Authors: Aven Jayce
“Margaret,” I say, totally perturbed,
with my hands on my hips. She turns holding a tray of cookies, then ignores my
words and places it inside an oven, closing the front and setting the timer.
Her class is fucking making cookies? The open door to the back exposes a group
of students sitting in lawn chairs, drinking sodas. Just chillin’. No readings
or tests, no work being produced or discussions, just cookies.
“Div, what can I do you for?”
If we were friends that expression would
be a joke, but I’ll take it as a warning.
“You know that big football player, the
freshman?”
“Scott?”
I nod. “Yeah, he’s not doing well in my
class; he’s probably not going to pass.”
“I know. He came to me and said you gave
him an F.”
“My students get what they earn,” I
respond with tightened fists.
“He’s doing well in my class.”
Well loddy-fucking-dah. That doesn’t
surprise me. “Do you think you could stop talking about me and my classes with
your students?”
“My door’s always open if they have
problems
.” She puts on a pair of rawhide
gloves and takes a tray of cookies out of another oven, then places them on a
plate, and calls out that they’re done. In less than five seconds the plate is
empty and the students are back outside. “They eat ‘em faster than I can make
‘em,” she mumbles to herself.
“You’ve created a culture of gossip
and...”
I stop, holding back as a student enters
the room. Margaret and I smile while she walks past us to join the others.
“She’s a good student,” I whisper.
“She hates you,” Margaret responds.
My heart sinks. If the bitch and her
Greek party house in disguise weren’t here, I’d be respected. At times, I
haven’t a clue as to how to respond to her comments.
She hates you.
Why? What did you say to her, Margaret? How do you
know?
“Do you say those things just to hurt my
feelings?” is all that falls out of my mouth. Wimp.
She has no response at first, focusing on
another tray of cookies coming out, then another. I stand and wait. The
students pile in and out, laughing, giving her high-fives; telling her how
amazing she is. Vomit, vomit, bleh. Isn’t it funny that no one ever checks in
on what she does over here? Fucking tenured faculty.
“Div, I don’t know why you think I’m
against you.”
Why the hell did I come over here again?
Oh yeah. “Do me a favor, don’t worry about what happens in my classroom. As a
matter a fact, mind your own business, alright? We have two very different
programs and I don’t even know why our classes are grouped in the same
department. Your program started back in the day when women attended college to
get an MRS degree. I think this is the only university in the country that
still offers Home Economics.” Yes, take that. I’m standing up for myself.
Richard’s gonna be pissed. “I never say anything about you and your cooking
projects to my students, so keep your opinions about my digital classes and
grading to yourself. This army of yours needs to be dismantled. As a colleague
you should be sticking up for me, not poking my eyes out with a stick.”
She stands beside an open oven; her hands
mitted, while the scent of peanut butter and chocolate float through the air.
Her response is “uh-huh,” with a blank
stare. “There was a time, Div, when we used to do national searches for faculty
members. I guess the school saved money by bringing in a lesser known from off
the streets.”
Bitch. Next time I’ll just send an email.
The bell has rung. Round one is over.
Fighters, go back to your corners.
I leave before our back and forth jabs
turn nastier than they already have. Margaret Cole has created an anti-learning
culture and she’s loved because of it. Cookie parties and gossip are on the
wish list of every student, along with taking breeze-easy classes. Everything
she offers in her Victorian cesspit.
I walk back to my office with an hour
until class; enough time to check the stats of my books and chill out. Damn it,
only twenty have sold this morning. Twenty. Not enough to quit my job. I think
I need a new marketing strategy, or to change my book blurbs, or update my
covers. Isn’t that what people do when their books don’t sell? It’s the cover,
right? Maybe I should think about moving them to another genre? Erotica has
novels coming out the vagina; lubed with thousands of books that are free. Damn
it. Think, Div.
My office phone rings. Now what? That
better not be Margaret calling, or worse, she went to Richard to complain that
I was in
her space
.
“Good morning, this is Professor
Hallowell,” I say in a pleasant voice. Could also be the Dean.
“Div.”
Whoa. Love that deep and sexy voice. That
brings the life back into to me after visiting with Margaret.
“Dan, how’d you get this number?”
“Gee, I don’t know. You said you taught
at the university, and there’s that thing called Google. Just search for the
university site, click on your department, and there you go, Divine Hallowell
comes up; pretty face, class schedule, office number, and all.”
Hell yes, he said I was pretty... again.
“You’re spying on me?” Like I don’t do
the same.
“Uh-huh.”
