Professor Feelgood (Page 28)

“You’ll be fine,” Joanna says. “I have a feeling it will all work out in the end. Just keep reminding yourself that he’s there for the right reasons. If he was an unredeemable dick, he would have taken your book idea to another publisher and trashed your name around town. The fact he didn’t is a point in his favor. Remember that when the urge to hurt him arises.” She gives each of us a crushing hug. “Goodnight, sweet Tate sisters. See you on the morrow.”

We bid her goodnight, and after she leaves, Eden and I fall into silence and gaze dumbly at the TV.

“You wanna talk about him?” she asks, not looking at me.

“Nope.”

“Okay.”

Talking about Jake and all the ways he annoyed/hurt/humiliated me was never my strong suit.

After draining the rest of my wine, I retreat to take a quick shower. Any lingering cold is melted away by the hot water, but my simmering tension remains.

When I’m done, I wrap myself in my robe and head into Eden’s room. She’s writing on her laptop, but when she sees me, she stops. “Want snuggles?”

“Do you have time?”

“Sure. Max will be doing staff training until late.” She pulls back the sheets. “Jump in.”

I climb into bed and rest my head on her shoulder as she goes back to her work.

“You okay?” she asks, while tapping out some story ideas for the coming week. “You’ve been pretty subdued since you got home. Are you disappointed about the whole Jacob thing?”

“Of course. I mean, I thought I’d finish the night in triumph, having signed a brave new literary voice, and instead I ended up being transported back in time and having a shouting match with Jake in the middle of the sidewalk.”

“Ugh, really?”

“Yep. I don’t think we know any other way to be anymore. Old habits die hard.”

“Are you sure you can’t convince him to get a different editor?”

I push myself up on my elbow. “Edie, it’s Jake. Even if I had an extra million dollars to offer him, he’d still insist I be at his beck and call, just to spite me. You know how he is.”

“Yeah, he always did get some sort of sadistic pleasure from pressing your buttons.”

“The thing I’m most afraid of is that we’ll implode in an atomic cloud of toxicity, and not only take the book with us, but put Whiplash out of business in the process. That’s a lot of freaking pressure on a first-time editor who hates her author.”

Eden shuts her laptop and puts in on her nightstand before snuggling down and wrapping her arm around me.

“Ash, if anyone can do this, it’s you. Just try to remember what you liked about Jake when you were kids. Maybe you can even get back to being friends.”

I turn and look at her. “Seriously?”

She shrugs. “Okay, that’s about as likely as your Hemsworth body pillow being cast in the next Thor movie. But I’m trying to be optimistic.”

“I know.”

“If things get too bad between you guys, let me know. I’ll be only too pleased to come and insert a giant cactus up Mr. Stone’s ass.”

The mental image makes me laugh, and Eden gives me a squeeze before we both sigh and go quiet. For a few minutes, we just lay there, both lost in our own thoughts.

I’m starting to think Eden’s dozed off when she says, “Ash?”

“Uh huh.”

“Uh … I know it’s a touchy subject for you, but … your birthday is coming up, and––“

I immediately tense up. “Edie, please don’t go there.“

“… Nannabeth thinks you should have a party.”

“No.”

I should have known this was coming. Nannabeth has been dropping hints for weeks now, and no matter how many times I try to change the subject, she’s like a dog with a bone and refuses to let go.

“Ash, come on. Just a few people. Me, you, Max, Toby, and Joanna. We all want to celebrate with you. Nan has bought Moby a special party hat and everything.”

“Well, she shouldn’t have. You know the rule. No party. No fuss. Please.”

Dammit, Nan should know better by now. I don’t do birthdays. I haven’t since I was nine. Every year they try to change my position, and every year I shoot them down. I really wish they’d get the hint that birthday celebrations are a hard limit for me.

Sensing my familiar pig-headedness Eden relents with a soft sigh. When she speaks again, I can tell she’s choosing her words carefully.

“Ash, I know we all have our baggage, and God knows I have just as much as you. But one thing Max has taught me is that all that stuff from our past … we have to deal with it at some point so we can let it go. It’s not healthy to hang onto things like that. We tell ourselves it doesn’t affect our lives and our relationships, but it does. Sometimes we need to purge the past so we can achieve our future. I’m slowly learning how to do that, and I think you should, too.”

I don’t answer her, because I don’t have anything to say. I agree that we all have our issues, but telling someone to get over it is pointless. Some events are written in permanent ink on our psyche, and no amount of mental scrubbing will erase them.

I give her a final hug and climb out of bed. “I’d better go. Don’t want Max to come in and find me Goldilocking in his spot. The man has an impressive glare when the mood takes him.”

“Please don ’t be mad.”

I turn back to her. “I’m not. Honestly. I’m just tired. And for that reason, when Max gets here, please remember that these walls are thin, and I can’t un-hear certain sounds, even through my ear plugs.”

I can see the shadow of concern still coloring her expression, but she gives me a smile anyway. “I’ll try my best. Lord knows that man makes it difficult to keep quiet. See you in the morning.”

“Yep. See you then.”

I pad back into my bedroom and turn out the light before taking off my robe and climbing into bed.

I’m plugging the charger into my phone when a message flashes on the screen.

<How was your day? Is life as a newly promoted editor everything you thought it would be?>

I shake my head and type a reply. <Not exactly. My new author will be a challenge, but I’ll figure out how to deal with him.>

<Of course you will. There’s nothing you can’t do. Beautiful, talented, endlessly resourceful. He doesn’t stand a chance. I’m just jealous he gets to be with you every day. Lucky bastard. I miss you.>

I smile as warmth fills me. After such a shitty, stressful day, that’s exactly what I needed to hear. He really is the sweetest man I’ve ever met.

Then why can’t you get past your crap and let him make sweet love to you?

I shake off my negativity. <I miss you, too. So very much. I’m totally wiped tonight, but we’ll talk tomorrow, okay?>

After sending the message, I shut off my phone and let out a sigh.

My dad used to have a saying: “There are only so many machetes someone can juggle before they start losing fingers.” I later found out he was talking about attempting to deal with multiple women without mom finding out, but now I think that saying is relevant to life in general. I wonder how much longer I can keep my boyfriend in the dark about my sexual dysfunction before someone ends up getting hurt.

I flip onto my side and stare at the wall. After the clusterfuck of today’s insane events, all I want to do is sleep, but my brain is spinning with a montage of memories from my childhood. Three-year-old Jake, staring at me from his yard the day he moved into the house next door; five-year-old Jake who makes me giggle by making lightsaber noises while he spins and parries with a broken broomstick; twelve-year-old Jake who seems to get angrier every day and starts coming over less and less; fourteen-year-old Jake who doesn’t talk to me anymore, and sneers the first time he makes me cry.