Page 32 of The Naughty Professor
Dinner with Joan Stanwyk.Stella’s at nine.I could already smell the oregano and lemon, hear the murmur of money and the soft clink of glassware, see the way the host would clock Joan’s hair and blazer and decide we belonged to the right kind of table.
I exhaled and tried to rub the knot out of my neck.
Joan wasn’t a villain.That would’ve been easier.She was smart, relentless, and lacquered in a sheen of civility that never smudged.She made compliments feel like grades, and conversation like a panel interview.She didn’t flirt so much as project outcome: here is where we’re going, Thorne, and here is how well you will look beside me.
I’d told myself tonight was about mercy: stop letting this charade drag on; tell the truth; be done with it.I’d rehearsed what I was going to say—gently at first, then bluntly.I miss men.I want a man.I’m gay, Joan.I have always been.I am not the man for you.
Even in my head she smiled through it, then promptly ignored what I’d said.
I buttoned the shirt halfway and looked again.The mirror returned the expression I hated most on myself: a polite kind of defeat.
My phone buzzed against the dresser.Sean’s name popped up.
badlands tonight.you in?
I laughed, a short bark that surprised me.Sean and his timing.The last time he’d dragged me there I’d been miserable.
I typed back to Sean with genuine regret, because Badlands would definitely be better than dinner with Joan.
Can’t.Dinner plans.
Before I hit send, another bubble slid down from the top of the screen.A message from Joan.
So sorry, Thorne.I’m not feeling well tonight.Going to have to cancel.Hope you understand.
For two heartbeats I didn’t.Understand, I mean.Joan never cancelled.I read it again, slower, waiting for the asterisk that meant “reschedule tomorrow.”
Nothing.
“Thank fucking God!”
I laughed.Loud, ridiculous laughter that shook my ribs.I pumped a fist in the air like I’d scored a touchdown in an empty stadium and did a stupid little spin on the rug because there was no one there to see.
I typed a message back to her, grateful she couldn’t see how happy I was.
Of course.Hope you feel better soon.
I did hope she felt better.I also hoped she found someone who wanted what she wanted.Like, a straight guy.We would both be happier once she stopped mistaking my politeness for potential.
I set the phone down and sat on the bed, wondering what I could do now that I was free.I could put on sweats, and maybe heat up a frozen pizza.Grade papers.I pictured the stack of essays on my desk like small, square gravestones and sighed.
The phone buzzed again, another message from Sean.
if you don’t get your ass out tonight, your dick’s gonna shrivel up and fall off.that’s what happens when you never use it.
I groaned into the heel of my hand and smiled in spite of myself.What if I went?I could hear Sean’s voice in my head: “You don’t have to marry anyone tonight.You just have to remember you’re not dead.”
I looked at the mirror again and caught a different version of myself flickering there—the one I remembered from before everything fell apart.Four years had passed since the divorce and I’d survived.Survival counted.But survival also had a ceiling.Eventually, I had to get on with my life.
I texted Sean before I could talk myself down.
Fine.I’ll meet you there.
ChapterTwelve
Jax
The doors to Badlands swung open and a wash of heat hit me—sweat, cologne, the heavy thrum of bass that pounded right into my bones.Men’s laughter, the scrape of boots on the floor, the crash of glasses at the bar.It was chaos mingled with sex, and it was exactly where I belonged.
