Page 22 of The Naughty Professor

Chapter Twenty

Jax

Felix’s car sounded like a dying lawn mower. Scratch that—like a dying lawn mower being choked by a poltergeist.

I slammed the steering wheel as it gave another high-pitched whine.

“I swear, Junie, this thing’s one good pothole away from spontaneous combustion.

When I’m done performing tonight, remind me to trade this piece of shit in for an actual car.

Maybe something with doors that aren’t held together by Jesus and superglue. ”

Juniper sat in the passenger seat, her black lipstick pursed, her eyes on the window instead of me. She hadn’t said a word in at least five minutes, which for her was basically a medical emergency.

“You alive over there, cupcake?” I asked, swerving around a speed bump like it personally offended me.

She blinked. “Fine. Everything’s fine.”

“Fine,” I repeated, mocking her tone. “Oh good. I was worried my favorite goth was suddenly replaced by a hostage. What’s with the quiet? You usually never shut up.”

She gave me a weird little half-smile. “Just thinking.”

“About what?” I grinned. “How blessed you are to be seen with a star?”

She rolled her eyes. “Something like that.”

The sound of her voice made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

Too calm. Too… civil. That wasn’t Juniper.

Juniper was chaos in eyeliner form. But I wasn’t about to let her mood ruin my night.

Badlands was waiting, and after last night’s performance, I had fans to entertain, egos to inflate, and men to play with.

By the time we pulled into the parking lot, the thump of bass from the club was already shaking the cracked asphalt.

A line wrapped around the building. Neon lights flashed, rainbow strobes spilling over a crowd of boys in mesh shirts, drag queens in sequins, and what looked suspiciously like a gaggle of college kids holding phones like they were about to film the second coming.

“Holy shit,” I said, leaning out the window. “Is that—?”

Juniper followed my gaze. “Half of VCU, apparently.”

I laughed. “Guess the word got out. Don’t tell me you’re surprised. Who wouldn’t want a repeat performance of this?” I gestured to myself with a little flourish.

“Modesty doesn’t suit you,” she muttered, climbing out of the car.

“Neither does polyester, but Felix’s wardrobe didn’t leave me much choice,” I shot back, slamming the door. The muffler gave one last death rattle, like it was begging for mercy. “Seriously, this thing belongs in a museum exhibit called How Not to Engineer a Vehicle.”

We made our way to the entrance, cutting past a group of college kids giggling and whispering. A few of them stopped mid-sentence when they saw me. One girl with purple hair gasped. “Oh, my God, Dr. Sterling?”

The way she said it—half awe, half disbelief—made me grin. “Dr. Sterling’s dead, baby. I’m Jax.”

Her jaw dropped. “You mean—like—?”

“Like the one and only.” I winked. “Felix is a sweet little nerd who likes lab coats and existential dread. I’m the upgrade.”

They squealed, shoving each other and holding up their phones. One guy started chanting, “Jax! Jax! Jax!” and soon the whole damn line joined in. I threw my arms wide like a queer preacher on Pride Sunday.

Juniper muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “Oh God, it’s starting.”

Before I could soak up more adoration, a burly security guard pushed through the crowd. “Mr. Jax,” he said, all business, “you’re needed backstage.”

“Of course I am,” I purred. “The show can’t start without its star.”

The kids tried to follow, still snapping photos, but the guard turned and snarled—literally snarled. The crowd scattered like pigeons in a park.

“Whoa,” I said, clapping the guy on the shoulder. “Love the energy, but take it down a notch. You’re scaring the twinks.”

“House rules,” he grunted.

“Relax. This one’s with me.” I nodded toward Juniper. “She’s my assistant.”

The guard gave her a once-over. She lifted her chin, looking like a gothic doll who’d rather die than be impressed. He shrugged and led us through the crowd, parting people like a walking refrigerator in a black polo.

As we moved deeper into the club, people called my name. “We love you, Jax!” “You’re a god!” “Take it all off again!”

I blew kisses, waved, winked. The attention was like champagne bubbles—effervescent and addictive. Juniper stayed behind me, head down, silent. Every time I looked back, she had that same weird expression—like she was seeing a ghost, or maybe watching a car crash she couldn’t stop.

“Juniper, what’s with the funeral face?” I asked over the music. “This is supposed to be fun!”

“Just… thinking,” she said again.

“If you think any harder, your brain’s gonna melt.”

The guard opened the VIP gate, and suddenly we were in a quieter section of the club, up near the stage.

Spotlights flared. The place was packed—students, drag performers, a few people I actually recognized from faculty meetings (awkward).

And right in front of the stage, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else, sat Professor Thorne Carr.

