Professor Feelgood

by Leisa Rayven

  He throws his jacket over mine, which lies on a spare stool, and makes a move to sit. On instinct, I hold out my hand to stop him. I don’t have time for Jacob Stone’s bullshit today.

  “Don’t be a dick, Jake. I know it’s your natural state, but for once, try to resist. That seat is reserved.”

  “I know. For me.”

  I breathe through my frustration as he slides onto the stool, and a waitress appears beside him. When he orders a bourbon, a part of me squirms because he’s not old enough to have hard liquor. But of course, that’s not true anymore. Come to think of it, adolescent Jake never cared much for the legal drinking age, either.

  When the waitress leaves, I fix him with my most potent glare. “As tempted as I am to hear about whatever bullshit you’ve been up to since high school, I’m going to have to take a hard pass on this get-together. I have a business meeting.”

  He looks at me like I just told him gravity is real. “So, let’s talk business. Is it cool if I also pay for ‘optional extras’ from you, mistress? I mean, the golden shower thing isn’t really my bag, but I’m sure we could work out something else. What’s your position on spanking? Yes? Or, hell yes?”

  God, give me strength.

  “You know what?” I shove my phone back into my purse. “You want to be an ass? No problem. You do you. But I’m going to move to another table.” I give him an insincere smile. “So glad we bumped into each other, Jacob. Let’s never do it again, okay?”

  When I slide off my stool and turn to go, his hand closes around my arm.

  “For fuck’s sake, Tate, were you always this clueless? Sit your ass back down.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  He lets out a frustrated sigh. “Sorry, that was rude. Sit your ass back down, please.”

  I pull my arm out of his grip and resist wiping it clean of Jake-germs. God, I really am living in a time warp tonight.

  “First,” I say, leveling a finger at him. “Don’t touch me. Second, don’t tell me what to do. Your bullying tactics don’t work on me anymore. And third, don’t touch me.”

  I can’t stand the clammy handprint on my skin any longer, so I quickly wipe away the tingling sensation. “I know this will probably come as shock to you, but you were a douchebag in high school, and you’re a douchebag now, so no, I’m not going to submit to one more moment in your presence. And here’s another newsflash –– I’ve completed three-and-a-half self-defense courses at my local Tae Kwon Do dojo, so believe me when I say that if you lay your giant gorilla hands on me ever again, I will fuck you up.”

  He stares for a second, seeming beyond shocked that I’ve stood up for myself for once. To be honest, I’ve surprised myself. This reaction is the result of the countless times I fantasized about what I should have done or said to him in high school, instead of suffering in silence.

  Still, I’m not used to being so forceful with him, and my heart is thrumming so hard, I can feel the vibrations in my feet.

  Jake is still staring at me in stunned silence.

  Holy shit. Is this what it’s like to beat Jacob Stone? Can it be I’ve finally learned the secret to defeating him and his annoying bullshit?

  Three seconds later, my chest-warming sense of satisfaction dissolves in a puff of humiliation when he breaks into a low rumble of laughter.

  “Damn, Tate,” he says, in an awestruck tone. “That was terrifying. Please don’t fuck me up, tiny woman. I’m young and have so much to live for.”

  I make a disgusted noise then snatch my glass up and take a step toward a free table a few yards away. Unfortunately, I don’t get far, because in a flash, Jake’s out of his seat and blocking my path.

  Okay, wasn’t expecting someone so big to move that fast. Inconvenient.

  “Tate, come on. You can’t leave. I don’t have enough cash on me to pay for professional comedy tonight.” Even though Jake has always preferred brooding to smiling, it’s clear he finds my irritation hilarious, and accordingly, I get even more irritated.

  Goddammit.

  “You know,” I say, drawing myself up as tall as possible, which in these heels is about five-foot-eight. “Maybe you’re right. You should hang around and meet the guy I’m waiting for.”

  “Oh, yeah? Why’s that?”