I laugh at his interest and spirit. The
guy’s got taste too, coming after me when I was the one who started this
interaction. “So you’ve got a crush? You wanna get it on with a girl named
Div?” My stomach tightens and my palms sweat. Those were definitely Violet’s
words coming out of my mouth.
“Yep.”
“I like you too,” I whisper. There we go.
That was me. Stay in control so you don’t lose him.
“I have to ask you something.”
“Go for it.” Ohhh, ask me to go on a
romantic get-a-way. Please, please.
“You feel like going to the mall
tonight?”
The mall? The fucking mall? Do those things
still exist, and if so, is anyone there over sixteen? I thought everyone did
their shopping online these days. The mall?
“Sure,” I say.
“Great, pick you up at six.”
“I’ll meet you outside my...” He hung up.
I’ll be outside... at his place... front stoop with five minutes to spare.
God, I need to get out more, I didn’t
even realize there was a mall around here. Must be on the other side of the
downtown area, where I heard they built that new Walmart. So, what does one
wear to the mall these days? When in doubt, Google it. Google everything. With
Google, one never has to think for oneself ever again. Ask Google how to brush
my teeth properly, how to make a decent cup of coffee, ask it why my toe hurts
and then do a search for bunions to see if I’m going to die because of the
ailment Google insists that I have.
What
to wear to the mall.
Shit, I can’t believe there’re so many
sites and articles on this subject. And images... alright, it looks like a lot
of people sport the Han Solo look when they go shopping; black skinny jeans,
white blouse, army jacket on top and a pair of tall brown boots. Total Han
Solo.
I’m heading out in style tonight, and if
I plan on getting closer to Daniel during our second date, I better dress
appropriately and shave my muff, which always looks like a full-grown Chia pet
after the winter months; totally unsexy.
I wouldn’t want to fuck it.
Han Solo, check. Shave Chewie, check.
Div
Hallowell
I’ve got a second date with Daniel Keller
and we’re going to the mall!
0 people like this.
Violet
Cuddlecock
I’ve gotta shave my muff so it’s fuckable
for my new man, Dan! (Sorry, not book related).
182 people like this.
CHAPTER
FIVE
T
he mall. An
out-of-the-ordinary-crazy-ass-place to go on a second date. This one’s small,
with only two anchor stores and a three-screen movie theater.
Yes, and as expected, the evil Cinnabon
stand has tossed a hook and lured me in with its mouth watering aroma. Come on,
Cinnabon people, just the smell of your sugary rolls on their own, without even
taking a bite, adds five pounds to my hips; not to mention the white frosting
that gets stuck on the side of my mouth is going to make me insecure for the
rest of the night. I keep asking Dan if I have any on my face and he just
laughs. I don’t know if that means yes or no.
And why is he dressed like Han Solo? That
was my look for the night. Black jeans, white shirt with a brown vest? Zip
ankle boots? We look like twins, or those psycho couples who buy matching
Christmas sweaters. Shit, I’m freaking out. This is all too bizarre. I feel
like I’ve just smoked a bowl with my high school friends and we’re heading to
Hot Topic to buy Pokémon beanies, but not before the munchies have kicked in
and...
“What’s on your mind? You seem nervous.”
“Just a bit,” I exhale. “I don’t get out
much, well, not to the mall. I’m experiencing information overload. Why are we
here anyway? Do you need something? We came for something specific, right? You
need shoes? Or a new shirt? Is it cologne? Luggage? A watch? Lord, are we
seeing a movie? What’s playing?”
He takes my hand and gives it a firm
squeeze so I chill the fuck out.
“Sorry,” I say.
Then he leads me into Banana Republic,
grabs a shirt off a rack, walks into a fitting room with me in tow, and locks
us securely in. A moment later his hands are on the wall above my head and his
frame confines mine. Our eyes lock as his warm cinnamon breath enters my mouth.
“You like me, right? You said you did,”
he whispers.
I nod. Yes. Yes, I like this guy. He’s
unpredictable.
“Then you don’t have to be nervous. Just
relax. Otherwise the sex isn’t gonna be any good. Taut and tense in bed is like
fucking a wooden plank.”
See, unpredictable.
His hand sneaks under my shirt and I
wonder if he’s gonna try it now; the fucking. We came here to do it in the
Banana Republic fitting room, that’s the reason we’re at the mall. I just know
it. He has some weird fetish. He’s gonna pull out his...
“Give me your lips, Div,” he says softly.
I close my eyes and wait, my breathing
slows but my heart quickens while his body moves closer and his hips push at my
waist. I want to touch him, but my arms won’t budge and my hands are glued to
the wall behind us.
Two fingers lift my chin and his warm
pink lips brush lightly against mine.
