Professor with Benefits

by Mickey Miller

  The bartender strides toward me. He’s got a host of tattoos and he’s jacked, buff enough that he might even give me a run for my money in a fight. He’s got dark black hair and features, reminding me of someone I used to know, but it’s been too long for me to know for sure. He come to a stop in front of me at the bar.

  “Hey there man, what can I get you?” He pauses, leaning forward. “Holy shit, Cole Hanks?”

  “Fuck me,” I mumble. The last time I’d seen this motherfucker was at least ten years ago. In high school, we were hardcore drinking buddies. “Mason fucking Worthington.”

  The neutral expression on his face spreads into a wide grin. I stand up out of my stool and give him a shake and a hug. “Get the fuck out! Harvard boy come back to his roots, eh? You live here for real? Or you just coming through, looking to pick up some girls tonight, crush it like you and me used to in the old high school football glory days?”

  “Fuck you, can’t a guy just come into a bar and have a drink? I’m not looking for shit tonight. I’m taking it easy.”

  “Well let’s hope you don’t run into one of the twelve girls whose hearts you broke in high school, Ha-vahd boy.” He says in an exaggerated Boston accent.

  “Fuck off. It wasn’t twelve.”

  “Eleven.”

  I grin. “Fine. Don’t act like you were all innocent or some shit.”

  He leans on the bar. “I call it like I see it, and I’m upfront as hell. I don’t lead these girls on. Relationships just aren’t for me, man. What are ya drinking?”

  “Bulleit Rye, rocks.”

  “Oh, getting down to business today. Rough day?” He pours me a generous amount of bourbon out of the green-labeled bottle.

  I sigh deeply. “I don’t even know where to start, to be honest.”

  “Well,” he says in two syllables, emphasizing his southern accent. “You can tell the bartender about it. I’m part therapist, you know.” He points to a gag sign hanging behind the bar that says Professional Life Advice: Free from Bartender.

  I take a sip and nod. Though we haven’t seen each other for some time, Mason and I go way back to elementary school, and we pick up right where we left off. “Mom’s not so good,” I say, gulping down my drink.

  “I heard. Fuck man, that’s rough. Sorry about that.”

  “Thanks,” I say as I take a sip. Patrons on either side of us are getting slightly perturbed that Mason’s socializing with me, as he’s the only guy covering the bar right now.

  “Shit man, I gotta get these people drunk, but what do you say you and me get together sometime now that you’re back? Throw the pigskin around. Shoot some shit. Go fishing. Maybe all three. You still training MMA on the side? Me and Liam are going Sunday. You should come.”

  “Fine by me.”

  Mason leaves to attend to the influx of people at the other end of the bar. Though he’s a childhood friend, right now I just need to be alone and drink my whisky. My thoughts wander as the white noise of the TV sets in. Some baseball game is on. I know the Jaguars are playing, though I don’t even care to check the score. Jake Napleton’s on the mound tonight, that cocky motherfucker. Last game he played, he pushed a guy’s face into the dirt.

  I smile a little as I watch him throw a pitch. The weekend is here, and after several minutes a soft buzz sets in, and my problems finally drift away.

  I’m just another guy at the bar now. We all have our problems. I’m sure the white haired guy with a jar of wine has seen his share, probably worse than mine. And now that it’s the weekend, mine are miles away.

  I feel a hand on my shoulder. I figure some random drunk wants to strike up a conversation with me, and you know what? I’m okay with that. Hell, I’ll debate anything right now just for fun.

  When I turn and see the long, light brown hair, my smile fades and my adrenaline surges.

  Dean Allison stands facing me with her chin tipped up.

  “Hello Mr. Hanks. So funny to run into you here.”

  I take a large pull from my drink and slam it back down. “Likewise.”

  “Have you thought about my proposal?”

  “What proposal?”

  “To have a drink. Just me and you.”

  I run a hand through my hair. “I was just leaving, actually.”

  “Stay.” She puts her hand on mine, squeezes it, then sits down next to me.

  “One drink.” I signal to Mason, and he comes over to refill me. She orders a gin and tonic.

  “Professor Hanks, I’ll be blunt. Maybe it’s the liquid courage, but I need to know if the rumors are true.”

