Page 15 of Not So Goode

“Yep. Gold sequin miniskirt so short the bottom of my ass cheeks hung out, a see-through gauzy white half-shirt. Like, nothing under it. Tits totally visible. It was fun, actually. Guys would all but shit themselves trying to get a better look.”

“Oh my god, Lexie.”

“Yeah.”

“And how did Mr. Professor respond to the outfit?”

“He gave me his jacket. And I thought then that it was just because I was cold. Later, I realized it was his attempt to keep himself from wanting me.”

“Did it work?”

“Nope. Well, in that moment, yes. Later, not so much.” A pause. “He took me home, back to the dorms. Total gentleman.”

“So…”

“So get to the juicy part?”

I sighed. “It’s not gossip to me, Lex, it’s your life.” A slight smirk. “But yeah.”

“Well, he had my phone number. So we started texting. A lot.”

“You knew he was married?”

She frowned down at her coffee. “Yes. I can’t excuse it. I knew then I shouldn’t be texting a married man. But mostly, it was just innocent stuff. Just talking. But still, I was a twenty-year-old college student, and he was a professor. It wasn’t appropriate. Knew it then, know it now, and I’m not going to pretend otherwise. But he was funny. He made me feel good. I looked forward to every text he sent me, and spent a lot of time perfecting my responses…or I’d fire off whatever I was thinking without filtering it.”

“Sounds dangerous.”

“Yeah.” Her fingertip traced circles on the table. “Then, one night, I got tipsy and started drunk-texting him.”

“Ohhh dear.”

“Oh dear, especially because he was drunk too. Admitted it. His wife was out of town for the week with their kids—we’d just finished finals, and he was buried in grading, so I guess she always took the kids to her sister’s for the week of finals grading. Gave him time to grade without interruption, and then some time to unwind, and then he’d meet up with them—they lived in the Poconos, I guess.”

“And here it is.”

“Yep. Drunk Lex, drunk professor home alone for a week with nothing to do but grade papers.” She sighed, long and bitter. “I have no memory of it, but I went to his house. How I knew where he lived I still am not entirely sure. But I was drunk and horny, and so was he. He let me in, and we got even drunker, together. Important note, I walked to his house, by the way. I never drove under the influence.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Well at least there’s that?”

“So, anyway. He cooked food. We kept drinking. Grading papers. Talking. His sweater came off, and then my shoes. His button-down, my cardigan. I mean, it was just sohotin that house, you know?”

“Ohhh, Lexie.”

“I ended up naked, dancing in his living room to Miles Davis.” She closed her eyes, and it was obvious this memory was…bittersweet. “He touched me first. Granted, I was dancing to get his attention, and it worked. But he grabbed me, and kissed me, and…Charlie, it was…fuck. The kiss of a man his age, who knew what he was doing? Fucking amazing.”

“I bet,” I managed.

“And he could use that mouth for a fuckuva lot more than just kissing. Oh god, so good.”

“Lex, I don’t need the details.”

“Yes, you do.” She squeezed her eyes shut. Kept going. “We didn’t leave that house for four days. We fuckedso many times. On the couch, on the kitchen counter, on the dining room table, on the floor, on his desk—apparently that was his big fantasy, bending me over his desk in his study.”

I blushed. “Lex, come on.”

She just laughed, poking at me. “You come on, you silly prude. Have you never made a man’s fantasy come true? There’s nothing in the world like it.”

I thought about Glen—practical, considerate, and knew one sex position: missionary, in bed. Had I ever done it any other way, any other place, except with Glen, in a bed, missionary? I didn’t think so.