Baumgartner Hot Shorts (22 page)

Some couples had the first song they ever danced to, or a restaurant they revisited after having their first date there. Henry and Libby had the Kama Sutra and all the positions therein. Henry’s memory—which was amazing, and had saved him more than once with his dyslexia—had made quick work of the book. He’d memorized it. The whole thing. Including the numbers associated with each position. She only knew a handful, but seventy-two was a favorite.

“You weren’t asking me to stop last night,” he teased, smiling slyly in her direction. “For a girl who didn’t want to get caught, you sure got loud…”

“Oh, hush.” Libby blushed, still smiling at the memory. It wasn’t her fault. Henry drove her wild—and he knew it.

Damn him. Her pussy throbbed and she squirmed in her seat. Even when she wanted to be mad at him, she couldn’t. Her gaze wandered to his lap, where she could see the outline of his cock through the denim of his jeans, although she didn’t need to see it. Libby knew it every ridge, every vein, every sweet, glorious inch of it. Even when she couldn’t see it, or even feel it, like she had last night, pillows under her belly, his arms wrapped snuggly around her, body curled over hers, taking her slowly and relentlessly from behind, she was aware of him. It’s like he filled her, all the time now, even when he wasn’t present.

Her thighs tightened, the heat of the memory overwhelming. They’d perfected number seventy-two. She loved that moment when she closed her thighs for a tighter fit, pressing them together once he’d entered her, hearing his low moan. She wiggled in her seat, feeling the soft squish between her legs, a deep ache to feel him buried inside her. Had they not been going so fast on the interstate on slushy roads, she would have considered sliding over to touch him, maybe even suck him while he drove.

“

“Hey.” Henry’s hand moved over her knee, his thumb tracing her kneecap. “Libs, I’m sorry. I really am.”

“It’s not your fault.” She put her hand over his, lacing their fingers. “It’s me. I’m just… being stupid.”

“Does it really bother you so much?”

“Not exactly.” She looked at him in the dimness, the strong line of his jaw with a light stubble growing. “I really don’t care what your parents do in their bedroom. It’s not that.”

“Well than what is it?”

“I guess…” Libby sighed, trying to vocalize her feelings. She hadn’t even really formed them into thoughts yet, so that was harder than it sounded. “I just wonder… about us.”

“What do you mean?” Henry frowned. “What do you wonder?”

“Well, you grew up around that.” She swallowed. She didn’t want to offend him or make him angry, but now that she was saying it out loud, the idea started to crystallize in her mind. “It had to have an influence on you. I mean, that lifestyle, that was your ‘normal.’ So… I just wonder...”

“Ah.” Henry nodded, pursing his lips.

“I mean, is that something you want?” Libby asked, the question out there now, hanging between them. She was suddenly terrified. “Am I keeping you from something you want? Do you want to be with more than one woman?”

And then, something occurred to her, and she followed her questions up with another, one that bothered her deeply, she discovered.

“Have
you been with more than one girl at a time?”

“No, Libby.” His fingers squeezed hers. “I mean, there were a couple frat house things that went on… but I’ve never been involved in any way I haven’t told you about already.”

“Okay.” She let out a pent-up breath. “I just wondered, I mean, because you kept it from me, if there was more…”

“I know, I’m sorry.” Henry grimaced. “I was stupid. I should have told you.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “You should have.”

She knew it had come out more harshly than she wanted it to. And the truth was, she didn’t want to punish him. She even understood his reticence about telling her. At least, she hoped she did. She just prayed it wasn’t anything more.

“You didn’t answer my other question.” She looked over at him in the dim light, heart in her throat, streetlights flashing by. “Do you want to?”

“Do I want to what?” Henry braked, frowning out the windshield at the weather.

“Be with more than one woman.”

“Libby, come on.” Both of Henry’s hands went to the steering wheel. Outside, the snow fell harder, hitting the window like tiny shards of glass in the lights of the oncoming traffic. “I wouldn’t even bring it up or consider it without talking to you first. Unless it was something
you
wanted.”