  “Rumors? What rumors?” I take another sip of my Bulleit and furrow my brow.

  “Oh please. My cousin is your age.” She glances at my eyes, then works her way down my t-shirt and lingers on my crotch for way too long, before bringing her gaze back up.

  “What’s your cousin got to do with any of this?”

  “She told me all about you, Cole. Hung Hanks.”

  Chapter Five - Rose

  The blood rushes to my face as I sit in the booth at the Watering Hole, watching my fucking Mom talk to Professor Cole Hanks.

  I’ll be back in a moment, she told me.

  That was ten minutes ago. She’s up there chatting with him now--borderline flirting with him. I assume they are talking about something school related, but still, she’s leaving me to sit here on my own during our ‘family dinner.’

  My dad went home because he felt sick, leaving me alone with her. I love my mom, but sometimes I think she has this crazy streak in her that she never quite got out before she met my dad. I sigh and sip my coke while I watch them. God, Professor Hanks is hot. The way he’s sitting right now, he looks like he’s doing a fucking cover model photo shoot. A plain white t-shirt that can’t contain his muscles worth anything, biceps I want to wrap my hands around. And maybe my lips, too. He works his fingers around his rocks glass as he wields his intense stare at my mom. For the love of God, those eyes. He looks like a young Clint Eastwood, if Clint had trained to be an MMA fighter. And those forearms.

  I feel my nipples harden when he flexes his jaw. This man is made to have his genetics duplicated. It’s no wonder every single girl in his class is doodling his name, trying to impress him with their intelligent questions on Psychology. Cheerleaders, Gymnasts, the pretty girls. They are all gunning for him. Why do I even think I have a shot?

  Oh yeah, that’s right--I don’t have a shot. He shut me down already.

  I look away from the two of them and catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror installed in our booth. I feel so foolish for wanting him, for coming onto him like I did earlier today. Why would he want a Plain Jane like me? I’m nothing special. Even when I try to look pretty, I can’t. I’m five foot two with a curvy body and glasses. There are probably millions of girls who look just like me. Why would the hottest guy in school-hell, maybe the hottest guy in the town--want to be with Jordyn Rose Allison; lifelong tomboy, and voted most clumsy in PE class four years running in high school?

  The more I tell myself not to want him, the harder my nipples get. I even feel a throbbing between my legs. I ache to touch myself, but what’s the point? A silly fantasy?

  I hide in my booth in the back of the bar, wondering if Professor Hanks can see me.

  My mother gets up from her seat next to him and comes back to our booth.

  “I’m leaving, dear,” she informs me. “Here is the cash for the bill.”

  “Thanks Mother! Good to see you.”

  She lets out a deep breath and turns to leave. “Have a good night now, and be careful walking back to campus.”

  “Of course. Oh, and Mother, what were you talking to Professor Hanks about? I’m just curious.”

  She tips her chin at me and smiles curiously. “Adult things, honey.” Her voice is condescending. She pats me on the shoulder, turns on her heel and walks out the door.

  What adult things, Mother? I want to ask but don’t. Instead, I bite my lip a
nd wave the bartender over. I hand him the cash and grab my purse to go.

  Maybe Professor Hanks is right. Maybe I should find someone my own age who will take my virginity since a guy like him will never want me. Plain Jane Jordyn.

  My childhood nickname wails in my ear as I take a quick detour to the bathroom. I stare in the mirror at myself and shake my head. I don’t know when my self esteem got so low, but I almost want to cry.

  This is stupid. I should just go home early so I can avoid a hangover. Tomorrow I’m scheduled to tutor kids who can’t read at the boys and girls club anyway.

  But you know what? Tonight is about me, and the night is still young.

  I’m dressed in a skirt and a white v-neck with a beige bra underneath. You don’t look so bad Rose, I whisper to myself. Besides, it’s not what’s outside, it’s what’s inside that counts. That’s what my Grandma always says, at least. Although she grew up without Instagram.

  I take my glasses off and put them in the case I have in my purse. My eyelashes don’t look half bad tonight, actually.

