by Xavier Neal
Holden silently backs up towards his stainless steel fridge, grabs two beers from the door, and offers me one.
Once it’s in my hand, I twist the lid off and chug down a portion of my frustration.
He patiently waits until I look back his direction before asking, “Are you telling me because she’s underage and you think ‘cause Pax is a lawyer he has some legal obligation to tell the authorities? ‘Cause bro try to remember what I do for the government before you go throwing out a shit ton of details.”
His point doesn’t go missed. Paxton may be an attorney, but he’s one who doesn’t check his moral compass very often outside the courtroom. Holden on the other hand, his entire job is centered around breaking laws to benefit the greater good of humanity and protect the world from predators. Which I am not. We are both consenting adults. Consenting adults with an 11 year age gap.
I quickly shake my head. “She’s completely legal.”
Nonchalantly he questions, “So, what’s the problem?”
“She’s my student.” I pause as images of her screaming, shaking, and sighing trample back into my mind. “My sexy as fuck, dirty as hell, just on the other side of legal, student.”
“You’re her substitute. It’s not like you’re gonna be there longer than a couple of weeks. This shit shouldn’t matter.”
I lean my back against the counter behind me. “Actually, I’m there for the rest of the semester. The teacher I’m replacing had to deal with some family shit up north. Dying…brother or brother in law? I don’t remember. The Headmaster didn’t seem too fucking concerned with giving me any more information.”
Holden has a sip and returns to his leaning position. “You really need to give up this sub shit.”
My face tilts to the side. “I wanna teach professionally.”
“No you fucking don’t,” he grunts on a half laugh. “You’re just too much of a pussy to let your past go and move on with your life.”
I roll my eyes. “Can we stay on topic?”
“You mean the one about you doing something out of your little circle of caution?”
Annoyed, I bite, “I’m not that cautious.”
“You are and it makes you fucking boring to be around.”
“I’m not fucking boring.”
“Bro, you’ve become so boring the encyclopedia wouldn’t read you.”
I glower.
“Bro, you’ve become so boring since the incident, that if someone were to google search you, they’d throw in pictures of naked chicks on giraffes just so the person scrolling could be led to somewhere less likely to put them to sleep.”
Shaking my head, I have another sip.
The incident, as we call it, is something we don’t talk about any more. Truth is we all have an incident that fucked up our lives as we knew them. We all have one and we’ve all gone to lengths to protect each other over them.
I’ve got three bros. Holden, the hacker, Paxton or Pax, the suit, and Wyatt, the chef. Obviously, we aren’t blood related, but the bond we have runs deeper than that shit. There’s not a damn thing I wouldn’t do for them, just like I know there’s isn’t a damn thing they wouldn’t do for me, legal or illegal. That fact has been proven more than once in our friendship, which has lasted over a decade. Before the four of us grew the fuck up and became the adults none of us wanted to be, we were just college kids from four walks of life looking for the same shit. Brotherhood. We all rushed the same frat at the same time. After a couple days of asinine requests along with some obnoxious pranks, we joked about quitting and starting something ourselves. I was the one who pushed it from an idea into action. The truth was, I didn’t want to be a part of some old fucking tradition with a bunch of assholes who would only be there when it was time to boost my career or go away for a weekend to cheat on our wives. I only pledged to shut up my father. The decision to do our thing, make up our own rules, call our own shots, and decide who got to stay and who got leave was invigorating. As college freshman, you already bend over and kiss enough ass. You don’t get to start at the top, but it’s a helluva time to build your own way there. We quit pledging and started planning. It started off as agreements for parties every other weekend and led to us being legendary.
“Look, I’m not saying you don’t have a reason to be…somewhat…careful,” Holden struggles to explain. “But it’s okay to live a little, Nate. Do some shit that makes you happy. Fuck a hot chick. Stay out past eleven o’clock. Watch porn in the middle of the afternoon. You don’t have to be the crazy fucker you were in college, but you damn sure don’t have to be Grumpy Old Men before you hit fucking thirty.”
Another deep sigh escapes. “I can’t keep fucking her, Holden. I’ll lose my job. I need my job.”
He gives his scruff covered face a rub. “You could always man up. Start looking for shit in the field you’re actually interested in. I know you got Fern’s invitation to her screening tomorrow night. Why not try to get back out into the industry? Why not-”
“No.” I cut him off and place my bottle down. “I’m gonna teach. There’s a professor’s assistant job opening up next fall at Ashwin and if I make good at Ollander, I’m a fucking shoo-in for it.”
Being in the film industry isn’t my place any more. I fucked up that chance. Might as well become the old trite saying.