“It’s getting bad out there,” she said softly, blinking at the weather, but that wasn’t where her mind was. Henry grunted softly in agreement, turning the wipers on high, squinting at the highway.

Libby snuggled down into her seat, pulling her coat more closely around her, telling herself one more time, I’m not going to let it bother me. Then she leaned her head back and let her lack of sleep and coffee catch up with her as she drifted off to the sway of the vehicle and the sound of Henry singing to the radio.

* * * *

It was so cold, Libby’s nipples hardened, even under the weight of her winter coat, a scarf, a pair of mittens, and a knit hat. She wrapped her arms around herself, a fruitless defense mechanism against the bitter cold, smiling in spite of the wind. She was happy to be out of class early, even if she did love her journalism classes, which were mostly just working on the school paper now that she was so nearing graduation. Henry had another year, but they were both nearing the finish line.

Today, Libby just wanted to go back to their little rented apartment, undress, and get under the covers with Henry so they could make each other warm. Ever since they’d come back from the holidays, she’d felt this longing to be close to him—as close as possible. She wanted to be in his arms today, so she braved the cold instead of veering off into the coffee shop to warm up, head down, determined, a girl on a mission.

The falling snow coated the dirty, gray snow mounds created by the snow plows, giving the University of Michigan campus a pristine look again. It was a pretty snow, thick, heavy flakes that stuck in her eyelashes, but she hurried on, not stopping to admire the view. The English department offices were up ahead, and she hoped to catch Henry finishing up a tutoring session with Dr. Franklin.

Libby was a little terrified of ‘the Dragon Lady,’ but Henry had known her practically his whole life. Dr. Franklin was an old family friend of the Baumgartners and had agreed to tutor Henry during his freshman year, when he was struggling to keep up. He was a great hockey player, and while that had afforded him his scholarship, his dyslexia had started catching up with him once he got to college.

In truth, Libby knew she should be grateful to the woman. She was the reason Henry had been able to stay in school. By the time Dr. Franklin discovered his secret—Henry had kept his dyslexia a secret, even from his family—he’d been benched from hockey and almost lost his scholarship. It was Dr. Franklin who had not only brought up his grades, but his confidence.

But it wasn’t just the tutoring that had done that. Henry had admitted to Libby that he and his professor had been involved briefly in a little fling. The university didn’t condone romantic entanglements between students and professors, but that hadn’t stopped them. The May-December affair had burned hot and fast, ending just as Henry and Libby started getting involved.

But he still saw her all the time during his tutoring sessions. Dr. Franklin had special training in tutoring dyslexic students and, in truth, she really had helped Henry come a long way. But while everyone called Dr. Franklin the Dragon Lady, Libby thought of her as a cougar who had taken advantage of Henry. She knew her perception was probably a little off, due to her jealousy, but part of her didn’t care. And she could have asked Henry about the affair in more detail—but she didn’t want to know.

Henry would have told her though, if she’d asked. He would have given her all the detail she wanted, which was part of the problem. His whole family was like that. They were so open, it was like none of them had any filters. Things that would make Libby blush as red as her hair just made the Baumgartners smile or laugh. They were great people—but nothing seemed to embarrass them. They seemed to be able to talk about almost anything in mixed company.

Sometimes she envied the close relationship Henry had with his parents and his sister, Janie. She didn’t have that with anyone—except Henry. She loved the way they accepted everything about her, even her reticence. In fact, they’d practically adopted her, from the very beginning.

But Henry was different from his family. He’d kept his dyslexia a secret for so long, he’d grown used to protecting himself, even from them. He opened up to her, though. At least, that’s what Libby told herself. Henry would tell her anything. Everything. Wouldn’t he?

