. The thing fits like it was made for him, and the crisp white shirt and sleek black tie make him look like every James Bond fantasy I’ve never had until now.

  “Uh …” He frowns as he takes in my appearance, and his assessment is lengthy and obvious. His gaze finally ends on the neckline of my gown which is gaping because of the open zipper.

  “Uhhh,” he says, finally and keeps looking at me, then away, as if he wants to avert his gaze but can’t. It gives me a thrill. I’m used to Jake having an intensity about him, but the heat in his gaze is new.

  “I … uh …”

  I don’t think I’ve ever seen him lost for words before.

  I wait a few seconds, and when he’s still non-verbal, I sigh in frustration. “Are you going to stand there all night and stare?”

  He moves forward and leans on the door frame. “I was considering it. Why? Would that be weird for you?”

  “At least blink.”

  “I’m trying, but that’s quite a dress you’re almost wearing.”

  I grab his arm and pull him inside before closing the door behind him.

  “Since you’ve inflicted yourself on me, at least be useful and help with the zipper.” I turn my back to him.

  There’s a pause, and then I feel him behind me. “Asha, I’m flattered you want to strip for me, but we don’t have time right now. Maybe later.”

  I push my elbow back into him. “Zip me up, Jake.”

  “That’s not nearly as much fun, but okay.” He grabs the wire hanger and hands it to me. “Here’s your first problem. You’re supposed to remove these things before getting dressed.”

  Instead of attacking the zipper, he sidesteps me and heads into the living room. “So, this is your place.” He moves around the room, taking everything in. “Not what I expected.”

  “Well, I have walls, so …”

  “Honestly,” he says, examining the knick-knacks on the sideboard. “I thought that by now you’d be married to some sleazy hedge fund manager and be living on Park Avenue. Finish the upward mobility you started in high school. Isn’t this a little low-brow for you?”

  “It’s what I can afford.”

  He does a quick assessment of the kitchen and bathroom then proceeds to head toward my room.

  “Oh, no.” I rush to stand in the doorway and puff out my chest to seem as intimidating as possible. “No way. This is my private space.”

  He steps forward and looms over me. “Are we talking about your bedroom now? Or the vast swath of cleavage you’re thrusting toward me?”

  I hug the dress to my chest. “I could fix the cleavage if you’d zip me up.”

  “I’ll take that under advisement.”

  There are many reasons I don’t want Jake in my room, but even more than the fear that he’ll discover the extensive range of sex toys in my nightstand is the terror that he’ll spy the stack of notebooks sitting on the chair in the corner. Our morning writing spree spurred me on to re-read my old stories, so I pulled them all down when I got home. To my surprise, I discovered they were better than I remembered.

  However, at the bottom of the pile are a few notebooks I didn’t get around to reading, and they’re the ones I haven’t let anyone else see. During my dark days, I spilled my most private thoughts onto their pages. A lot of those bitter and thorny sentiments were about Jake.

  “Be honest,” Jake says. “You’re barring me from your bedroom in case I find the corpses of all of the men you’ve drained after having your way with them, right?”

  He couldn’t be more wrong. I’ve never had a man in my bed. All my failed sexual exploits have happened elsewhere.

  “Actually, I just want to keep you out of there in case you get the urge to try on my dresses.”

  His face drops. “That was one time when I was six, and in case you’ve forgotten, I looked fucking fine in that little white number.” His eyes widen. “Jesus, is that your old bed?”

  Before I can stop him, he slips past me into the room. In a flash of panic, I quickly grab my robe and drape it over the pile of notebooks while he takes a seat on my well-loved double.

  “I can’t believe you still have this.”

  Seeing him there gives me a pain in my head. When I blink, I get a ghost image of a much younger Jake in the same position.

  “Huh.” He sits there for a few seconds, a perplexed expression on his face. “It seemed bigger.”

  “That’s because you used to be smaller.” Much smaller.

  Back then, we could both lie there and still have room left over. Now, it would barely fit him alone.

  I swallow as I’m hit by a memory of us hugging in that bed. It was my ninth birthday, and I’d buried my head in his skinny chest and cried so hard, I never thought I’d stop. He didn’t try to shush me or encourage me to ’let it all out’. He just held me. If it hadn’t been for how he’d wrapped me in his arms, I would have fallen apart that night.

  “A lot of good memories in this bed,” he says quietly. “Okay, that came out creepy, but you know what I mean.”

  I do. Nothing sexual ever happened with Jake there. Not physically, anyway.

  “It’s held up well.” He runs his hand across the shelving that makes up the headboard. Nan gave me this bed when I was just a toddler. In the place of a regular headboard, this one has bookshelves. Over the years it’s housed my most prized possessions. Once upon a time it held pictures of Jake and our collection of rescued treasures. Now it’s full of my favorite books, most of them romance novels.

  I cringe as Jake peruses the titles, bracing for the barrage of mockery that’s no doubt coming my way. If I thought Devin gave me crap about my preferred genre, then Jake will eviscerate me.

