Schooled 4.0

by Deena Bright

  “No chance, that dude can’t keep it in his pants for longer than a minute. She’ll see through it soon enough,” Jasper disagrees, shaking his head. “I bet you both a hundred bucks that they’ll be done by their third anniversary.”

  “I’ll give it to their fourth anniversary,” Joz says. “I just hope I don’t win. I hope they annul it the second they get back from Cabo.”

  “Alright, I’m in. I’m giving them five,” I say, shaking each of their hands. “And we’re seeing this bet through. Losers have to pay up. Now, let’s get drunk as shit.”

  “Some of you are already there,” Jasper says, shaking his head at Joz and me.

  “IF YOU WON’T let me pay for a room for you, at least let me get you a cab,” Jasper offers. “You can’t drive like that. Janelle will kill me if her best friend dies on her wedding night—just saying.”

  “Dude, I’m fine. I’ve driven way worse than this before,” I explain, dropping my shoe.

  “Oh, that’s comforting,” he replies, sarcastically.

  Jasper leans over to get my shoe, but I stop him. “Leave it there. I’m never wearing these ugly-ass things again anyway,” I say, throwing the other one on the ground.

  “So, now you’re driving home drunk—without shoes on?” Jasper asks, raising one of his brows at me. “You’re a DUI waiting to happen. Where’d Danny go anyway?”

  “Who?”

  “Danny! Your date,” Jasper clarifies. “Big, buff guy, goatee, ring a bell?”

  “Oh God, yeah, I did come with a date,” I shriek, looking around. “Fuck, I haven’t seen him since like… the church. Damn it, I liked him too—had such a nice car. Hey, speaking of which, where is this Genevieve that I hear you’re dating?”

  “We’re not dating. We just enjoy one another’s company from time to time,” Jasper replies, vaguely.

  “Ohhh, so you’re just fucking… like little fuck buddies when you get the urge,” I say, nonchalantly. “I’ve got a few of those, too.”

  “Okay, I’m calling you cab. I’ll wait with you until it gets here,” Jasper says, taking out his cell phone.

  “Ya know, Jasper,” I say, “you could offer to drive me home. Chivalry wouldn’t kill you.”

  “Not going to happen, Char. I make it a point to never let drunk women anywhere near my car.”

  “It’s only a BMW—it’s not the greatest car ever, you uppity asshole,” I jab, beginning to take the 500 bobby pins out of my ridiculous updo.

  “It is the greatest car ever, and you’re not going anywhere near it.”

  “I TOLD YOU I’d get in this car tonight,” I gloat, smirking.

  “I cannot believe how reckless and immature you are. I mean, my God Charlene, you could’ve killed someone,” Jasper lectures, leaning over and buckling my seatbelt. “Do you realize how dangerous that was? I still don’t even get how you got back to your car in the first place.”

  “Dude, it’s not that big of a deal. I told the cab driver to take me through the drive-thru at Taco Bell. After I got my two soft tacos, I had him bring me back to the parking lot to get my car,” I explain, putting my bare feet on Jasper’s dashboard.

  Jasper immediately knocks my feet down and swipes his hand across the dash in exasperation. “Then you turned the wrong way down a one-way street, hitting two parked cars,” Jasper finishes the story.

  “That wasn’t my finest hour,” I admit. “Thanks for coming to get me… and bailing me out.”

  “Damn it Char, I don’t get you. You have so much going for you. You’re smart, unbelievably gorgeous, and so strong-willed and full of confidence. Why are you still acting like a rebellious adolescent?”

  “You think I’m gorgeous?”

  “Just forget it,” Jasper says, turning up the radio and ignoring me the rest of the way to my condo.

  Pulling into my parking lot, Jasper pulls into the handicapped spot and leaves the engine running. “Alright Char, have a good night… or morning,” Jasper says, leaning across me to open my door.

  “Jasper, I’ll pay you back the bail money.”

  “Every last cent,” Jasper replies, nodding his head.

  “Unless… I don’t know… we can come up with a way I can make it up to you,” I say, jerking my head toward my condo. “We could call it even.”

