Professor Feelgood

“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?”

He stares for a few seconds then shakes his head. “Nothing. Never mind. The past is dead. No use wasting our time giving CPR to its rotting corpse. Besides, there’s no arguing with you. You’ll always think you’re right, even when you’re not.”

I shake my head over his delusion, and my reaction to it. How can we slip back into these roles so seamlessly? It’s as if no time has passed between us. We’re both as angry with each other as we ever were, which is quite the accomplishment considering how much time has passed.

“I can’t believe how little you’ve changed. Even at your worst in high school, I always thought your asshole attitude was just a phase. Something you’d eventually outgrow.”

“I thought the same thing about your self-righteousness, so I guess we were both wrong. Don’t you ever get tired of thinking you’re better than everyone else?”

“Not everyone. Just you.”

“Oh, that’s right. I’d almost forgotten.”

Jake downs the two remaining shots in front of him in quick succession. Then he runs his fingers through his hair in frustration. “Okay, well, I’d love to stay here all night and trade insults like old times, but I have a meeting with my new publisher in the morning, so I need to get my beauty sleep. I want to make a good impression. I hear my new editor is a real bitch.”

That makes me burst out laughing.

“Oh, no,” I say. “If you think I’m going to edit this book now that I know you’re the professor, you’re insane.”

He stands and pulls on his coat. “Too late. We’ve already sealed the deal, remember? Serena sent me through the contracts this afternoon.”

“Yes, but it doesn’t stipulate a specific editor.”

“Yes, it does.”

I stare at him as a prickle of unease hits me. “What?”

“Oh, yeah,” he says as he pulls some paper from his jacket pocket. “Right after our little conference call this morning, I had a private chat with Serena and told her I wanted it written into my contract that you would be my editor or the deal was off. She was more than happy to oblige.”

He slaps the papers down on the table and points to a provision in the contract where my name is printed, clear as day. “I signed them and emailed them back right before I came here to meet you.” He flicks to the back page, and there it is, his signature and today’s date.

He folds up the papers and slides them back into his pocket. “So as you can see, starting tomorrow, you’re contractually obligated to be nice to me. This is going to be fun, right? You and me together again, just like the good old, bad old days.”

I’m too shocked to say anything, and when he sees he has me beaten, he gives me a smug smile.

“Okay, then, princess. See you in the morning.” He leans down, and whispers in my ear, “And if I were you, I’d stop drinking now. Don’t want you to make a bad impression on your new author by showing up hungover, right?”

With that, he turns on his heel and strides out of the bar.

I sit there with my mouth open in shock for five long, fury-building seconds before I grab my phone and purse and hurry after him.

_______________

Trying to hustle down a busy Brooklyn street is bad enough, let alone in a super-tight pencil dress and four-inch heels. But when you’re slightly drunk and trying to catch up with a man whose legs are roughly the length of the Mississippi, things get plain ridiculous.

“Stone!”

He doesn’t stop, even though I’m damn sure he heard me.

I move faster, and the chill in the air makes me suddenly aware I’ve left my coat back at the bar.

Shit, damn, crap. That one was my favorite.

As if to punish me for my forgetfulness, a gust of icy wind blows off the East River, whipping my hair around and making me shiver. I consider letting the Jake thing go for the sake of rescuing my beloved Burberry, but I’ll be forced to be civil with him tomorrow, and I have a few dinosaur-sized bones to pick with him before that happens.

“Jacob Anthony Stone! Don’t act like you don’t hear me. It didn’t work when we were five and it’s not going to work now.”

He stops, and with a frustrated hunch of his wide shoulders, turns to face me.

“Go home, princess. I have nothing more to say to you.”

I stop in front of him, embarrassingly out of breath for power-walking such a short distance. Damn my pathetic fitness levels.

“Well, I have a crapload to say to you. The most important of which is to stop calling me princess.” That used to be his go-to insult back in the day. I’m annoyed it still needles me. “Also, I don’t know if you remember the past half hour or so, but you and I can’t stand to be in the same room together, even with alcohol. So how the hell do you think we’re going to survive working on this book for months on end?”