  “Because he’s honest, down-to-earth, and emotionally aware in ways you’ll never be. He’s someone who doesn’t have to hide behind bullshit and sarcasm. He’s real, and sincere, and writes with the sort of raw vulnerability you’ll never understand. So, go ahead and laugh at me all you want. I don’t give a crap about what you think. As far as I’m concerned, you’re nothing more than a speed bump on a shitty highway I left behind years ago.”

  Jakes expression darkens. Can it be I’ve finally hit a nerve?

  He pauses, and a muscle tics in his jaw. “Is that right?”

  “Yeah, that’s right.”

  There’s a saying about how people ‘stare daggers’ when they’re pissed. With Jake, it’s more like machetes. His eyes have always been the darkest brown I’ve ever seen; almost black. But whenever he gets angry, they seem to hide some sort of internal fire. Tiny flecks of amber play tricks with the light. They’re what make his glare so debilitating.

  How he’s staring at me now? I experienced it way too often in high school, and it always made my lungs seize up, as if I were riding a roller coaster that plummeted to its lowest point in a millisecond.

  In the past, it would have sent me scurrying away as quickly as possible before he could say something to make me feel stupid or small, but not tonight. Despite my whole body going nuclear, I lift my chin in defiance and deploy my most epic-level glare. “Now … if you’ve finished your macho-bullshit routine for the night, let me pass. As usual, I have far more interesting people to spend time with than you.”

  There are those flickers in his eyes again, more of them this time. I know I’m hitting below the belt, but I refuse to go back to being his punching bag. I have enough self-loathing about our past, and I’m determined to never be that girl again.

  Jake stares for a few more seconds, and I know he’s fighting the urge to bite back. But in a surprising show of restraint, he presses his lips into a line, gives a tight nod, and steps out of my way.

  “No problem, Mistress Tate. I’m so sorry to have ruined your evening with my presence. I should have known better. By all means, leave.”

  With a breath to steady my nerves, I go to move past him, but I stop dead when he adds, “Although, I’d hoped for a warmer reception tonight, considering I’m now your star author.”

  I stop breathing as the gears of my mind screech to a sudden halt. When I turn to face him in slow motion, I vaguely wonder if he can see all the blood draining from my face.

  “What … did you say?”

  “Oh, yes, Brooklyn,” he says, his tone getting as hard as his stare. “I normally don’t find desperation attractive in a woman, but today when you practically begged me to sign with you … well, that was one of the most satisfying experiences of my life.”

  His voice has changed. Dropped in pitch and darkened in color. It’s not Jake’s anymore. It’s his.

  Dear God, no.

  My scalp prickles as goosebumps crawl over my skin.

  The sarcasm I’m so used to seeing on his face has disappeared, and all of a sudden, he’s deadly serious. I’m starting to feel like an insect stuck in a web.

  “Wow,” he says, studying my expression. “Can it be I’ve finally left you speechless? Or are you just trying to figure out a way to take back all those nice things you said about me and my writing? By the way you were gushing and groveling, I’d swear you were harboring a pretty major crush on a man you despise. Wouldn’t that be the ultimate irony?”

  I stare at him, dumbfounded. My eye twitches. “No … you can’t be. You just … no.”

  He looks at me impassively, waiting for me to accept the inevitable.

  Why didn’t I see it before? All the clues were there.


  Dark hair. Sharp jaw.

  I glance at his arms. The long sleeves on the tight t-shirt he’s wearing are pushed up, showing firm muscles and intricate ink. Not only that, I can practically see his abs through the thick fabric. I didn’t notice before, because it was Jacob, and it will be sweater weather in hell before I appraise his body with anything but disdain. But now …

  I feel like a whole bucket of ice has been thrown down my back.

  “No,” I say, willing reality to morph into anything that isn’t this.

  “Yes.”

  Sweet Jesus, this can’t be happening.

  “No,” I say again, more to myself than to him.

  “You can say that all you like,” he says, irritated. “But it won’t make it not true.”

  I stare at him for a few more seconds, trying to reconcile the conflicting concepts that are head-butting inside my brain.

  Jacob Stone is Professor Feelgood.