  “Out!” Jasper grits, closing his eyes and sighing. He pounds the steering wheel with his hands and then unbuckles his belt. He gets out of the car angrily. Walking around the car, he’s mumbling to himself as he flings my car door open. “Let’s go!”

  “Now? In my condo?” I ask, surprised and taken off guard.

  “Yes, now,” he orders, whipping me out of the car, and shoving me toward the steps. “Right now.”

  I stumble ascending the stairs, but he immediately picks me up and forces me to continue up the steps. “Jeez Jasper, hold on, my bed’s not going anywhere.”

  “Go!” he commands, not slowing down at all.

  I give him my keys as he snatches them out of my hands and shoves the key into the door, “Easy boy… you’re awfully eager and forceful,” I say, turning toward him. “I like that… I like that a lot.”

  As I reach to brush his hair off of his forehead, Jasper grabs my hand, stopping me before I can make contact with is hair. “Go to bed Charlene.”

  “That’s what I’m planning on,” I say, closing the space between us.

  “Goodbye, Char,” Jasper says, backing out of the doorway.

  “What? You’re leaving? Are you kidding me right now?” I ask, completely stunned.

  “That’s exactly what I’m doing,” Jasper says, walking down the steps.

  “I thought we… we were going to… come up with a way for me to pay you back?” I ask, hearing the desperation and humiliation in my own voice.

  “Oh we did. A cashier’s check. By the end of the month,” Jasper states from his car. “All three grand of it.”

  Crawling into my bed, I want to cunt-punt myself into next week. How could I have propositioned Jasper of all people—to get out of a debt, no less? What am I? There were names for girls who did shit like that, and I used those names a lot.

  Skank.

  Slut.

  Hooker.

  Whore.

  Fucking prostitute.

  Just add this to the list of things I can never live down in the Garrity family. Family. They called me family. And to be honest, the way Jasper treated me tonight was exactly the way he would’ve treated Janelle and Jocelyn too—like a sister. God, I love that. I love it so much. But what I couldn’t understand is why it bothered me so fucking much too.

  “LAST WEEKEND, YOU deedn’t take me to your seester’s wedding… and now dis weekend, you won’t take me to dis hoity-toity dinner. I don’t understand why you keep me away from you, Yasper,” Genevieve pouts, pushing out her bottom lip.

  I love the way her French accent makes my name sound, which is probably why she’s been in my bed for the past three months—the longest I’ve ever kept any of them around. She’s stunning, sitting on my bed, naked and glowing. Her European confidence and comfort with her body is a turn on in itself. Genevieve has no qualms about her appearance or her body. It’s refreshing and sexy.

  “Baby, I told you before, I don’t mix business and pleasure, pleasure and family, or family and business. It’s just the way it is,” I explain, joining her on the bed.

  “Well, I don’t like the way it eez.” Genevieve whines, looking away and folding her arms. “I want to meet your seesters and go to your work events.”

  “Not going to happen,” I state, bluntly. “We’ve been over this. Do you want to keep things as they are or do you want to end it now? I’m not interested in tears and waterworks, goodbyes and heartbreak. This is just supposed to be sex and fun. Are we still having fun?”

  Apparently, we were not still having fun. I guess those are the perfectly chosen words to get a woman out of your bed and evidently out of your life. It’s a shame that it’s over too, because she
was… how shall I say this… adventurous and worldly. She knew some tricks, tricks that I was more than happy to learn and perfect. At some point, Genevieve went from being carefree and spontaneous to wanting something more. Why is it that women always say that they don’t want a relationship, but sooner or later they’re getting all Beyonce on you, begging for a blindingly bright boulder?

  “MR. GARRITY, A Charlene Palmer is here to see you,” Celia, my secretary, announces through the phone’s intercom.

  “Celia, please tell Miss Palmer that I’m a very busy man, and she’ll need to make an appointment,” I respond, ignoring the stir from below my belt. My brain can tell me to stay that fuck away from that destructive time bomb, but my dick wants to barrel right into her like a freight train on crack. Luckily, I’m a man who lets my head make all the decisions.

