Professor Feelgood (Page 63)

“Hey.” My voice sounds as retched as I feel.

“Sexy rasp you have going there.”

“Glad you like it. Now please stop yelling at me.” I hand over one of the coffee cups I’m holding and walk past him.

He closes the door and follows. “I wasn’t yelling. I was speaking at my regular volume.”

“Then your regular volume is too loud. If you’re serious about being my friend, you’d whisper. Or write me notes. Either is good.” I walk over to the couch and dump my bag before putting my coffee down and sinking into the ugly brown fabric.

“Are you hung over?”

“No. And by no, I mean yes.” My sunglasses are blocking out most of the glare, but this apartment with no walls is still way too bright, so I lean my head back and close my eyes.

“I didn’t think you had that much to drink last night.”

“I didn’t with you. But Derek bought a bottle of Cristal for us, and it would have been rude not to drink it.” Also, I wanted to drink it. I thought it would help. Of course, it didn’t. Nothing could have.

I hear creaking and figure Jake just sat down on the couch opposite me. He’s quiet for a suspiciously long time, and when I crack my eyes open, he’s sitting forward on the edge, studying me.

“What?”

“Are you okay?”

“My head feels like it’s going to split open, so not really.”

“I’m not talking about your hangover, Ash.” He’s doing that thing where he bypasses all my deflection and sees straight into my soul. “What happened last night?”

My skin prickles. “With you and me? We’ve talked about that. Heat of the moment.”

“Not with us, although that’s something we also need to discuss. I mean what happened with Derek?”

How does he always know? Why am I incapable of keeping secrets around this man? It was annoying when we were kids, but now it’s just plain rude.

How can I tell him what happened without giving all the reasons behind it? I already feel humiliated. I don’t want to go through it again with him.

“Jake, please … I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay. But how about you take off the glasses.”

I sit up straighter. “What?”

“Your sunglasses. Take them off. I want to see your eyes.”

“Are you trying to kill me? These glasses are the only thing preventing the sun from exploding my retinas into tiny pieces.” And from you seeing that I’ve been crying for several hours.

Jake’s getting more agitated by the moment. “Did he hit you? Force himself on you?” He looks spring-loaded, as if the moment I admit to something, he’ll fire out of here to administer his terrible wrath. “Because if that son-of-a-bitch laid a single abusive hand on you, I’m going to ––“

“Jake, nothing like that went down. What the hell?”

“Don’t you think I can tell when you’ve been crying? I’ve seen you fall apart more than anyone else on the planet, and I know the signs. So, if Derek didn’t do this to you, who the fuck did? And don’t tell me you’re fine, because I can tell you’re not.”

I press my lips together to stop them from trembling. Protector-Jake doesn’t accept deflection. He requires the truth and someone to punish, but that doesn’t work in this situation. I gingerly take off my glasses and try to avoid direct sunlight.

Jake leans forward. “You have been crying. What’s going on?”

“That’s the pathetic part. I did it to myself.”

Before he can respond, my phone buzzes with a text from Derek.

<Hey. Hope you’re feeling okay this morning. You put away a lot of champagne, but there’s no shame in that. I just want you to know that I appreciate how honest you were last night. It couldn’t have been easy to tell me about how you’ve been feeling about our sex life. For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re broken. I think you’re a beautiful, amazing, spectacular woman, and one day you’ll find a guy who’ll make all your obstacles a distant memory. I’m just disappointed it wasn’t me. Don’t be a stranger, okay? I’ll always care about you. And we’ll always have Paris, mon Cherie. x>

By the time I finish, I’m in tears, both the good and bad kind. In a second, Jake’s beside me, pulling me into his arms. I thought I was all cried out, but it seems I was wrong.

He strokes my back and waits. He was always good at that. Knowing that sometimes words can’t help as much as a good, cleansing cry.

I’m relieved to discover I don’t have much left.

“Ash,” he says quietly, his hand cradling my head. “What happened? Is it your grandmother? Eden?”

I pull back and wipe my face. “Derek and I broke up.”

He strokes my back. “God, I’m sorry. He did it over text?”

“No, it happened last night.” I’m too tired to explain everything, so I just hand him the phone. “He was texting to see how I was.”

I lean against his shoulder and close my eyes while he reads.

When I’d gone up to Derek’s room last night to explain about everything that had been holding me back, he was amazing and supportive, but I could tell he was surprised. I’d hidden my secret well. No matter how much I tried to reassure him it wasn’t his fault, I could see he blamed himself. The champagne helped take the edge off my guilt, and when I ran out of apologies, he’d just held me until I went to sleep. I woke up this morning to find him gone. I’d thought it was a sign he was mad at me, but I guess not. It was probably better he left early. We said all our goodbyes last night.

“What is he talking about? You think you’re broken?”

I keep my eyes closed. I’m just so tired. Why is it that open, honest, adult interactions can feel like guerrilla warfare?

“Ash?”

“Jake, can we not talk about it right now? I can’t. Later, okay?”

“Yeah, of course.” He puts his arm around me and strokes my arm. “Whenever you’re ready.”

I snuggle further into his side as a familiar sense of contentment washes over me. It’s the same feeling I got when we were kids. I could read by myself and be happy as a clam, but it was so much better when Jake was there. We didn’t even have to talk. Just having him in the same room was enough. He was like my security blanket. A walking, boy-shaped pacifier.

His presence is so soothing, I don’t realize my eyes have drifted closed.

“Ash.”

I sit up with a start. “Hey. Hi. I’m awake.”

He pushes some hair away from my face. “I’m going to be writing for a while. Why don’t you go and sleep in my bed?”

I look over at his crisp white sheets and fluffy pillows. “That wouldn’t be weird?”

“We used to sleep in each other’s beds all the time.”

“Well, yeah, but that was before we grew up and had … urges. If I take a blacklight to your sheets, will they glow like a neon rave party?”

He laughs. “I’m flattered you think I’m getting that much action, even by my own hand. But my sheets are clean. Mostly.” He picks up his notebook and pen. “Go sleep. I’ll wake you up when I have something worthwhile for you to read.”

He doesn’t have to tell me twice. I take off my coat, kick off my shoes, and make my way across the room. “God bless you, Jacob Stone. I take back every bad word I ever said about you.”