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There it is. He’s just as dick drunk as I am. An admission straight from the neutral mouth of Mr. Poker Face himself.
“I have to tell you something first. Promise me, you’ll hear me out.”
My brow aches to fly. A preamble like that is an allegory in itself. So many rabbit holes for this to wind down. “Okay…”
“Okay is too generic. I need a ‘yes, Jay, I’ll wait until you finish before I interrupt.’”
Is this fucker for real? He wants to chide me like a toddler, when I’m twenty months his senior?
“Promise me.”
“Fine, fucker. I promise.”
He blows out a long breath, adjusting his position behind the desk. There are two and a half feet of solid mahogany between us. Is that on purpose?
“I was at the Moose and Goose on Friday night. Went to see a band and blow off the week before school started again…”
Ah, yes. When I arrived, he mentioned his fingers in the pussy of some chick. I wasn’t paying attention. I am now. “And…”
“I ran into someone. We got talking, and I took her back to my place after a mishap with a spilled drink. Anyway, we got it on all fucking night. She has this incredible energy and I couldn’t get enough.”
He looks almost… apologetic. Wait a minute. “Do I know this person?”
“Yes.”
“She’s Wyldan U?”
“Yes.”
“Someone new you haven’t fucked before. Faculty or student?”
He coughs, the action reddening his skin further. “Student,” he croaks out.
“Okay.” His secret is safe with me. Who am I going to tell? The Dean? Hardly.
“Eli, this is something we talked about, and I know we didn’t quite plan it out like this, but it just happened, you know. She was up for it, and I couldn’t control myself.”
All the blood drains from my body. No way, he couldn’t have. “You didn’t.”
His nod borders on imperceptible. “I did. Many times.”
“You fucking asshole,” I roar, standing. Bile roils like smoke curling along my esophagus. That smarmy fucking bastard. “How many times?” I need to know. Whether to torture myself more because I’m a morbid, delusional prick who hates to lose, or whether the penance is welcome.
“Three, four, maybe? And oral.”
“Fuck.” My balled fists slams into nothing.
“She’s out of this world.”
I can imagine. “No one saw you leave with her, or her leave your place the next day?”
“No. I don’t think so. We didn’t leave the bar until after eleven. You know how it is by then; everyone is off their faces drunk, stoned, or both. And leave my place? She was gone before I woke up, so I’m tipping she left when it was still dark.”
That nugget of information improves my mood. Maybe she left because she was unsatisfied. But three or four times, and oral? They must have fucked like teens, and Aspen left the minute Jackson fell asleep. A man approaching middle age needs his rest after a sex marathon, I should know. Only I don’t know because I spend my time fucking my fist in the shower. This new information cements my course of action. “I’m participating in the Larch. And I’m going to hunt her down. I won’t stop until she begs me to.”
Chapter Seven
Aspen
