When he nips at my bottom lip, the bit of pain mixed with pleasure has my knees buckling. He doesn’t take his mouth off of mine for one second, probably for fear that I’ll have us both found out in this bathroom. That slight bit of worry that we may be caught is what’s causing my orgasm to climb, I feed off the almost public nature of this.
Mick grounds his thumb into my clit, and I shoot off like a rocket. My whole body goes taut, my jaw slack, and I claw at his shoulders to keep myself upright. The waves course over me, and he doesn’t stop pumping his fingers until I’m wrung dry.
In what might be the sexiest thing a man has ever done to me, Mick zips my shorts back up and then buttons them. His hands ghost over my hips, as if he’s kissing them with his fingers.
“Come out to this party with us tonight,” I say, still in the haze of my orgasm, not asking but not telling.
Mick shrugs. “It’s not my scene.”
“Yeah, but you could have me on the dance floor. And in my bed later tonight.”
It goes against keeping it casual, making a plan to attend a party together, but I want more of what he just gave me. I want more of him.
“Or you could just stay in, and come into my bed later tonight,” he proposes, playing with a lock of my hair.
I’m torn. While that sounds fun, I was also looking forward to letting loose tonight. Not as much as I have, but I’ve been working hard and deserve a little celebration.
“Or you could come out. And stay in my bed,” I tease again, drawing a finger up and down his chest.
Mick tilts his head to the side, screwing his mouth up. “Nahhh, I think I’m going to stay in. But have fun. Maybe we can keep things casual another night this weekend.”
Just like I did to him, he’s laying some ground rules. He’s not going to adjust his life to fit mine, like so many guys would and have, and I’m going to have to swallow that bitter pill.
We leave the bathroom separately, and Madison and Christine didn’t even notice I was gone for longer than usual.
20
Mick
The email came in a day ago, while I was researching a project for my Molecular Control of Metabolism and Metabolic Disease course.
At first, I thought it was a prank because part of me never actually thought I’d hear back from him. But when Dr. Francis Richards asks you to come to his office during his open hours, you go. Even if you think it’s another one of your classmates messing with you.
Even though the door is open, I still knock, and he turns from his desk.
“Ah, Mr. Barrett, I’ve been expecting you. Come in, take a seat.”
I do as I’m told. “Hello, Dr. Richards, thank you for calling me in.”
My hands are a little sweaty, and I’m glad he’s not holding out a hand for me to shake. His office is beige with little to no personal accents, aside from a wedding picture set next to the computer monitor on the desk.
“Let’s get right to it. You came up with these theories?” he asks, tossing my notebook onto the table.
I can’t tell from his voice whether he’s pissed off, impressed, or a little bit of both. “Yes, sir.”
“And how did you come to these conclusions, or well, schools of thought? They’re not fully formed, testable approaches.” He’s schooling me on how things are done, and that’s fine.
He thinks I’m trying to be a smart-ass, by giving my notebook to him, but all I want is to pick his brain and learn everything there is to know from him.
“I was the sole caretaker for my dad for about three of the six years since he was diagnosed with ALS. I’ve observed his behavior, accompanied him on every gym or physical therapy session, have recorded his daily routines, and studied his lab and blood results from numerous tests over the years. I know I’m only scratching the surface, and my theories may be way off, but I believe some of the things in that notebook could help patients in the long run.”
It’s cocky, talking to the foremost expert on ALS research as if I, some junior nobody, could give him the next major breakthrough. But I have to be. Not because I’m so confident in myself, but because my confidence in my research could help save my father’s life.
He nods slowly, assessing me. This is not a hurried man, even from the first five seconds of meeting him, you can tell, Dr. Richards doesn’t hastily make any decision.
He pushes a finger into the cover of the notebook. “I’ve explored some of these very minimally, but I have to say, not even my fourth-year fellows are thinking like this. Color me impressed, Mr. Barrett. As you might know, I get a ton of interest in my trials and research, and most of the time, the people who think they can contribute are very far off the mark. But some of your insights, well, they had my mind working. Which not a lot of people can accomplish.”
Honestly, I’m floored. It’s as close to a compliment that a world-renowned doctor will ever give you, and I’m practically a pool of giddy science geek excitement at my shoes.
“Thank you. I … thank you for simply reading through it,” I say, nodding and trying to keep my composure.
“Now, I told you I don’t do this, and I don’t. I usually go through the proper application process, and I never accept undergrads. But you said you’d be willing to do whatever it took, and I think you might be valuable on an upcoming trial I’m trying to propose.”
“Absolutely. I’ll help in whatever way you need.” Now I’m sitting on the edge of my seat, not only not keeping my cool but looking like a total lap dog.
Dr. Richards holds his hands up. “It’s going to be a lot of late nights and early mornings. A lot of coffee runs and menial tasks. The most advanced thing you’ll probably do is input data. You won’t be able to provide feedback or discuss with the other fellows or medical students. On top of your course load, this will be a lot. And we’ll expect you to do it with no objections and no complaints. Is that clear?”
I don’t even blink at his red flags. “Yes, of course. I’m prepared to help in whatever way I can.”
