by Amy Brent
“I’m sorry,” I said, unable to control the angry tone of my voice now. “Exactly what the hell are you talking about?”
“You know what I’m talking about,” she shot back, hitching her chin defiantly at me.
“No, honestly I don’t know what you’re talking about because I don’t think you know what you’re talking about,” I said, hands in the air.
“Whatever,” she snarled, giving me the universal argument most kids her age used when they couldn’t think of anything intelligent to say.
Whatever… I was starting to hate that word.
I held out my hand with my fingers splayed to count off the ways I was not like Keith Calloway. I said, “First of all, I never came onto Jude. I did not approach or proposition her. Never. She came on to me in my classroom and made me an offer that only a fool would refuse. We have seen each other practically every day since, except for the few days when she was sorting out that business with Keith. And yes, I showed up at your door not because I was obsessed, but because I was worried about Jude, and yes, whether you take me seriously or not, I am educated and equipped to help people deal with such problems.”
“Oh, you help her deal all right,” Izzy said, shaking her head.
I stopped talking and gawked at her for a moment. I leaned back in my chair and folded my arms over my chest to mirror her posture. I eased my voice to match her tone. I said, “Let me ask you a question.”
“I ain’t got nothing to say to you,” she said, looking away as if that was that.
“Just humor me for a moment,” I said. “Has Jude said anything that would lead you to believe that I have done anything that was less than honorable when it came to her wellbeing and happiness?”
“Jude keeps the bad shit to herself,” Izzy said. She was going to be a hard one to convince that I had no negative motives toward Jude. If anything, I would forego my own happiness for hers. Wow… did I just admit that to myself?
“Surely Jude doesn’t just share the good parts of her life with you,” I said, giving her a sideways smile. “You’ve been besties and roomies for years. You said it a minute ago, y’all talk about everything. If Jude was not happy about something—if something I did or did not do made her unhappy— I’m sure you would spot it right away and pry until you found out exactly what the problem was. Then you’d take it upon yourself to fix whatever was broken or solve the problem for her because that’s the kind of friend you are, Izzy. I can tell. You’re not going to let anyone run over your friend. Not me. And certainly not Keith Calloway.”
“Why do you say that about Keith?” she asked. The ferocity left her eyes, leaving them teary. “Did Jude say something?”
“Jude told me that you feel bad because you didn’t step in when she was involved with Keith,” I said, nodding. “Just like you’re stepping in with me now.”
“I should have said something back then,” she said, confirming what I had already figured out. She wasn’t pissed at me. She was pissed at herself. “I knew Keith was a possessive mother fucker. I had known other girls he slept with. And you’re right. Me and Jude share everything. I knew he was making her do crazy shit. Shit she didn’t especially want to do. And I knew he was married before she did.”
I blinked at that one. “Wait, you knew he was married but you didn’t tell Jude?”
The anger seemed to leave her body like steam rising off a morning pond. Her eyes filled with tears. She tugged a tissue from her backpack to wipe them away. “I had seen him in town with a woman and a couple of little kids,” she said. “A few days before his wife caught them at the natatorium.”
“But you didn’t say anything to Jude?” I tried not to frown in judgment. “Because?”
“Because she thought she had feelings for him and I knew it would break her heart to discover that he had been lying to her all along. I was going to tell her. I just hadn’t figured out the best way to do it.”
“I see,” I said, uncrossing my arms and crossing my legs. I wrapped my fingers around me knee, moving from a defensive posture to a more understanding and supportive one. “So, you didn’t want to hurt her, which I totally understand. It can be tough, seeing someone you love in a bad situation, knowing that telling them the truth might hurt them, and hurt your relationship as a result.”
“Sometimes the messenger is the one who gets blamed,” she said, staring down at the tissue. She held it between her hands and started picking it apart. “I was going to tell her… honestly… but before I could… well… the shit hit the fan and it was too fucking late.”
“Did you ever tell her?” I asked, already knowing the answer but letting her say it. She needed to vocalize her feelings. She needed to get it all out. She didn’t realize it, but she was going to feel much better after our little impromptu session. Izzy was riddled with feelings of guilt over what happened between Jude and Keith Calloway. She felt horrible that she had not better protected her friend. She felt guilty to the point of now being overprotective, which I found truly admirable. She was a good friend put in a bad situation. I probably would have done the exact same thing.
“No, I never said anything,” she said quietly. She huffed a sigh that made her shudder. “And please, don’t you say anything to her. I don’t want her mad at me for not having the balls to tell her.”
“I’m pretty sure she’d understand,” I said reassuredly. “But you can count on my silence. But you have to stop blaming yourself for what happened between Jude and Keith. It was not your fault.”
“That’s easier said than done,” she said.
“I know, but you have to forgive yourself and let it go,” I said. I gave her a respectful smile. “Come in, Izzy, you’ve taken all the classes. You’re one of the top students in the grad program. You know what I’m saying is true.”