  I pull out red lipstick and put it on. It’s the brighter shade of red that I don’t usually like because it draws too much attention, but it’ll work for what I want tonight. I take a step back in the mirror. There’s just one more thing I need to do to complete the look.

  Plain Jane as I may be, there is one asset I was blessed with. I check to make sure no one is in the stalls, then unsnap my bra and slip it off and into my purse.

  I can see my pink nipples through the white shirt. I press my boobs together for fun, then let go. I pull the neckline of the v-neck t-shirt down so it gives anyone passing by a healthy show. There we go. To finish it off, I hike my skirt up a bit so my thighs are on display. Much better.

  Professor Hanks might not want to take my virginity, but someone will. And there are plenty of guys at the bar tonight. Hell, why not? If Professor Hanks won’t do it, what’s the point in waiting? All these other guys seem the same to me.

  When I walk back out of the bathroom, I put some extra sway in my step, then saunter up at the end of the bar. Professor Hanks and the bartender are engaged in what seems like an enthusiastic discussion.

  When the bartender notices me I order a Mojito. As he delivers the drink, I stare a few extra seconds at his tattoos. Professor Hanks might be my pick for hottest guy in the bar, but the bartender is a close second for hottie of Blackwell. Still, he seems busy tonight, so he’s not the best bet to take my virginity.

  I glance around, and see a man with a cap and a beard in his mid thirties standing around the juke box. Smalltown Girl begins to play after he puts his dollar in. When he spins around, I make sure to make eye contact with him while I take a long, slow gulp of my delicious Mojito, working my throat slightly and making sure he sees.

  He takes the hint and walks toward me, Busch Light in hand. I lean against the bar so my breasts are on prominent display.

  “Hi there,” he says in a thick drawl when he approaches. “You new here?”

  I smile and sip my drink some more, not missing eye contact. “No. I’ve lived here a while.”

  “Really. Well how much?”

  “Excuse me?” I flutter my eyes a little.

  “How much for a night?” he drawls drunkenly.

  “I don’t understand.” I furrow my brow. In the unfocused blur behind the man, I can see the figures of Professor Hanks and the bartender still talking.

  “Fine. Well how about I just buy you your next drink?” he says with a wink.

  “Sure.”

  I gulp down the rest of my Mojito until I’m sucking air through the straw.

  “Hello Rose,” Professor Hanks’ voice thunders behind the man.

  “Do I know you?” I drawl, licking my lips slightly.

  “Hey buddy, why don’t you back off,” Juke Box man says. “I’m trying to help a working lady out here.”

  I squint in surprise. “Wait, working lady? Oh my gosh, do you think I’m…?”

  “A whore.” He grins at me. My jaw drops.

  “Take a hike, man.” Professor Hanks’ jaw is clenched, along with his fists.

  The bartender takes a step closer to us. His eyes are hot as he stares down jukebox man. Weighing his options, jukebox man realizes that he’s in over his head, and much too scrawny to fight one or both of these two men if it comes to a good old Blackwell brawl. He chugs the remainder of his Busch Light, slams the can on the bar counter, then leaves.

  Professor Hanks’ eyes follow him out the door. When the door slams, he turns back to me.

  “Rose, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?!”

  His voice is grizzly. Angry. Fuck, it’s such a turn on.

  “I’m losing my virginity,” I say, then signal to the bartender to bring me another Mojito. He hesitates, but obliges me, and the aroma of the mint leaves he muddles waft into my nostrils as he crushes them.

  Professor Hanks rakes a hand through his hair and scoffs. “You’re just going to fucking lose it to that guy?”

  I shrug. “It’s a free country. Last time I checked anyway.” The bartender sets my fresh drink on the bar in front of me. I lock my eyes on Professor Hanks as I wrap my vibrant red lips around the straw, and slowly suck.

  “That guy was Fred fucking Maderson.”

  “So?”

  “He’s got an STD.”

  My heart begins to beat much harder. “What? How would you know?! You don’t know.”

  “Mason told me,” he growls, nodding toward the bartender, who tips his chin back at us. “Bartender hears all, you know.”

  “Holy shit. Which one?”

  “The worst one.”

  “Holy shit.”