Holden tries to refrain from rolling his green eyes. “Then stop fucking her. It’s not like you’re in a relationship. You’ve only screwed her twice.”
My head nods at his point.
“But if you ask me, which I assume is why you’re here, I say, quit the job and keep sleeping with her.”
Part of me agrees and that’s an entirely different problem. Over the years, after the incident, I became the cautious, logical one who thought ahead longer than the week, who considered the consequences of each decision for acting or letting the others act. But being around Ainsley makes me reckless. Makes me fucking forget about what may happen in a month or the next seven. She lets me enjoy the moment. Live there. Breathe there. It’s something I shouldn’t fucking want, something I know is insanely dangerous, yet I can’t help going back for more. I expected Holden to give me the reasonable command I can’t give myself. Instead he’s given me the option I desperately want to take.
“But because your panties are in a twist and your balls are still in a fragile state, I’ll tell you what you want to hear. Stop banging your student. Just tell her it was a onetime thing….even though you fucked her twice.”
“Last time I tried that she showed me she wasn’t wearing anything on under her dress,” I growl and have another gulp of beer.
Holden stands up straight and folds his arms across his chest. “Is that when you fucked her the second time?”
I shake my head. “Few hours later during the pep rally, in the concession stand closet.”
He erupts into laughter.
“It’s not fucking funny, Holden! I could lose my job!”
His laughter expands until he’s doubled over.
We may be bros, but fuck, I wanna punch him in his fucking face.
As he catches his breath, he manages to state, “Yeah, you’re fucked.”
“Not helping.”
“You couldn’t make it through the entire goddamn day without fucking her…”
I widen my eyes in irritation of the truth and toss back another sip.
When Holden’s finally gained his composure, he rests his hands on the counter, and sighs, “Seriously? You couldn’t resist fucking her on campus? What happened? Did she lift up her cheer skirt and spell out fuck me with her pom-poms or some shit?”
“She’s not a cheerleader.”
“Dancer?”
“Film lover.”
“Ah. Kindred spirits,” he mocks.
Shaking my head, I point a finger at him. “Don’t give me that hippie shit. I hated it when Beth would when we were in college. Hate it even more now.”
; The mention of his deceased wife hardens his face. He shifts uncomfortably in place. Holden tries to push past the rising sadness that instantly surrounds his mood whenever her name is mentioned. “She tried to find the meaning in a situation, bro. Nothing wrong with that.”
Now feeling like an asshole, I place my beer on the counter, and shove my hands in my suit pants pockets. “I know. I…I…That came out wrong.”
“Look,” he clears his throat, “your situation isn’t ideal, but it’s not the end of the goddamn world, Nate. Put a stop to it and save the career you’ve convinced yourself to care about or look at this as an opportunity to enjoy your existence again. To stop walking around in the fog you don’t seem to notice. Connect with someone who is interested in the same shit as you and makes you feel alive. And before you go off on some tangent insisting she doesn’t do those things and it’s just really good sex you don’t know how to say no to, let me just put it in perspective for you. This, this babbling, argumentative, jackass you’re being is the bro we all miss. You look confused as fuck, but happy. And when you find someone who makes you happy, who makes life better for you, you shouldn’t ignore it. You should fucking embrace that person with open arms and give her a thank you for coming finger fuck.”
His poorly worded heartfelt speech gets the point across. The urge to agree with him wedges itself in my throat, but I don’t allow the words to be released. In one aspect he’s completely right. This is the most alive I’ve felt in years. This is the most sex I’ve had in months. I don’t know if she makes life better at this point so much as complicated, but being around her does make me happy. We haven’t done much talking in private, but when she speaks in class there’s an undeniable connection exchanged. Our similar views on a shared passion have resulted in an endless longing to be back in the field I regret leaving behind.
An unexpected ding echoes throughout his home.
Instantly, I ask, “You working?”
He grins crookedly. “Come on, Nate. I’m always working…The computer dings and it’s like someone’s turned the fucking bat signal on.”
I lightly laugh and have another swig of my beer.
“Need to turn that shit off before the kids get home.”
“How’s the new nanny working out?”
Holden rolls his eyes. “Not sure how much longer she’ll last.”
“You go through nannies like Pax does ties.”
He shrugs. “Fuck me for being picky about the women I want helping raise my kids.”
It’s hard not to be understanding about his situation. Single father. Two kids. Widowed. No other family than the three of us? I don’t blame him for wanting the best for the kids, but I have a feeling in the pit of my stomach, he’s never going to find it because as far as he’s concerned, Beth was the best and no one will ever measure up.
The computer dings again and I put the empty bottle on the counter. “I should probably go. Gotham needs you.”