  Professor Feelgood is Jacob Stone.

  Sonovagoddamnbitch.

  EIGHT

  ____________________

  The Mongoose and the Cobra

  I DON’T REMEMBER SITTING back down at the table, or ordering the waitress to bring me a whole bottle of tequila and four shot glasses, but here I am seated next to Jake again with a burning thirst for a metric ton of booze. I will my stupid hand to stop shaking as I fill the glasses. When I’m done, I throw back two shots in quick succession. If I ever needed alcohol to calm me and dull my senses, it’s right now.

  I have an urge to just grab my purse and leave, because that’s my default mode around him; to remove myself from the discomfort that being with him always brings. But then I get an image of Serena and Mr. Whip, and Joanna, and Fergus beating up the copier machine, and goddamn Devin the Deceiver thinking he’s better than I am, and suddenly, my ass feels like it’s super-glued to the seat.

  Jake’s watching me with the intensity of a mongoose scoping out a cobra. I have no idea why. He’s the one full of venom. Why the hell else would he have pulled this stunt?

  I throw back a third shot.

  He takes the fourth before I can. “I would have thought you’d offer your new author a drink to celebrate our glorious union, but no. Not a great start, princess. This is going to come back to haunt you when I fill out your performance review.”

  I scowl and refill the three glasses still in front of me. “Jacob, unless you feel like confessing that this whole Professor Feelgood ruse is a joke, and you’re not him and he’s not you, kindly shut up. You’ve done enough to ruin this night.”

  He downs the shot in front of him and hisses as he swallows. “Man, you got bossy in the past six years. And mean. What happened to you, Asha? Who hurt you? Is it someone local? Can I shake his hand?”

  I level him with a glare. “What did I just say about not talking?”

  I try to quell the disappointment and anger I’m feeling with another shot, but I don’t think anything short of full-on alcohol poisoning is going to make this go away. Sure, my head is spinning, but it’s less from the booze and more from this viciously unexpected turn of events.

  My thoughts stutter and stall, full of U-turns and contradictions. I despise Jacob Stone and all the ways he hurt me. But I respect the professor and all his raw brilliance

  They can’t possibly be the same man, and yet the more I stare at Jake, the more I can’t deny the truth.

  What the hell should I do now? What do I say?

  With the way my stomach is rolling, you’d think I was suffering from motion sickness. Well, that’s not too far from the truth. The good ship Asha has just pulled a gut-churning one-eighty, and it’s going to take me a moment to get my bearings again.

  Jake waits impatiently for me to speak. When I don’t, he nods and gives me a bitter smile. “That’s what I thought. Not so keen to publish a book now that you know it’s me, right?”

  I’m still trying to get my brain to function around the huge cognitive dissonance that’s sitting in front of me.

  “What do you expect me to say, Jake?”

  “I don’t know. You could go on for a bit more about what a great writer I am and how you believe I can help people, but I guess those sentiments only apply to someone who isn’t me.”

  “I’m still trying to grasp that those words came out of you. Did you even write all that stuff? Or is this some sort of sick scam? Passing off someone else’s stuff as yours?”

  Now he morphs from irritated to plain old angry. “Christ, Asha, we’ve known each other since we were three years old. Do you honestly think I’d do that?”

  I bite back a smartass reply. For all of Jake’s faults, I can’t deny he has his own strict moral compass. I don’t think ripping off another writer’s work would ever occur to him, which is too bad. If he’d plagiarized, it would have left the door open to my disturbingly detailed sexual fantasies being about someone who isn’t him.

  Ugh. No such luck.

  “So,” I say. “You’re telling me that your whole tortured ex-lover schtick is real? Jacob Stone was actually stupid enough to fall for a woman and get his heart broken?”

  “Is that so hard to believe?”

  “Considering your impressive roster of girlfriends during high school, yes.”

  He gives a halfhearted shrug. “What can I say? When you meet the right person, you just know.”

  “And who was this unfortunate lady?”