  “Big Lainey Bergerac fan, are you?” He touches the spines of my favorite series. “I loved the first two books, but the third made me so frustrated, I wanted to throw it across the room.” He pulls one out and flips through it. “The final book in a trilogy is supposed to wrap everything up, not introduce a bunch of new plot points and characters. It felt like she was setting up an entirely new trilogy rather than concluding an old one.”

  When he turns, I have no doubt he can read the shock on my face. “You don’t agree?”

  “I do, it’s just … uh … You’ve read Lainey Bergerac?”

  He slides the book back into place. “Read her, loved her. Maybe written a few pages of fanfiction here and there.” He says it with zero sarcasm or shame.

  My gob is well-and-truly smacked. Right now, Zeus himself could come down from Olympus and dance naked in front of me, and it would be the second most surprising thing I’d witnessed today. Lainey’s books are wildly popular, but due to them having a female protagonist and an epic romance, her audience is primarily women. That Jake has not only read them but loved them, is a massive surprise.

  Jake frowns. “Are you having a stroke? Why aren’t you breathing?”

  I shake it off. “I’m just weirded out that we have the same taste in books.”

  “Why? It’s not the first time. We both binged on Harry Potter when we were ten. Also, Terry Pratchett and Douglas Adams. I’d be more surprised if we didn’t have books in common.”


  “Yes, but unlike all those others, Lainey’s books are romances.”

  “So? Most classic literature is about epic love. Great Expectations, Gone with the Wind, The Great Gatsby, Pride and Prejudice, Wuthering Heights.” He narrows his eyes. “Wait, are you being sexist and implying men shouldn’t read romance?”

  “Not at all. I’d love for men to read romance, but most don’t.”

  He lies down on the bed and puts his hands behind his head. His feet hang over the edge. “Maybe we should. There’s a reason women are so drawn to those stories, and if we figure out what it is, we might have a chance at understanding them more.” He glances at me. “Why do you enjoy them so much?”

  I struggle for a moment, totally unprepared for this conversation. “I … well …” I take a breath. “It’s how they make true love seem inevitable. Like some people were just born to be together, and no matter what obstacles are thrown in their way, they’ll find a way to overcome them.”

  He stares at me, unblinking. “Is that so?” There’s a challenge buried in his tone, but I don’t take the bait. “Is that how things are between you and your Frenchman?”

  I wish. My life would be so much easier right now if that was the case.

  “I take it from your earlier rant about the hopelessness of love that you don’t believe in destiny.”

  He stares up at the ceiling. “I used to. But after everything that went down with Ingrid … I think people who were born to be together can still end up alone.”

  If life were a romance novel, Ingrid would realize she couldn’t live without Jake and move heaven and earth to be with him, and the feelings I have for Derek would translate into a sex life so spectacular, it would make the angels weep. But life isn’t like a romance novel, no matter how much we wish it was.

  Jake swings off the bed and stands. “So, do you have a favorite genre? Dark? Rom-com? Men in kilts? Vampires?”

  I check his expression for mockery, but the only thing I find is curiosity. “Uh …”

  He runs his finger along the spines of some of my other titles. “Let’s see what we have here. Masterful, Only His, Blissful Submission, Train Me.” My face is getting redder every second. “So, you like BDSM?”

  Again, I wait for the mockery.

  He clocks my skepticism. “I’m not judging you, Ash. Your fetishes are nothing to be embarrassed about. Except, of course, if your kink is being humiliated, in which case you should be thoroughly ashamed of yourself, you filthy little pervert.”

  He says it with so much sincerity, it takes me a second to register the joke. It’s so unexpected, I come dangerously close to snorting. “How long have you been saving that one up, waiting for a chance to use it?”

  He fights a smile. “Just thought of it now. Hand to God.” He stands and puts the books back where they came from, then steps forward, close enough that the air between us feels charged. “But seriously, if you ever desire a good, solid spanking, I’m here for you. God knows, you deserve one.”

  Out of nowhere, my whole body flushes. I try to keep my face neutral to hide it, but I can feel every inch of skin, from my cleavage to my forehead, go red hot.

  Jake notices, and he seems both surprised and pleased. “Interesting.”

  I look at the floor, beyond embarrassed. Yes, I like to read BDSM, among other things, and yes, the thought of a man dominating me turns me on, but until this second, I hadn’t considered trying it in real life. But now that Jake’s towering over me with those dark, penetrating eyes, the mental images are coming thick and fast.

  Jake spinning me around, lifting my dress. Jake curling his fingers into my hair as he swats my bottom with an open palm. Jake ordering me not to move as he slides my panties down my legs.

  Jesus, brain, stop. Not here, not now. Certainly, not in front of him.

  I pull myself together and glance at Jake. Not a good move. He’s staring at me in a way that makes me feel completely naked.

  “I know what you want, Asha. Turn around.” His voice is quiet, but it reverberates through every muscle and bone.

  What the hell is happening? Does he really intend on spanking me? And if so, am I going to let him?

  He stares me down. “Face the mirror. Now.”

  I swallow hard then slowly turn to face my dresser. He steps closer, and I squeeze my eyes shut as my whole back explodes in goosebumps.