He smugly smirks. “It always does…”
After leaving Holden’s, I decide to stall my return home further. While stopping by his place was a necessity, swinging by the grocery store to stock up on a few items could wait. I take my time during the shopping trip. I walk each and every aisle to kill as much time as I can. The minute I step through my front door I know exactly where my mind is going to go. I know exactly what it’s going to expect me to do. Fucked up thing is, had I not had another taste of her, I might’ve been strong enough to continue denying her as a viable option. But now that I have? The best I can hope for is reciting a well-rehearsed speech about this not happening a third time. Almost like the one I tried earlier, but with better conviction.
By the time I arrive at my apartment, I’ve gotten the exact words memorized. As I put everything away in my small kitchen, I state them out loud to reassure myself they’re perfect. This is ridiculous. There’s no reason ending things with Ainsley should be this difficult. We aren’t dating. We haven’t even been on a date. It’s just sex. Stopping it from happening again should be simple. If she were any other woman I wouldn’t hesitate. Hell, I probably just wouldn’t answer her calls, but up until this afternoon I didn’t have her number. She had taken mine from the syllabus I handed out when I took over Garrison’s job, but she’d never used it. Part of me is relieved about that. If she would’ve used it sooner, then this would’ve happened long before last night. The fact last night even happened still feels like a fucked up fantasy I concocted. The Silver Tap Pub where she works is only a couple blocks over from my apartment. I’ve passed it numerous times, but never had any reason to go in. Like Holden said, I’m usually home before eleven, and to be frank that place is usually filled with college students still in the prime of their lives. I don’t really need any more reminders that I’m not. You know, I blame Pax for this. He fucking begged me to go out. Whined about his need for a wing man until caving just slipped out of me to shut him up. He left long before I did, but neither of us went home alone. I doubt he ended up sleeping with someone he shouldn’t have.
I flop down on my long brown leather couch and prop my feet up on the wooden coffee table. My eyes give the small one bedroom apartment I’ve lived in for the last few years a good look. Yeah, the walls are the basic off white color it came with, home to only a couple photos from us in college and one of my parents, and yeah, the furniture is neutral colors, but that doesn’t make me boring. That makes me sensible. I don’t have a kitchen table because the bar works just fine and allows more space for the living room as well as my home office. I don’t have more than this couch for sitting because I don’t need more. It’s a decent size. Slightly curved. I don’t have parties like I used too or women constantly crashing over to avoid returning to responsibilities, any more. There’s no real point in extra space for people who don’t exist in my life. And my flat screen TV is big enough to fit into the nook on the built in bookshelf without having to buy an additional stand or find a different wall to hang it on. Having a bunch of extravagant shit I don’t need, even if I can fucking afford it, doesn’t make me dull. It makes me…practical. In the long run being practical pays off.
A heavy, annoyed sigh leaves me.
Fuck. Holden’s right. I am a grumpy old man before I’m thirty.
My phone buzzes beside me stealing my attention.
I swipe to check the message.
Father: We need to reschedule our dinner Nathaniel. Find the time.
With a grunt, I toss the phone back where it was.
He’s suggests very little and asks for even less. Guess it’s the benefit of being a Supreme Court Judge. You’re just entitled to rule your family the same way you rule the courtroom. Cold. Callous. Calculated. How far am I from turning into that? How far away is meticulous, overly cautious, and abstemious?
The idea of becoming more like him than I already am, pushes me to grab my phone, and send a message to Ainsley.
Me: You alright?
Rather than stare at it aimlessly until she replies, I put the phone down beside me and grab the remote. I scan through the series on Netflix I’ve been watching and try to ignore the twisted nerves in the pit of my stomach. After deciding to resume watching House, MD, I attempt to actually relax for the first time since I’ve been home. It’s useless. I know it’s useless, but I have to at least try. I can’t just sit around staring at my cell waiting to get a text back from the chick I’m banging or…banged. I’m fucking twenty nine not fifteen. This shouldn’t be the only thing on my goddamn mind.
Time passes painstakingly slow. An entire episode finishes without a returned message. I ignore the doubt beginning to build. Maybe she lied. Maybe all the shit she said and did was just part of a game she was playing to make the sex hotter.
The opening credits for the next episode begin at the same time my phone vibrates.
Without hesitation, I grab it, swipe it open, and view the message.
Ainsley: Bruised but I’m not complaining.
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My cock twitches as does my face in an attempt to smile.
I bruised her? That shouldn’t fucking please me. It shouldn’t make me feel relieved to know I marked her and she enjoyed it. It shouldn’t swell my chest with pride for everyone to be able to see my lack of restraint when it comes to her. Yet it does.
The phone vibrates again.
Ainsley: Wanna see?
My fingers can’t hit the keys fast enough.