  He hesitates, then looks down. “Someone I met while I was traveling. A fellow backpacker.”

  “Name?”

  “Ingrid.”

  “So why’d she leave? Did she witness you peeling off your man-suit at the end of the day and emerging as a giant snake?”

  He pauses, his expression darkening. “You know, your enjoyment of my heartbreak says a lot about you as a person.”

  I pour myself another drink. “I’m not going to apologize to be reveling in your karmic bitch-slap. You deserve it for countless reasons, not least of which being tonight’s little prank.” Another shot goes down the hatch.

  He steals my remaining glasses, so I’m just left with the bottle. I tighten my grip on it as he glares at me.

  “In case you’ve forgotten, princess, you approached me about the book. If anyone had cause to believe they were being pranked, it was me. I mean, come on. Of all the people in the world, what are the odds of you calling me out of the blue and offering me a book deal? It’s ridiculous.”

  “You could have leveled with me on the phone. Told me it was you.”

  “Then you would have hung up on me.”

  The truest of truths.

  “So, instead you concealed your identity until I handed you a once-in-a-lifetime deal? You must have been laughing your ass off this whole time.”

  “Not entirely. I still have plenty of ass left.”

  “But surely the ultimate comedy payoff would have been revealing yourself to me in front of my bosses tomorrow morning. Why bother asking to see me tonight?”

  After sizing up my expression, he exhales and gives me a contemptuous look. “I have no fucking clue. I guess …” He shakes his head. “I guess I wanted to see if you were different. If we could be different.” For the briefest of moments, there’s a flash of something in his face––a younger, gentler version of him. But then his jaw hardens, and he’s back to his signature glare. “Clearly, we can’t.”

  “I gave you an opportunity for us to be different years ago, and you threw it back in my face. If we’re stuck in this pattern, it’s because of you. Not me.”

  “So, the woman who set the house on fire wants credit for hosing it down? Sounds about right.”

  He takes a mouthful of liquor, and I join him. Maybe getting well-and-truly hammered will make this situation less bleak. Perhaps it will help me block out the knowledge that the deep, emotionally spectacular man to whom I’ve felt so attracted recently is, in fact, the world’s biggest jackass.

  Out of nowhere, a laugh bubbles out of me.
/>   Jake frowns. “You find this funny?”

  I shake my head. “Not at all. But part of me isn’t surprised. I finally have the chance to work with an author I’m truly passionate about and … it’s you.” I laugh again, but it sounds more sad than happy. “Of course it is, because, why not? Nothing’s ever easy for me, so why should this be any different?”

  The laughter gives way to tighter, less flippant emotion, and I look down so he won’t see it. There was a time when I trusted Jacob Stone with every thought and feeling that floated through my young brain. I’d never admit this to anyone, least of all him, but he used to be my fallout shelter when I had nothing and no one else to hold on to. Then puberty hit, and he morphed into my personal nuclear storm.

  I slam back the rest of my drink. My brain cells are slowly becoming blurry and soft. My anger is still there, though, simmering beneath the surface. I can feel myself smiling, but I know for certain I don’t look happy.

  “Okay, Asha, how about you slow down,” Jake says as he catches me off guard and manages to pull the bottle out of my grip. “I haven’t seen you vomit since you were thirteen, and I’m not keen to relive the experience. You’re an ugly regurgitator.”

  “And you’re an ugly person, Jacob. Oh, sure you have all your fangirls swooning over your hot new body and your flowery words of lost love, but they don’t know you like I do. If they did, they’d run a mile.”

  “So much bitterness, princess. Are you still pissed that you kissed me at senior prom and I wouldn’t kiss you back? Is that where all this anger is coming from?”

  I let out a laugh that’s way too shrill. “Yeah, right. Is that what you think happened?”

  “Oh, I was there. I know it was.”

  I glare at him in disbelief. “Screw you, Jake. You kissed me, and you know it.”

  He shakes his head in awe, and his gaze ratchets up about fifteen notches in intensity. “Wow. The lies we tell ourselves really do inform our reality, don’t they?”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”