Tease. He’s getting back at me for last
night. I want him to press those fine lips of his into mine, hard, like he’s
going to devour every inch of my body, but we barely touch. He’s hovering, not
kissing me; consuming my mind instead. Oh, my oppressor, kiss me!
“My mother told me years ago that women
will always remember a first kiss if it’s one that’s been delayed. I’m supposed
to set this up so you desire me. But my father,” he whispers. “He said I should
charge a woman like a bear; change the game to be the hunter and not the hunted
then see if she can handle my weight. So what are you thirsty for? Do you crave
sweet lemonade, or do you want a drink that’s going to knock you on your ass?”
“I think I want a drink that’s not going
to mention its parents when I raise the glass to my lips,” I respond.
He backs away with a grin and un-tucks
his shirt, for obvious reasons. “So be it. I can wait too.”
Damn, no sex in the fitting room. That
could’ve been fabulous.
“I brought you here because I want to
spend time with you, that’s all. I joke about sex sometimes, but that’s just my
nature. I’m not looking for anything specific today except to get to know you a
little better, but so far, besides what I learned at dinner the other night,
all I’ve figured out is that you like cinnamon rolls and enjoy sniffing every body
lotion and perfume that we pass.” He reaches his hand for mine. “I’m fascinated
by you, Div. Now let’s continue our date. The more open you are with me, the
closer we are to that kiss.”
For a moment, a brief, short-lived,
fleeting moment, I daydream about exposing my tits, his eyes widen, and he
says,
that’s... that’s being open.
Good thing I left Violet at home.
“Okay, Dan. Where to?”
“I want to play another game while we’re
here. A guessing game based on subject matter.”
I give him my ‘corner of my eye’ sideways
glance. The one I give my students when I know they’re about to cheat on a
test.
“The discount bookstore,” he says,
pointing to the store across from Banana Republic. “There’s a sale going on,
get three books for ten bucks.” He takes a ten out of his pocket and puts it in
my hand. “Buy three and only three from your favorite genre but don’t tell me
what they are. Make sure the cashier puts them in a sack so they’re hidden then
meet me out front. Take your time, I’m doing the same, so if I’m not here when
you’re done, wait for me.”
He winks then disappears behind a wall of
books, real books. I love my Kindle, but yeah, I can definitely go for some old
school paperbacks now and again.
The category signs that hang from the
ceiling are bizarre. Robotics? Wait. I’ve never heard of Robotics as a genre.
New Weird? Soft Creatures? Where’s the non-fiction sign? Or Romance? How about
History?
I walk down the aisle labeled ‘Amish and
Centaurs,’ thinking this could lead to something interesting, but no, it doesn’t.
It’s actually books on the Amish and books about Centaurs. Fuck, an author
really needs to combine the two. That would be brilliant. No, even better,
books about Amish Centaur Roller Derby Queens. Genius.
Oh. There it is, along the back wall, a
section labeled Pride Meat and Squish Mittens. That
has
to be erotica. Whoever owns this store has been blessed with
comedic wit. Either that, or the owner has a sixteen-year-old son who created
the signs and his parents never caught on.
Squish Mittens is sorta cute and would
make a good nickname. Where did Dan go? He did say I should be open with him
and I suddenly have a burst of courage that’s not going to last for long.
“Hey Daniel?” I call out.
“Yeah,” he answers from the aisle labeled
Road Trips from Hell. His head pokes around the corner as he hides a book
behind his back. “Need a genre translator?”
“Beautiful Div Squish Mittens.”
“What?”
“I think it would make a good nickname.
Will you call me that a few months down the line if we’re still hanging out together?”
“Beautiful Div Squish Mittens?” He thinks
for a moment then laughs. “Only if the initials lend significant meaning to our
relationship.”
It takes a moment to sink in before the
words
oh damn
escape my mouth.
Alright, that one’s out for now.
“You’re not supposed to pick a nickname
for yourself anyway. It’s a term that will happen naturally... you sure you
don’t need help interpreting the genres?” he asks while looking at the sign
above my head.
“Nope, I’m good,” I smile and stare until
he turns away.
These books suck. They’re all unknown
authors who write knock-offs of the bestsellers. Shelf after shelf of male
escorts, billionaires, alpha males, and fighters. Oh shit, a Hayden Night book.
No way. Why the fuck does she get to be in this bookstore and not Violet
Cuddlecock? Bitch. At least she only gets like a nickel or maybe just a penny
per book for selling in these discount stores. But still, it’s aggravating
enough that I consider hiding her books, that is, until a group of pocket
romances are an instant diversion. Brown pocket romances. Brown. Everyone knows
brown is the worst color to use on the cover of a romance. Black, red, white,
pink, are all good, but brown? Ick.
