Professor Feelgood (Page 7)

Do it. Be brave. Go after what you want with all the passion you possess. Nothing hollows out a heart more thoroughly than regret.”

Whoa.

All of a sudden, my heart rate has doubled. There’s something so very wrong with me that a few words from a complete stranger can affect me so deeply. I know this is just a silly crush on a web celebrity, but it’s more powerful than anything I’ve felt before, and to be honest, it’s kind of concerning.

Still feeling high, I like his comment and try to think of something profound to say in reply. When I still have nothing after five minutes, I type a rushed, “Thank you for the encouragement. I’ll try my best.”

Within seconds, he’s liked that, too, but doesn’t offer any more pearls of wisdom. Scanning through the comments others have left, I can’t find any that he’s liked or replied to. Even though it may mean absolutely nothing, it makes what just happened feel special. I have no idea why he singled me out, but I’m grateful.

That’s when I realize I’m smiling lovingly at my phone like a total doofus.

Why couldn’t I find something like this? A book version of his passion and honesty. That I could have sold. Hell, it would have sold itself.

As I take one last pass over his words and pictures, I feel something ignite inside me; the ember of an idea so crazy, it might just be a glimmer of genius with bad hair.

Why have I been blind in not considering this before?

As the idea coalesces, I look at the professor’s posts through the eyes of an editor rather than a besotted fan. Each one pushes away my mental fog and makes me feel like I’ve been punched repeatedly in the chest.

My God … this could really be something. This could be my leprechaun!

I keep scrolling and reading, and I soon become aware that I’m chewing on the inside of my cheek as excited tension fills my muscles.

I always thought the feeling of being hit by lightning while a choir of angels sings, would happen when I met my one true love, but right now I’m having a stronger sense of destiny looking though the professor’s feed than I’ve had with any boyfriend. I may have searched high and low, but perhaps I was looking in all the wrong places. The land of Nowhere actually exists, and there’s a single resident who’s crazy-popular enough to become an instant bestseller.

Hot diggity. I may win this thing yet.

_______________

I lean forward as I watch Joanna’s face. She’s gripping her phone tightly, mouth open as she scans the screen.

God, please let her confirm my opinion, otherwise I’m just a crazy person who’s grasping at straws out of desperation.

She takes her time, and I don’t know if she’s keeping her face passive to drive me insane, or if she genuinely has no reaction to what she’d reading. If it’s the second, I’m sunk. If it’s the first, I’m going to beat her viciously with my Chris Hemsworth body pillow.

I hear the door to the apartment open and close, followed by the soft murmuring of my sister and her boyfriend arriving home. Normally, I’d go out and greet them, but right now I have more important things to do. Like holding myself back from shaking Joanna until she tells me what the heckity-heck she’s thinking.

Just when I’m starting to believe the power of Professor Feelgood is all in my head, I see the exact reaction I’d hoped for: Joanna’s face goes a deep red, and then there are random shallow exhales every time she clicks on a new post.

Yessssssss!

This is major. Despite working together for two years, I’ve never seen Joanna lose her cool. But in this moment, her perfect blonde curls and flawless makeup can’t hide how gobsmacked she is.

“Oh, my God,” she says, her gaze flicking to me and then away.

“Right?”

Her chest rises and falls rapidly, and her fingers are almost shaking. “Oh … my God.”

“I know.”

“Oh, my GOD.”

She starts fanning herself with her hand, and I know exactly how fast and hot her blood is pounding. How her skin is screaming from too much sensation.

I get up the courage to ask her my most burning question. “Tell me you’re feeling what I’m feeling.”

She nods. “I absolutely am.” When she glances up at me, her mouth is agape. “Holy hotness, Asha.”

I lean back against my headboard, relief tempering my erratic heartbeat. “Just to be clear––you’re turned on, right?”

She goes back to her screen. “Sooooooo turned on.”

My sister Eden pokes her head around the edge of the doorway to my bedroom and eyes us suspiciously. I’m not sure what she expected to find, but I’m certain it wasn’t me and Joanna sitting on my bed, caressing our phones.

“What the hell, you two?” she asks, eyes narrowed. “Are you watching porn together?”

I smile and beckon her over. “In a way.”

I hand her my phone and watch her face to gauge her reaction. As she thumb scrolls through his timeline, I know that Eden will be the real test here. Her innate cynicism and lack of patience means she’s immune to most forms of emotional manipulation. If she digs the Professor, then I’m home free.

I hold my breath in tense anticipation. Roughly thirty seconds later, I get my answer.

She frowns, her mouth opens, and then the apples of her cheeks brighten with color.

We’ve both inherited our late mother’s peaches-and-cream coloring, and even though Eden’s auburn locks are curly, and I work hard to keep mine straight, there’s no mistaking how vibrantly our cheeks light up when we’re embarrassed. Or aroused.

“Oh, my God,” she says.

Joanna nods and points. “There it is.”

‘Oh … my God,” Eden says again, eyes working overtime as her voice becomes breathier every second.

I feel myself beaming in vindication. “It’s amazing, right?”

“Oh, my GOD!”

She jumps a little when her large, handsome boyfriend appears in the doorway.

“Okay,” Max says, narrowing his green eyes at Eden. “I’m usually the one who makes you sound like that. What the hell is going on in here?”

Joanna leans over and whispers, “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to seeing Mister Romance in your apartment. He’s, like, a unicorn among men. So freaking gorgeous, inside and out.”

I nod. “I know, right?”

Eden beckons him over, and when he’s next to her, she hands over my phone to show him what we’re looking at.

“It’s the Instagram feed of a guy calling himself Professor Feelgood,” she explains.

Max frowns as he scrolls through. “Whoa. Three million followers. How the hell is some guy I’ve never heard of so popular?”

Still running on excess adrenaline, I type the Professor’s name into my spreadsheet and highlight it in the brightest, most neon green I can find.

“Believe it or not, Max, but there are heaps of people who are massively Insta-famous but otherwise anonymous. Fashion bloggers, makeup artists, hot doctors and lawyers. But this guy? He’s got something … indefinable. It’s fascinating.”

As Max continues to scroll, Eden grips his bicep, and I don’t miss the way she strokes it lovingly.

“What do you think?” she asks.

Max shrugs. “Not really sure what I’m looking at. Arty photographs, lots of pics of international landmarks. Some angsty poetry.”