“I know,” she said, sniffing back tears. “I know I should reconcile these feelings and move on, but that’s hard to do. Knowing and doing are two completely different things.”
“If you had told Jude about Keith’s wife, do you think that would have stopped things between Jude and Keith?” I asked. “I mean, have you ever stopped to think what might have happened if the shit did not hit the fan the way it did? In public, with Keith’s wife and the cops involved?”
She sniffed again and gave me a questioning look. “What do you mean?”
“Think about this,” I said, one finger up. “If you had told Jude that Keith was married, two things might have happened. One, she would have confronted him but continued seeing him, probably because he would have convinced her that he was going to leave his wife for her.”
“Jude would not have fallen for that line of shit,” Izzy said.
“Okay, then let’s look at the other thing that might have happened. She would have told him to fuck off and he would have gone off the deep end faster and deeper, and who knows what he might have done. Someone like Keith Calloway might do anything when pushed into a corner. You’ll never know what he might have done.”
“He tried to attack her in a fucking parking lot in broad daylight,” Izzy said, the anger returning to her voice. “If you had not have shown up, who knows what might have happened.”
“Right, but consider this,” I said, the finger back in the air. “What if she had tried to break up with him in private? Rather than the big commotion at the natatorium which involved Keith’s wife and the cops, what if Jude had confronted him in private. What do you think someone like Keith might have done if there were no witnesses around?”
Izzy’s eyes filled with tears again. “He might have hurt her. Bad.”
“He might have,” I said, nodding slowly. “In my mind, it’s a good thing that things happened publicly, with other people around. A guy like that, crazy enough to confront her in a public parking lot in broad daylight, who knows what he might have done if he got her alone somewhere.”
“So, you’re saying that it was better for things to have happened like they did, rather than her learning about
his wife from me and confronting him in private.”
“That is what I’m saying,” I said with a firm nod. “And that’s what I believe. You might feel guilty about knowing beforehand that Keith was married, but you should be patting yourself on the back for how things turned out in the end.”
She sat silently for a moment, her arms wrapped around herself, rocking back and forth. Eventually, she looked up at me from beneath her eyebrows and smiled. “You’re not just saying this stuff, so I will let you off the hook, are you?”
I chuckled and shook my head. “I’m not sure I was ever really on the hook, but no, I’m not just trying to get on your good side. I’m telling you what I would tell anyone who told me your story.”
“Ah, so this is a therapy session,” she said, her lips breaking into a broad smile.
“You might consider it that,” I said. “Or you might consider it two people with a mutual friend coming together to realize that they both want the same thing. And that is for that friend to be happy and healthy.”
She smiled and dried her eyes on what was left of the tissue. “Why is it that those of us in the business of shrinking heads never take the time to get our own heads shrunk?”
“That is a great question,” I said with a smile. “And one I do not have a good answer to.”
“You’re not going to send me a bill, are you?”
I chuckled and shook my head. “No, not if you give me the benefit of the doubt when it comes to Jude.”
She eyed me as she took a deep breath. “You really do like her, don’t you?”
“I really do like her,” I said, smiling, head bobbing. “And I would never do anything to hurt her. Nor would I force her to do anything she did not want to do.” I leaned in and flexed my eyebrows at her. “Believe it or not, I’m probably as protective of Jude as you are. If Keith Calloway ever comes near her again, well…”
“You’ll kick the shit out of him and plead temporary insanity?”
“Who better to plead temporary insanity than a guy that teaches the stuff every day?” I asked.
“True that,” she said, the smile still on display.
I extended my right hand across the table. “Are we good then?”
She stared at my hand for a moment, then blew out a long breath and nodded her head. “Yeah, we good,” she said, shaking my hand with a firm grip. “Just remember, my boyfriend is the captain of the football team, so if you ever hurt my girl Jude…”
“I’ve seen your boyfriend, and point taken,” I said with a smile. “And you have nothing to worry about.” I glanced at my watch. “Okay, people will start drifting in soon. Sign them in, give them a badge, and tell them there’s coffee and water inside the meeting room.”
“Will do.” Izzy brushed the bits of torn tissue from the table and picked up the pen and sign-in sheet. “And Professor Moss?”
“Holden. Please.”
“Holden, I’m glad I got the short straw and had to be here early.”
I gave her a thumbs-up as I backed away.
“Me, too, Izzy. Me, too.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN: Wynn
I reluctantly left Jude blow-drying her hair in Holden’s master bathroom after we took a nice, long, hot shower to wash off the scent of our morning delight.
Naturally, we soaped each other up to make sure we were good and clean. My cock swelled in her soapy hands and her pussy gushed hot juices over my soapy fingers, but rather than have an Act II in the shower, we decided to put our sex drives in park until the three of us—Jude, Holden, and I— could meet back at the house later to talk about partying together.
I dried off with a towel while Jude rinsed her hair, then went into the guest room and dressed in a white button-down shirt and jeans, boots, and topped it off with a black sport coat. Professional casual, it was called. I was checking my reflection in the mirror over the dresser when Jude walked in wearing nothing but a towel around her head. Drops of water dotted her chest and breasts. I resisted the urge to lick them off.