The books are retro western porn, only
new; the covers are designed to look like they’re from the ‘50s, but it’s all
just the author’s branding. No kidding, along the lines of an illustrated Hardy
Boys Mystery, meets Hopalong Cassidy, meets Ron Jeremy.
Buffalo
Gals Won’t You Cum Tonight
Big
Guns for Little Women
Dick
Desperadoes
My
Throbbing Black Horse
Campfire
Wieners and Beans
The
Big Ho’deo
They’re amaze-balls. Holy shit, I want
‘em all. There’s like forty total. Oh my God, I could display them next to my
erotic pop-up books.
But I can’t carry forty books around the
mall, even if they are pocket-sized. I wonder if Dan would mind if we took them
back to the car. No, he won’t. He can’t. If he does, it’s over.
Has
it started yet?
I love the scent of a freshly opened
book, and after smelling the pages I place them in a basket, forty-four total,
then head for the cashier. This is like finding a pot of gold at the end of the
rainbow. Classic cheesy romance novels that I can laugh my ass off to, and I
know I just know - these books are full of throbbing members.
My favorite is
The Three Buck Naked and Depraved Horseman
. I’m reading that one
first, tonight.
Dan shakes his head with a grin as he
eyes my two large bags. “You didn’t follow the rules. Three books. How am I
going to find the time to read all of these?”
“Huh?”
“Here,” he hands over his bag and takes
mine. “That’s the game. Keep the bags closed and we can open them when we’re
alone. I’m eager to read what you picked out.”
Nooo! I want to take my books home with
me. Goddammit, J.D. Keller, what the fuck? I got so excited about my find that
I forgot there was a plan to his book stop.
“Don’t look disappointed, we’ll exchange
them again once we’re finished reading. Trust me, it will give us a lot to talk
about on future dates.”
“That’s so unfair. You knew when you were
picking out your books that I’d see them, but I didn’t.” He’s gonna think I’m
nuts, if he doesn’t already.
“I don’t play fair and I have a feeling
you don’t either.”
“You outfoxed me,” I whine. I can’t
believe I let my guard down.
“Would you have bought the same ones?” he
asks.
“No, of course not... well, maybe. Yeah.
Yeah, I would’ve. Let me take one home. Just one.”
“When I drop you off you can slip one
out, but just one.”
“I don’t want to slip one out, I’d rather
have something slip in.” Oh, Violet. I thought I left you at home.
“And that line, right there, is one of
the reasons I’m starting to fall for you,” he grins. “We share a sexual banter
that most women wouldn’t like. I like to have a good time, Div. I’m not one of
those broken men with a dark past or a bad ass biker who’s gonna fulfill some
woman’s fantasy of being kidnapped, fought over, and rescued. I’m a loyal guy
who works hard, plays hard,” he looks around and pulls me closer. “And who
likes to fuck hard. And I’ll make sure you feel worshiped and adored in the
process. I’m not some cold-hearted scum who only cares about myself. You good
with that?”
I smile and can feel him knocking at the
door to my heart. I’m good with that.
“So, why are you single?” I ask as we
continue to roam.
“Why are you?”
“Time,” I shrug. “I’m tenure-tracking and
I’ve been writing a lot, so it’s like working two full-time jobs. I’m also a
bit of a recluse so it’s not very often that I come across a guy who seems
approachable. I mean, how do you meet someone when you’re always home?”
“You slip a note under his door,” he
grins. “But, I understand what you’re saying, the working and writing part at
least. It’s also hard to find a date in a small university town. Seems
everyone’s between eighteen and twenty-one, and I don’t want to be one of those
townie creeps who hangs out on campus and goes after the college girls until
he’s forty. You know the type. Plus, my last girlfriend took me for a ride. She
stole half my savings and disappeared. I wanted some time alone after that.”
“Really?”
“Unfortunately,” he nods. “She asked for
a loan to put a down payment on a house, but instead she took the money and
ran.”
“How long were the two of you together?
Did you call the police? Have you heard from her at all? What the fuck? I
thought you said you weren’t one of those broken men?”
He laughs. I can’t believe he’s laughing,
what a shit-ass thing for a woman to do. I wonder if her name is Margaret Cole.
“She didn’t break me. It was a bad
decision I made, but I can’t dwell on it or punish other women because of her.
She’s a bitch and I’ll leave it at that.”
Smart. I’d dwell. I’m a dweller.
“It will be a year this summer.”
I nod. My voyeuristic pursuits through
his bedroom window started three months ago. He’s always alone. “And that was
your last girlfriend?”