  “Yes sir.”

  5

  4

  3

  2

  1

  “Like Hell, I have to make an appointment,” Char bellows, barging through my door. “Jasper Garrity, you do not leave me in the damn waiting room… like… like… some commoner.”

  “Why Char Palmer, to what do I owe this pleasure?” I grumble, sitting down at my desk. “Celia, hold my calls, please.”

  “Oh well, aren’t you just the high and mighty around here,” Char quips, sarcastically.

  “Well, it is my company, hence the name on the wall,” I remark, pointing to the placard on the wall.

  “Smell you, Garrity,” Char says, plopping down on the chair across from my desk. She takes a folded envelope from her bra and sails it through the air onto my desk. “Here’s your check.”

  “As always a symbol of elegance and grace.”

  “Fuck off, Jasper,” Char says.

  “Careful, or the rest of the stuffing in that bra might come tumbling out,” I joke.

  “Stuffing? This is all me,” Char announces, lifting her breasts and thrusting her chest out.

  “Yeah, you’re all in there, all right, along with about five pounds of padding,” I counter.

  Standing up, turning to the side, she says, “Jasper, you mean to tell me that you’ve never noticed my tits before?”

  “Oh, I’ve noticed,” I say, staring down at the marketing report on my desk—not looking at her. “And I’ve also noticed that you’ve got some fake crap under that shirt right there.”

  “Damn it,” Char swears, sitting back down. “The saleslady at Victoria’s Secret said that the ‘Bombshell’ push up bra was their biggest secret. Said it would make me two and half cup sizes bigger, and nobody would know it was just the bra.”

  Char slumps down in the chair, frowning. As she plays with the pendulum on my desktop clock, she sighs heavily, exaggerating the intensity. “God, I’m bored. I can’t believe Marcus and Janelle still have three more days of their honeymoon. Have you heard from them?”

  “Char, I’m not filling in as your bestie while my sister’s gone. Go do something… go do whatever it is you do,” I say, standing to indicate that we’re done here. “Thanks for stopping by and dropping off the check.”

  “Ummm Jasper,” Char stops, turning to face me, “thank you—for everything. I’m sorry—for everything.”

  “Not a problem,” I relent. “That’s what family’s for.”

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Thanks again,” she says, turning toward the door, sadly.

  “Char,” I call, grabbing her arm. “My lawyer’s going to get in touch with you. He thinks he can get you out of the mandatory 72-hour ‘drink tank’ next weekend.”

  “Are you serious? Are you fucking kidding me right now?” Char squeals, leaping into my arms and kissing me forcefully with her soft, delicious lips.

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  “Oh Jasper, you have no idea how happy I am right now. I can’t believe you got me out of that alcohol rehab retreat. Oh my God, how can I ever freaking repay you?”

  Damn those lips. I haven’t tasted anything so mouth-wateringly perfect since… well… since the last time I kissed her. It was the first time we’d ever met. A few of my buddies and I were in a golf tournament in Columbus. Janelle was still in college at Ohio State. They were maybe juniors or seniors by then, old enough to drink. I don’t remember for sure.

  After the tournament, my buddies wanted me to call Nelle and see if she and any of her sorority sisters wanted to meet us at some bar. I would’ve been happy going to a chill sports bar and kicking back to watch a few games on the big screen. My friends wanted to hook up with some young college chicks. I was unanimously outvoted. Janelle, Char, and about six or seven of her friends were already out at a bar for one of the girl’s 21st birthday bar crawl. (At the time, I had no idea what a bar crawl was.)

  I’d never seen my little sister drunker or more out of control. My big brother tendencies kicked in to overdrive, and I watched her like a hawk. Finally, Marcus showed up and took her home, reluctantly, I might add. He wanted to stay out and party with his friends. After I slipped him fifty bucks, he left happily—only to show up 20 minutes later, claiming that she was “all tucked in tight.”