  “Stay still.” I feel hands gripping my dress.

  Oh, God. He’s going to do it. He’s actually going to spank me, and there’s a very good chance I’m going to enjoy it.

  Mind still reeling, I open my eyes and watch his gaze fall to my back. Then, my dress shifts as he yanks on the zipper.

  He tries again, but still, nothing. “Yeah, this thing isn’t going up.” I take in a breath as he pulls it all the way down, exposing my whole back.

  “Relax,” he says, quietly. “I was joking about the spanking. Maybe. For now. But hang tight while I dominate the fuck out of this zipper.” He leans around me and grabs one of the vanilla candles off the dresser. “This might work.” There’s a weird sensation, and from his movements, I figure out he’s rubbing the candle along the metal teeth. When he’s done, he tries again. There’s a sharp tug, and then a satisfying sound as the zipper slides all the way up.

  I’m relieved about being fully dressed, even if my heart is still pounding from the thought of him putting his hands on me.

  Goddamn this crazy stupid crush.

  This is the real reason you two stopped being friends, my inner voice whispers. Everything else is just an excuse.

  I try to push the thought away, but it persists. That’s the thing about the truth. You can never completely bury it, no matter how hard you try.

  In grade school, no one cared that my best friend was a boy. That we had differing genitalia was never an obstacle. But everything changed during puberty. One way or another in life, genitalia always becomes an obstacle.

  Words to live by.

  I push out a breath and mutter a thanks to Jake.

  “Anytime.” When I glance up, he’s staring at me in the mirror. “Don’t take this the wrong way, because you’re still one of the most annoying people I’ve ever met, but …” We lock eyes. “You look … good.” He screws up his face and lets out a tight sigh. “Amazing, in fact. Beautiful.”

  A chill runs through me. I don’t think Jake has ever said I look beautiful before. I could get used to it.

  “Well,” I say. “Take this with a grain of salt, because if your ego expands any further we’re going to have to move to a bigger planet, but … so do you.”

  There’s a weird shift in the air, and I get a flash of what it would have been like if things had gone differently in the past. For so many years, I’ve blamed him for everything that went wrong with us, because it was easier than confronting the flaws inside myself. But when he looks at me like he is right now, and I can see the pain that lives behind his eyes, I curse myself for not making different choices.

  I know we all lie to ourselves sometimes because the truth scares us, but while some lies are inconsequential, others can be such whoppers, they change the bedrock of who you are. The lies I’ve been telling myself about Jake are total foundation-shifters, and I know that before long, they’re going to cause an earthquake.

  “What happened to us, Ash?” he says, softly. “We used to think we’d be friends forever. We dreamed so big it hurt our brains. And now … The biggest thing we have in common these days is our anger, and I have no goddamn clue how to change that.”

  I wave of vertigo hits me. I feel like I’m standing on a precipice, and as much as I don’t want to fall, I know I’m going to. How is it possible to feel so many conflicting emotions about a single man? How can I love him and hate him at the same time? How can I want to never see him again and want to beg him to never leave my side?

  If only there was a way to reset our relationship. Erase all the hurtful things we’ve said and done and start over. Reboot all our regre
ts.

  Jake looks down for a second, and rubs his hand over his jaw. “Listen, Asha, I ––”

  He’s cut off by loud knocking.

  “Police. Open up!”

  I drop my head back. Damn you, Mrs. Levine.

  “Hold that thought,” I say, before turning toward the door. “I’ll be right back. Don’t touch anything.”

  I head down the hallway and pull open the door to reveal a black, female police officer. Poking my head out, I can see her partner working the doors at the other end of the hallway.

  “Evening, ma’am,” she says with a nod. “There’s been a report of a strange man roaming the building, bothering residents. Just wondering if you’ve seen him. The suspect is described as ––” She reads from her notepad. “Six-three, dark hair, muscular build, wearing a tuxedo.” She looks at me. “Seen anyone resembling that description? And if so, can you point him in my direction?” She lets out a hearty laugh that makes me smile.

  “I’m sorry you were called out on a false alarm, officer. Old Mrs. Levine saw my friend Jake in the hallway and … well, she spooks easily and has the local precinct on speed dial.”

  She glances toward Mrs. Levine’s door then back to me. “I see. So, this Jake person is in your apartment?”

  “Yes.”

  She lowers her voice. “Ma’am, if you’re in distress or being held against your will, blink twice.”

  I frown. I’m in a little distress, but it’s not the kind she’s talking about.

  “I’m fine, really. This is just a misunderstanding. Look, I’ll show you.” I call out. “Jake? Can you come out here, please?”

  After a few seconds, Jake steps out into the hallway and walks toward us. I hear the female officer mutter under her breath, “Dear God in Heaven.”

  He stops next to me and nods to her. “Officer. Everything alright?”

  The female officer stares at him. “Oh, yes. Everything’s fiiiine. Are you two married?”

  I almost choke on my tongue. “God, no.”

  “Dating?”

  “No.”

  “So, friends?”

  “No,” Jake says, emphatically.