  “Rose.” His voice is serious. He rakes a hand through his hair. “Why are you doing this? I’m being serious. You can’t be engaging in risky behavior with guys you hardly know, and who have no ties to your friends. It’s not smart. You should know better.”

  While he speaks, he moves closer to me. So close I can smell him--he smells like mountains and fighting and just a little bit of books. Or maybe this Mojito is making me imagine things? No way that’s a cologne. I should patent that, if it’s not. That’s going in my idea book tonight.

  I snap out of my space out. “I know.” I let out a huff. “It’s just, I honestly don’t find any of the guys at Blackwell attractive in the slightest. I like slightly older guys. Like Mr. Jukebox.”

  “Mr. Who?”

  “Oh,” I shake my head, realizing I have only given him that name in my head. “It doesn’t matter. I just like slightly older guys. Like you.” I bat my eyelashes at him.

  “Fuck, Rose.” His jaw tenses as he sips his whisky. He sets his drink down, takes hold of my hands, and looks me straight in the eye. I open my legs, letting him wedge his jean clad thighs between mine. It isn’t lost on me that any other man who has looked at me like this instantly stares right down at my tits. He doesn’t. “Listen, you’re hot as fuck, do you understand that? It’s fucking crazy. You’re so hot you could have literally any guy in this bar. No, fuck this bar. This fucking town. This state. Fuck, forget it. You and me can’t hook up. But I’m looking at you right now, and I’ve got a stiffy. I’m hard as fuck right now, Rose. But this can’t be a thing. It just can’t.”

  “Why not?” I scoff. There’s hurt in my voice. My heart thumps like a bass drum.

  He takes another sip of his whisky, and the smell wafts toward me. “Because,” is all he says.

  “You think I’m just some little girl? I’m twenty fucking two. I can make my own choices. Not only are you sexy, you’re the most intelligent guy I know. So, I want you. If you don’t want me, just say it. Don’t make up some bullshit excuse about policy or whatever. Just tell me straight up. I know I’m not that pretty. It’s fine. But don’t lie to me.”

  “I’m not lying.” His voice is gruff. “Here is why we can’t hook up. Number one, you’re my student and that clearly crosses a line of ethics. But number two,
and more importantly, you couldn’t handle me. Especially not for your first time.”

  My jaw drops and I slap away his hands. “Couldn’t handle you? Please. You’ve got some ego.”

  He rolls his gaze away, then back to me. “It’s not what you think. I just...I like to be dominant.”

  Goosebumps roll across my skin, and blood rushes between my legs. What I’d give to be dominated by a man like him. “I think I like being submissive.”

  He squints. “You think? How do you know?”

  I look away. “I’ve never tried it. But I’ve read about it. Researched it. I think I would.”

  The corners of his lips draw upward in a small smile. “You and your research. You’re so cute. That’s my favorite thing about you, you know.”

  Most guys, when I ask them their favorite thing about me, say ‘your tits.’ Or they space out and stare at my tits for a few seconds before asking me ‘wait what did you say?’ “My research?” I repeat.

  “Yeah. You are a total nerd. It’s okay. I am too, trust me.”

  I scoff. “You’re not a nerd.”

  “Fuck, you’re fun to talk to Rose.”

  “I am?”

  He shakes his head, as if regaining his train of thought. “Look, it doesn’t matter. You’re cool to talk to. Intelligent. Hot as fuck. Fuck. Really hot.”

  He looks at me, his eyes running over me from head to toe as if he’s eating me with his pretty blues. I can’t prove it, but I think I see something near his crotch twitch.

  “Professor Hanks, I know it’s crazy. I know you think I’m too young. But I’m very mature. What if we just did this?”

  I lean toward him, with no idea where I am getting the balls to say what's about to come out of my mouth. “Professor Hanks, I don’t want you to marry me. I just want you...to help me. I need a man I can trust. Give me two months.”

  “Two months. And you want me to teach you?”

  “Yes. Give me the summer. Until August, when the other students get here. That’s all I want with you. I don’t want to have a one night stand, but this doesn’t have to be forever. I want a couple of months. I need this with someone I can trust. And someone I'm attracted to.” I raise an eyebrow. “Someone like you. No, not ‘someone like you.’ Just you. Period.”