Before now, she would have answered with an unequivocal yes. But Henry hadn’t told her everything, had he? He’d kept his parents’ proclivities from her, afraid of her reaction. And while Henry’s parents had opened their marriage, they weren’t open with everyone about their sexuality. There were people they kept it from—like her, a girl they knew might someday become their daughter-in-law.

Libby had been so lost in thought, she didn’t even realize she’d reached her destination until she was stopped outside the door—a gold plate reading Dr. Antoinette Franklin, PhD screwed into the center—and she poked her head through the tiny space where it stood ajar. Henry was sitting in one of the big leather chairs and saw her right away, smiling as he hopped up and took two long strides to the door.

“Hey, Libs, what are you doing here?”

“Got out of class early and thought maybe we could walk back to the apartment together.” She readjusted her backpack on her shoulder, waiting expectantly.

“Oh.” He blinked in surprise and Libby wrinkled her nose at his reaction. Where was his enthusiasm—or at least, mild, pleasant surprise? Instead, he looked nervous. Even annoyed. “Well, we’re almost done. Can you wait outside while I finish up with Toni?”

Toni?
Did he still call her that? She would have thought Dr. Franklin would be more appropriate. But they were former lovers, she remembered. Intimately familiar with one another.

“Sure.” Libby took a step back. “I’ll wait out here.”

There were two hard backed chairs in the hallway and she sat on one of them as Henry shut the door, shutting her out. She’d never been the jealous type before. It had never really bothered her, knowing Henry and Dr. Franklin had once been lovers. Henry loved Libby—she was sure of that. He loved her just as deeply as she loved him. So why did her eyes burn now with the sting of tears? What was she afraid of?

Maybe she was just tired. Or, maybe, like a kid at Christmas, she’d gotten her hopes too high, staked too much on this moment of surprising him, and his reaction had let her down. She’d been on such a high walking over here. Yet, such manic mood swings weren’t at all like her. What had it been about his use of the woman’s first name that bothered her so much?

Looking at the now closed door, Libby’s brow furrowed as her mind wandered into dangerous territory. Not that she hadn’t seen the woman before, but as Henry had rushed to the door, she’d gotten a glimpse of
Toni
Franklin, sitting on the edge of her desk, slender legs crossed right at his eye level. He could practically see right up her skirt if she’d separated her thighs just an inch. Long, dark, curly hair flowing over her shoulders, curves in all the right places accented by her tight, professional clothes, fashionable reading glasses perched on her nose, Toni Franklin was the picture of every college guy’s wet dream.

And, he’d already fucked her.

He doesn’t love her, he loves you
! She lectured herself in her head.
Stop being the jealous girlfriend already. You trust him!

Of course she did. She always had. She knew Henry didn’t come to her a virgin. She’d known about his former relationship with the older woman he still saw weekly for tutoring sessions. She trusted him completely, not even questioning his continued professional arrangement with her. Why would she?

Why indeed.

Up until now, she really didn’t feel jealous. But this—seeing her on the desk like that, the way Henry had rushed to the door and shut Libby out—had smacked her right in the face. Had she been blind? Was she missing something all along?

“Get a grip,” she chided herself and then looked up and down the hall to see if anyone was close enough to have heard her.
Crazy, you’re crazy. Let it go.

Rather than listen to her own advice, Libby’s mind focused on her boyfriend and his former lover. The brief glimpse she had of the woman had been burned into her memory. Dr. Franklin was wearing a tight cashmere sweater, very stylish, the light weave revealing a dark bra, accentuating her cleavage. Libby looked down at her own practically flat chest. Henry called them perfect little handfuls, but the endearment seemed trite to her now. What she couldn’t get past was the realization that her boyfriend had put his hands on that woman’s breasts in the past. She wondered what her nipples looked like—dark or light, large or small areola—and felt slightly nauseous, realizing Henry had had them in his mouth at one time or another.

“What the hell?” she hissed at herself.

You’re not a jealous woman. You will not be a jealous woman. They screw up good things, and you’re not doing that with Henry.