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13
Luke
The rest of the day was a blur, and not in a good way. I moved from class to class, barely able to focus on looking at the lecturers, let alone listening to what they had to say. I had my iPad with me the entire time but failed to take any notes. I couldn’t recall what a single one of my fellow students looked like, let alone their names, although most classes started with a brief introduction from each of us.
As the day wore on, I felt more aggrieved and dejected. I resented Chantelle, whose real name turned out to be Dr. Natalie Patterson, for…well, for just about everything. For lying to me about her name. For lying to me about her job. For screwing me six ways from Sunday, then sneaking out in the middle of the night, leaving nothing but her bra, and a cold patch on the bed where she should have been. For somehow in that one session ruining me for future women. For embedding herself in my psyche and dominating my thoughts in the three months since we were together.
But most of all, I resented her for making me feel shit I’d always felt sure I’d never feel for anyone other than Marnie.
I somehow made it through to the end of the last class—which felt more like a feat of Olympic endurance than the exhilarating first day at college it should have been—and found my way back to my car. I heaved a sigh of relief when I saw that it hadn’t been towed away or clamped. The sleek black Skyline had been a present to myself to celebrate the Heartless Few signing our first record deal. It was only a rental, but even being able to afford to commit to the regular payments was beyond my previous wildest dreams. Now that we had the deal in place and were starting to get on the map, I vowed to myself that one day I’d buy one for real, with cold hard cash that I’d earned. In the meantime, I had the rental, and life was good.
It got even better when I approached it and noticed what I’d failed to see in my hurry that morning. The car I was blocking in was parked in a space that a white plaque informed me was reserved for none other than one Dr. N. Patterson. There was a God, and she had a sense of humor!
I had no idea what time Chantelle/Natalie finished up, but I didn’t have anywhere to be—well I did, but I figured that waiting for her trumped being yelled at by Arlo in rehearsals in front of our new manager, again. I leaned against the side of my car with my legs crossed at the ankles, the very picture of fake indifference, mirroring Chantalie’s earlier stance. I flicked through the various handouts I’d been given throughout the day, trying to jog my memory about at least a little of what had been said.
I wasn’t there long before I heard footsteps approaching. I looked up to be greeted by a familiar pair of light green eyes, blazing with unfamiliar anger. Damn she was cute, even when angry. Especially when angry, in fact. My dick was at attention in moments, as it always was when I saw or thought about her.
“Nope.”She stood next to her car, arms folded, jaw set in a hard line that told me she meant business. Not that I’d had any doubt, just from the look in her eyes.
“Nope what?”
“Nope I am not going to play along with whatever drama you have in mind here. This isn’t some movie where you can give a rousing speech or perform some kind of grand gesture that’s going to change my mind and see us go riding off into the sunset together, to live happily ever after. I made my position very clear earlier, and there’s nothing more to discuss, so if you’ll move your car, or is it your mom’s car? I’ll be on my way.”
I legit had to count slowly to five before speaking again. She frustrated me so much that I couldn’t trust myself to say the first words burning on the tip of my tongue. When I had my shit together enough not to say something I couldn’t take back, I finally spoke.
“It’s my car. Yes, it’s true, you did make yourself very clear this morning, in your house. But that was then, and this is now, and we’re outside your house, and you have nowhere to go—“ I motioned to her blocked-in car “—so the way I see it, all bets are off.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” she hissed, looking around furtively.
“It means that I don’t accept any of what you said before, and I want you to come for a drink with me to discuss the situation.”
“Nope.”
“Why not?”
“Why do you need to ask? Because there is no ‘situation.’ And because you’re not legally old enough to get served a fucking drink. Because I’m what, ten years old than you? And last but most certainly not least, because I’m your lecturer, and this is real life, not some schmaltzy Hollywood Mrs. Robinson bullshit.”
“We can go back to The Basement. They seem to be happy to serve anyone—as long as they’re older than an embryo—and still keep their liquor license.”
There was definitely something illicit going on with that, but given it was one of the few places where I could drink out front at my own gig, rather than just in the band room, I wasn’t about to start questioning it too much.
“And who cares about the age gap? You didn’t seem to when we were recreating Last Tango in Paris in that hotel room. And as far as me being your student is concerned, nobody needs to know. We can keep it on the DL. I’m not about to run Instagram ads telling world. I can be discreet—I kept it together this morning, even while in shock, didn’t I?”
“Ha! Only just. And the fact is, you had me really fucking worried that you wouldn’t. And as for being discreet, really? Is that some kind of joke? So says the guy who’s standing in the carpark initiating a standoff with a lecturer he supposedly only met for the first time that morning, while”—she did a double take—“dangling my bra from his index finger. Wait. Why the fuck do you have my bra dangling from your index finger?”
I waggled my finger, causing the undergarment in question to swing lightly, before answering.
“Because in something similar a modern-day reverse Cinderella situation, when you fled the ball. No…wait. When you fled my balls before the clock struck six a.m., it was the only connection I had to you. It’s been in the glove box ever since.” I probably shouldn’t have revealed that last part. Even to my own ears, it sounded a little stalkerish and crazy. The look on her face confirmed my suspicions.
“Okay. But why do you have it here and now?”
“Oh, right. I guess I thought it might help to persuade you to my way of thinking.”
“You mean you’re blackmailing me.”
“No, not at all. I’m negotiating. This and the fact that I’m parking you in are the only leverage I have right now.”
“Yeah, well I wouldn’t bank on it. If you won’t move, I’ll be calling security and asking them to ‘negotiate’ with you.”
