Professor Feelgood (Page 65)

I look over at him. “You wrote all of this today?”

He nods. “Amazing what I can achieve when you’re not yelling at me. Is that going to be enough to satisfy Serena?”

“Definitely. Although I think it’s a little unfair to ask for this on day two.”

Earlier, we’d received a text from Serena requesting some sample pages to see how we were doing. Jake thinks she’s checking in to make sure her three-hundred grand investment isn’t a lemon. I think she’s making sure her editorial protégé isn’t a dud. Either way, the pressure is on to get her something impressive enough to put all her fears to rest. If there’s nothing in these pages that will knock her on her ass, we only have a few hours left to come up with something else.

I chew on my thumb nail as I read the first few pages of the new material.

Oh, shit. Game on, Serena.

“Jake … this is good.”

“Yeah?”

I sit up straighter and read the rest. “Yeah.” Maybe it was our dysfunctional relationship holding him back after all, because whatever mental block he was having yesterday has disappeared. What he’s written is passionate and thought-provoking, and he’s settled into an interesting literary style that incorporates the imagery of his poetic elements. The last couple of paragraphs give me the shivers.

Anger is a powerful emotion. It makes everything simple. You can take fear, anxiety, humiliation, disappointment, and loneliness and distill them down into one singular, potent form. And if you let anger have its way, you’ll never have to worry about feeling anything else. It’s a balm for the broken-hearted. A shield for the vulnerable. It’s the cozy blanket of deniability that convinces you nothing was ever your fault.

When you’re terrified that you’re too broken to be loved, anger reminds you that you don’t need to be.

And when you burn down the world and stand in the smoldering ruins of your life, anger is still there, congratulating you. Insulating you. Convincing you that the smoke in your lungs isn’t slowly killing you.

I turn to Jake who’s clasping his hands in front of his mouth, elbows on knees, waiting for me to say something.

There’s only one thing I can say. “Holy Mother of Shit. You nailed it.”

“You think Serena will like it?”

“Jake, she may very well orgasm and send you a fruit basket.”

His smile is instant. “Outstanding.”

“I can see your dimple,” I say, touching the indentation in his cheek. “It’s been a long time since that happened.”

He tenses at my touch, and I pull my hand back. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been this happy.”

“Not since Ingrid.”

He looks confused. “What?”

“In that photo of you guys together, your dimple is showing. You were happy with her.”

He glances over to the storage unit that holds his photos. “That seems like a lifetime ago.”

But it wasn’t, I want to say. And even though I want to believe your love for her isn’t going to stifle your future relationships, I know it will. One more compelling reason for me to ignore how you’ve been looking at me all day.

I pass back his notebook and stand. “Well, you should keep going while the word gods are on your side.”

“Asha, wait.” He takes my hand and looks up at me. “I … ah … I don’t think I ever thanked you.”

“For what?”

He strokes my fingers, and I take in a sharp breath. It’s something he used to do when we were young, but it never felt like this.

“For believing in me. For giving me this chance to do something I can be proud of. All of this is because of you.”

I’m mesmerized by the soft brush of his skin over mine. I normally wouldn’t count my fingertips as erogenous zones, but with him they absolutely are.

“I just opened the door, Jake.” I pray he can’t tell how intensely my heart is pounding. “You’re the one who had the talent to walk through it.”

I pull my hand back and clench it a few times to get rid of the tingling.

He looks at it then clears his throat. “Friends can’t hold hands, either?”

“Not when it feels like that, no.”

He gets up and stands next to me, almost touching but not quite. I will myself not to look up. If I connect with those dark, passionate eyes of his, I’m done for.

“You know,” he says quietly. “I thought going back to being friends with you would be as easy as breathing, and in some ways, it is. But we used to touch each other all the time and not even notice. Now, just being in the same room with you feels different.”

I glance at his neck. His pulse is racing, and it pleases me more than I’d like.

“But the last thing I want to do is screw this up, Ash. It’s taken too long to get back here. So, I need you to keep telling me when I cross the line, okay?”

I nod. “Of course.”

We both go quiet, and after a few seconds, he says, “Friends can’t stand this close to each other, can they?”

“Nope.”

He steps away right as his phone rings, and as soon as I’m free from his thrall, I let out a sigh and flop back into the couch. I swear to God, my body can’t take this much stimulation every day. Pretty soon, blood vessels are going to start popping, and I’ll bleed out in a cloud of smoldering lust. The one good thing about this crazy-hot attraction is that standing next to him is the best cardio workout I’ve ever had.

I steady my breathing as he answers his phone and walks over to the huge picture window, while I start typing up today’s words. I only need a few pages to send to Serena, so once I get everything into the document, I’ll choose my favorites.

I don’t try to overhear what he’s saying on the phone, but it’s impossible not to in this space.

“Yeah, I can’t get there ’til around five … You sure? … Okay, great. See you then.” He hangs up and walks back over.

“You have a hot date later?” I’m just kidding around, but even so, I think my eye twitches.

“Uh, yeah. Sort of.” He sits beside me. “I need to head out a little early today to get to the crematorium.”

I stop typing. “You’re taking a date to the crematorium? That’s … morbid.”

“I guess. The date is with my dad. I’m going to say goodbye.”

“Your dad …?”

“He’s being cremated tonight. I asked if I could be there.”

I turn to him. “Wait, last night when you told me he’d died, I just assumed it was a while ago. When did he pass?”

“Day before yesterday.”

I think for a second. “But that was … that was your first day at Whiplash. That’s why you left right after the meeting?”

He nods. “The hospital called. Said he was fading and I should get there as quickly as possible.”

Just when I think I can’t feel worse for not being there for him, I find out I can. I bitched him out for running off to be with his dying father. “God, Jake. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. He’d been sick for a long time. I knew it was coming.”

“It’s a shame he won’t be around to see you become a published author. Did he know about the book?”

“Yeah. He thought I was lying about the advance, because in his words, ‘What kind of idiot would pay that much money for your stupid goddamn love poems?’”