Because even if I can’t give input, I can sit in the room with these minds. While breakthroughs are made, while they teach me so much more than I’d ever learn on my own, in a classroom, or probably for another several years.
“And I know you have a personal bias where ALS is concerned. That’s both your biggest weakness and strongest motivator. It’s healthy to have a passion for the medicine you’re working on. It’s not when it becomes an obsession, when you put all else aside to get to an answer we may be years away from. I want you to remember that.”
The reality of that is harsh, but necessary.
“I expect you tomorrow morning, at six a.m. You’ll work on the data logs from tonight’s lab session with my medical students, and I’d like a dry cappuccino. And while you’re here tomorrow, photocopy your notebook for me and leave the sheets on my desk.”
Dr. Richards doesn’t say goodbye, and I don’t linger. He’s a man with limited time, and I just took up some of the precious seconds.
I wait until I’m outside of the medical building to pump my fist in victory, because I just did what other undergrads only dream of doing.
It doesn’t even bother me that I’ll have to drag myself out of bed tomorrow morning, I’m that excited.
21
Jolie
We’re almost at midterms, and I’ve managed to keep my secret from everyone except for Mick.
My best friends are none the wiser to the wool being pulled over their eyes, and no one has yet to recognize me on the Salem Community College campus. Or witness me sneaking back on Salem Walsh. I have had to get crafty a couple of times, having Mick swipe me into the library and actually having to leave the Pub once because their regular credit card machine was broken again. But other than that, I’ve been extremely lucky.
It’s a godsend I wasn’t living in the dorms when all of this happened, because I would have had to move out, and that would have been tricky to explain.
I’m not just keeping this sec
ret for pride anymore, either. I’m doing surprisingly well in my classes and carrying a 3.8 GPA for the semester. Biology is my toughest course, but with Mick’s help, I’ve been surviving enough to earn my A.
Not that we’ve only been studying. Since the day in the Rowan’s bathroom, we’ve seen each other three times. Not the night of the party, no, he held strong even when I drunk texted him at two a.m. to come over. He hadn’t even answered, and I’d heard from him the next morning to let me know he’d been asleep. But the day after that, we’d had a nighttime study session that ended with sex in his car. And then the next day, he’d come over while my roommates were at class. Finally, the Tuesday after that, we studied in the biology lab after hours, and may or may not have fucked in the utility closet close by.
No matter how mature both of us said we were trying to be, we can’t seem to stop sneaking into places one should never have sex in. When we’re studying, I find myself admiring the tautness of his jaw, or his hand wanders over to plant itself on my thigh.
So far, he seems fine with keeping us casual, and keeping my secret. He’s the most trustworthy person I’ve ever met in my life, and it’s a wonder more people aren’t like him. I think it’s because he grew up in a household where lying and manipulating weren’t in your parent’s job descriptions.
Well, Mick and Jennifer, are keeping my secret. I suspect that she suspects something is up, because of how I’m always lurking around and bolting for the door after classes are through. We actually have three of our five together, weirdly enough, and we’ve become buddies.
Today, she’s saved me my usual seat as I hightail it into Business Ethics.
“Almost missed that check in. Did you bring them?” Her violet hair is twisted up in a knot on her head today.
Throwing myself into the chair beside her, I pull out my clicker. It’s a device that allows students to check themselves into a class, since some college professors still like to count attendance toward a grade. I check myself in, and I must have thirty seconds left, because the professor starts talking at that very moment.
We’re seated in the back of the lecture hall, so I talk to Jennifer in a hushed voice, ignoring whatever is going on down below. This class is so easy, I don’t even need to study for it. Determining what is right and wrong? Yeah, I’ve gotten a few lessons on that already.
“If someone hadn’t made me stop for burritos, I wouldn’t have almost missed my window to sign in.” I scowl at her, pulling a cylinder wrapped in foil out of my bag.
“Not my fault you ran late. I bought lunch last time, and you pass the best burrito place on your way.” She rubs her hands together before accepting the burrito and unwrapping it.
No one pays us any mind, because they’re all probably working on other homework in the stadium seating in front of us. Or, more likely, they’re playing Internet games or sexting on their phones.
“Did you get queso?” she asks.
“It’s going to get messy,” I argue.
We eat lunch together every day in this class, since it’s boring and I’m always running from one place to another. We never actually get a chance to sit down and talk, so we use Business Ethics as our gossip time.
“Who cares?” Jennifer rolls her eyes, and I hand it over.
We unwrap our burritos as quietly as we can and then begin eating. I find it hilarious that this professor wants to take attendance, but then doesn’t seem to even notice that his entire class isn’t paying attention to his lecture. We’re literally acting like Carrie Bradshaw and her friends, lunching in the park, and he’s worried about if I’m sitting in my seat.
“So, how was your concert?” I ask.
Jennifer told me a few weeks ago that she’s a promoter for a couple of nightclubs in the area. I think it’s pretty cool, and it definitely suits her. She’s given me a couple of bands to listen to, and while they’re not completely my thing, I like a few songs.