  I spent the next hour or so, trying to convince my friends to leave. They were in no hurry to break away from the blond bombshells and brunette babes who were fawning all over them. I sat waiting for them on an old picnic table at the far corner of the bar. Char walked over to tell me that she was leaving to go check on Janelle.

  No sooner did she turn to leave than I heard her say, “Holy fuck, what’s he doing here?” I looked in her line of vision to see a incredibly good-looking guy walk through the door. (Even I knew he was attractive, and I’m not gay.) He walked in with a totally slutted up chick in some come-fuck-me-pumps and caked on makeup.

  Char was raging. “I fucking can’t believe he came here… and brought her with him. That son of a bitch.”

  She began looking around the room frantically until her gaze stopped on me. She took one more look back at the guy, and her eyes blazed in anger. Char took three steps toward me, standing between my legs as I sat on the edge of the picnic table. All she said was, “Please,” and wrapped her arms around me and kissed me for all she was worth.

  The second that her lips touched mine, I knew I was done for. Her tongue took over, and I was just a pawn in her little game of jealousy and revenge. I held her tightly against me, knowing that this was her show, her round to win. I let her use me for her own gain, knowing that the way my body reacted to hers wasn’t something I could control, or something that I wanted to control. The feel of her tight, sexy body against mine was intoxicating, the only real drunkenness I’d ever felt in a bar full of sloppy drunk assholes. I knew in that second what pure, unadulterated physical attraction was, total carnal lust.

  I also knew that this feeling of being out of control and out of my mind with wanton desire was a last. I promised myself in that moment that I’d never let my body, my feelings and desires, ever out battle my head again. Life is a game of will and want. There are the things you want in life, but you know they aren’t good for you. You have to have the will and discipline to say, “No,” and walk away.

  The moment Char kissed me at the bar was simultaneously the beginning and the end of my carnal want. I knew exactly, without a doubt, what I wanted, but I also knew that I’d never, not in a million years, let myself have it. When our lips parted, I knew I’d never, in my life, let Charlene Palmer anywhere near me again. That kind of crazed, out-of-control desire was not something I ever wanted to revisit again.

  Don’t get me wrong, I have wants and desires, fantasies and sexual needs that are frequently fulfilled and oftentimes surpassed. But, I’m always the one in control, the one with the reigns, taking the lead and leading the show. I’m the one who is wanted, the one who’s coveted, the one’s who needed. I don’t do the wanting, the coveting, or the needing, which is precisely why I have steered clear of Charlene Palmer since that night in Columbus years ago. I’ve go
t no time for the tables to be turned, for the axis to switch directions. This is the way that it is, and the way that I want it.

  I won’t lie. I won’t sugar-coat the truth. It’s fucking tough—a God damn nightmare at times. When a woman like Char throws herself at you, it’s damn near impossible to resist. But, I’ve been resisting for a long, long time. The truth is my resistance is waning. I feel like an addict who just wants one more fix before he promises to quit cold turkey.

  After one last fix…

  “Well, there is one thing you could do for me,” I offer.

  “What? Name it… you’ve got it,” Char says, her arms still wrapped around my neck.

  “Genevieve and I stopped seeing one another, and I have a pretty important, black tie fundraiser for a valued client Friday night that she is no longer accompanying me to,” I explain, knowing that Char will never turn me down after hearing the words black tie. Char and Janelle both are suckers for fancy shindigs. “I’d like you to go with me—if you’re available Friday.” Granted, at no point in time was Genevieve ever going with me to this event, but that was not for Char to know.

  “Jasper Garrity, are you asking me out?”

  “I am most certainly not asking you out,” I clarify carefully. “I’m merely giving you an option of paying your gratitude to me for helping you out of a weekend incarceration with your fellow petty criminals.”

  “You are asking me out,” Char states again.

  “I’m not asking you. And when you do attend this event with me, my sisters cannot know one bit about this.”

  “You want me to keep this from Janelle. You’re kidding, right? I never keep anything from her,” Char says, folding her arms across her chest.

  “Are you going to tell her about the DUI and overnight stay in the county jail?” I ask, knowingly.

  “That’s blackmail!”

  “I’d like to look at it like redemption.”