“Um, I was just wondering…” she said tentatively, glancing into my eyes in the mirror. “What do we tell Holden if he asks if anything happens?”
“What do you think we should tell him?’ I asked as I adjusted my cuffs and brushed my hair back with my hands. “Keeping in mind that Holden and I have no secrets.”
“We should tell him the truth,” she said without hesitation. “Holden and I have no secrets, too.”
“The truth is always the best tale to tell,” I said with a smile. “When you always tell the truth, you never have to remember what you said.”
“You’re so deep, Dr. Driver,” she said with a grin. “Maybe you should write a book.”
“I am as deep as a dry well,” I said. “And you’re the one who should write a book. Ooooh, that body… what a tale it could tell.”
“Oh, stop,” she said, moving beside me and bumping my hip with hers to get in front of the mirror. I couldn’t keep my eyes from drifting down to her beautiful tits, so round and pink and perfect, tipped with plump nipples that beckoned to my tongue, saying “Lick me, Wynn… lick me now…”
She tugged the towel free and started drying the ends of her long hair with it. Still watching me in the mirror, she asked, “Do you think he already knows?”
I was still smiling, my eyes wandering down to her smooth cunt. “Yes, I’m pretty sure he already knows,” I said.
“Because you guys do this sort of thing all the time,” she said with the towel cupped to her chin. “Or you used to, before you got rich and famous and moved away.”
“Because Holden knows you and he knows me,” I said, turning to face her. I opened my arms and she moved in close. “He knows we can do this without complicating what you and he have. We are all very sexual beings with the ability to separate sex from attachments. That’s why he left early this morning. He knew that nature would take its course. He wanted you and I to spend a little time together before the three of us explored anything further.”
“To make sure you and I were… compatible?” she asked, her head back, lips parted, eyes dreamy. I could not resist giving her a little kiss lightly on the lips.
“Something like that,” I said, rubbing the tip of my nose to hers.
“So, this whole thing was a setup?” she asked, her teeth nipping at my jawline. I felt my cock swelling in my jeans. Damn, all this woman had to do was look at me I got hard. She felt it, too. She wiggled her cunt against my leg and hummed in my ear.
“More of an opportunity than a setup,” I said, summoning the will to gently push her away. I nodded at the clock on the dresser. “As much as I’d love to stay here and play with you, I’m expected at the conference in thirty minutes. Think you can control yourself until we get back here tonight?”
“We could have a quickie,” she said, reaching for my belt buckle, wiggling her fingers with a devilish look in her eye.
“To quote an old movie,” I said, holding up my hands to back away. “With you… never a quickie… always a longie.”
* * *
My brain was still arguing with my cock as I got into the rental car and pulled away from Holden’s house to head to Conner Hall on the other side of campus. I glanced at the gold Rolex on my left wrist. I had about twenty minutes to get to the conference for the orientation, which was basically a meet and greet for the speakers, panelists, and attendees, most of whom I knew from my time at Northwestern before.
I expected some of the attendees to be friendly, some not so much. I had never been popular with the local psyche community, and when you write a mass market book on psychology, many in the field look down on you and call you a hack. That was fine. This hack was helping far more people than they ever could. Plus, I was laughing all the way to the bank.
When I taught at Midwestern my focus had been on psychology and sexuality, two topics that made a lot of people nervous and uncomfortable, but attracted students in droves.
There was considerable resentment fro
m some of the faculty because of the popularity of my courses, but when you’re putting butts in seats—and those butts pay hefty tuition—the faculty can kiss your ass.
My classes were the most popular of the psyche curriculum, which meant that Jefferson Milton, head of the psyche department, loved me. Almost as much as I loved fucking his wife, Jean.
I smiled as I turned onto the street that led through the center of campus. I wondered if Jean Milton was going to show up at the event wanting to fuck in the public restroom like we used to do. If she did, I would not hesitate to acquiesce to her request. I loved fucking Jean Milton. I could never turn her down, not even with fifty people standing outside the door listening to us hammer one out.
The rental car had Bluetooth, so I paired my phone with it and set the phone in the console. As if on cue, a minute later the phone buzzed and the caller ID came up on the dashboard display. It was my old pal Dr. Lane Curtis, the former UCLA football star turned psychologist, bestselling author, and speaker who was probably just under Dr. Phil on the psychiatric food chain.
Lane had the career I longed for: six bestselling books, million dollar speaking gigs, high-dollar seminars and boot camps, and women lined up around the block ready to satisfy his every whim. Lane’s books were about human sexuality, a topic he knew very well. Like me and Holden, me and Lane had double-teamed lots of women over the years. I had suggested that me, him, Holden, and some lucky girl (or girls) should party together some day, and he was open to the idea. I wondered what Lane was doing this weekend? He would freakin’ love Jude.