“Insane. The place was packed, like four hundred people, and I almost got punched in the face in the mosh pit.”
This girl knows designer labels, dances in mosh pits, and can eat ghost peppers like they’re gummy bears. Seriously, she asked me to get extra jalapeños on her burrito.
I cringe. “Sounds painful.”
She chuckles. “I would love to see you out there. You should come to my next event.”
I shrug, because it could be fun. I’m always the type of person to try something once. “Yeah, maybe.”
“What’s going on over in your secret world? Does anyone know you come here yet?”
See, I knew she knew something was up. She’s hinted at it before, but now she’s straight up asking.
“This … one guy does.” My eyes dart around.
She lifts an eyebrow. “Oh?”
It seems she’s more intrigued about the guy than my secret, but I can’t really explain one without the other.
I sigh, biting into my chicken and guacamole-filled tortilla. “Don’t tell anyone this, okay? But I’m a student at Salem Walsh. Or … I was. I got in trouble last year, and this is my punishment. If I make good grades this year, I get to re-enroll for my senior year.”
“What did you do?” she immediately asks.
There was no surprise in her eyes when I told her my biggest secret, and Jennifer is way smarter than anyone, especially me, enrolled at this community college. It pisses me off that she can’t go to a four-year, or that her parents won’t let her stop going to school and turn to promoting. She revealed to me that her biggest dream would be to manage a road team for a band and travel all over the world. I told her she should do it, that I’ve been backstage and seen the intricate setups those tours have. But she said her parents would pull what little funding they do give her to live, and so she’s shit out of luck until she can save up more money.
I weigh telling her. “It’s not important, anyway—”
“What did you do?” she presses, wiping a dab of queso off the corner of her mouth.
I roll my eyes, bracing myself internally. “I skinny-dipped in one of the famous fountains on campus and spray-painted the junk of the statues in the fountain.”
Jennifer’s eyes dance with amusement as she slaps a hand over her mouth. She starts choking on her laughter, and a few people turn around. I snap forward, facing the front of the classroom and hoping to God the professor doesn’t look up here. When Jennifer stops choking, I finally turn back to her.
“You happy now?”
She breathes and wipes her eyes. “You have no idea. So, the guy. Go on.”
“He’s the only one there who knows. But, we met before this semester started, at a summer camp we were both working at.”
She looks up wistfully. “Ah, summer lovin’, had you blast?”
I chuckle. “Yes, and it did happen so fast.”
“Did he get friendly down in the sand?”
This bit is getting old, but is making me giggle so I continue it for a final time. “We definitely made out under the dock.”
“Okay, enough.” She slices a hand through the air. “So, you’re dating him now?”
“Not exactly. I’d call it … friends with benefits, maybe? Or a casual hookup buddy? He’s tutoring me for biology, and he’s so freaking smart. Not my usual type.”
“That could be a good thing. I feel like your usual type are the ones who get you to spray-paint classical statues in the nude.”
She’s not wrong. “Yeah, I’ve never really had a long-term thing, though. I’ve had boyfriends, but they’ve all fizzled out. Nothing serious. With him … it just feels different.”
Jennifer takes a few bites and seems to be thinking to herself. “Did I tell you I almost got married?”
“What?” I nearly shout, because it’s so surprising.
No one turns around though, and Professor Oblivious is still dithering on up front.
She nods. “I was with my high school boyfriend for four and a half years. When we turned twenty, we were going to elope
. Thought love could conquer all, told anyone who disagreed to fuck off.”
“So, did you?” I ask.
Jennifer shakes her head, popping the rest of her burrito in her mouth. “No. Every time I tried to envision wearing his ring or what our life would look like even a year down the line, all of these things kept popping up. Little habits of his that annoyed me, or big things, like his lack of ambition. I might not be a scholar, but I hustle for my passion. Over time, he stopped being interested in what I said when I spoke, and I knew it would only get worse. I called it off four days before we were set to road trip to Vegas.”
Wow. I look at her in a completely different light now. It’s funny, how you think you know someone. I tout myself as a person who can get a pretty good handle on another person within a few minutes of meeting and talking to them. But I’ve been proved so wrong in the last couple of months. First with Mick, and now Jennifer.
There are so many layers to people, ones they never show you unless they trust you enough to be vulnerable.
“Do you regret it? Was he mad?”
“He was pretty upset, but I don’t regret it. He went on to start dealing drugs in our town, got caught with a pretty big load of cocaine and is in jail for a year or two. But besides that, because obviously I didn’t know that was going to happen when I broke it off, I just … we weren’t going to love each other forever, you know? I could tell that. I think that when you know it’s not right, you just know. A lot of people like to say that they don’t know if this person is the one or if that person is the one, but you know. And even if they don’t have to be the one, you know when a guy is worth more than just a few romps in the sack.”
Her words ring true, right to my gut. I’ve known since the second week of summer that there was something different about Mick, but I refused to acknowledge it. Now that our situation could be more permanent, I was still trying to throw curveballs in my way. We both have our separate problems and goals, I know that. But if we’re spending so much time together anyway, there’s no reason we couldn’t … commit. Right?
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