My grin widened. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite philosopher.”

Before anyone could stop me, I jogged over and plopped myself right into his lap. He stiffened—physically and emotionally—and the room erupted into delighted laughter and a few “oooohs.”

“Hey there, handsome,” I purred, looping an arm around his neck. “Miss me?”

Thorne blinked, his glasses catching the light. “Jax?” His voice was rough, uncertain. “You… you’re Felix, aren’t you?”

“Do I look like Felix right now?” I leaned closer. “Do you see any anxiety? Any cardigan? Didn’t think so.”

“I’m—uh—trying to understand what’s happening,” he said, still holding perfectly still while I lounged across him like a cat. “Normally, you can barely make eye contact with me. Now you’re…” He gestured vaguely. “This.”

“This,” I said with a grin, “is evolution, baby.”

Before he could reply, a perfume cloud hit us—something floral, expensive, and weaponized. I didn’t even have to look to know who it was.

“Dr. Carr,” Joan Stanwyk cooed, sauntering over in a micro-mini dress that screamed “midlife crisis, but make it fashion.” Her hair was so blonde now it glowed under the lights. She planted a manicured hand on Thorne’s shoulder. “Don’t hog the entertainment.”

I turned, giving her a slow, appreciative once-over. “Joan, sweetie, you look like a delicious bad decision.”

Her laugh was a high-pitched trill. “You have no idea.”

“Oh, I think I do,” I said, flashing her a grin. “But I’ve got a show to do. Maybe later, huh?”

The crowd loved that. Laughter, whistles, a couple of people chanting my name again. I stood, tossed my hair, and winked at Thorne. “Don’t go anywhere, professor. I’ve got something special planned for you after the show.”

He looked at me with a mix of amusement and bewilderment that was honestly adorable. I could get lost in that confusion. But the stage called, and Jax never left his audience waiting.

I strutted toward the back hallway, the bass thrumming through the floor, feeling invincible. When I opened the door to the dressing room, I froze.

Juniper stood in front of the makeup mirror, syringe in hand, a vial of shimmering blue serum beside her.

“What the hell are you doing?” I demanded, stepping forward.

She didn’t even flinch. “What does it look like?”

“It looks like you’re about to juice up on my special sauce!” I tried to grab the syringe from her hand, but she wouldn’t let me take it. “This isn’t a party favor, Juniper. You don’t even know what it’ll do to you!”

Her eyes gleamed under the fluorescent lights. “I’ve seen what it does to you. You went from invisible Felix to sex god Jax in a matter of minutes. You think I’m gonna pass that up?”

“Sweetheart,” I said, lowering my voice, “confidence doesn’t come from a needle. It comes from being me.” I smirked. “And I don’t share.”

Before she could respond, the door swung open so hard it banged against the wall.

“Well hellooooo, darlings!” A six-foot tower of rhinestones and wig strutted into the room, heels clicking like gunfire. “Sorry I’m late. Traffic was murder, and my lashes are heavier than my sins.”

I blinked. “And you are?”

The queen struck a pose so fierce it could’ve cracked the mirror. “The name’s Velvetina Jackson, sweetheart. I’ve got a velvet touch with a poisonous bite. I’m your opening act.”

She clocked the syringe in Juniper’s hand, and her perfectly painted mouth dropped open into a glossy O. “What in RuPaul’s rejected storyline is going on here?”

Juniper froze, caught like a goth raccoon in the spotlight. “It’s not what it looks like,” she blurted.

“Girl, it looks like heroin chic met Wednesday Addams,” Velvetina gasped, clutching her sequined chest.

“Back off, sparkles,” Juniper snapped, her voice trembling. “You don’t understand.”

“Trust me, honey,” Velvetina said, fanning herself with a feather boa, “I understand drama. But that—” she pointed at the syringe — “that’s giving off Breaking Bad: The Musical vibes.”

Juniper’s eyes went wild. “You’ll all see,” she muttered, almost to herself. “You’ll all finally see the real me.”

“Juniper, don’t—” I started, lunging forward.

Too late. She jabbed the syringe into her thigh and pressed the plunger down.

Velvetina let out a shriek worthy of a horror movie. “SWEET JESUS AND BEYONCé!” She tottered backward, one hand flailing for balance, the other clutching her boob — and then collapsed like a felled oak, landing in a heap of sequins and tulle.

Juniper’s pupils expanded, and her mouth opened in a silent gasp as the empty syringe clattered to the floor. “Oh,” she whispered, voice barely there. “That burns—”

She crumpled next to Velvetina, her head thunking softly against the vanity on her way down.

I stared. Two bodies, one queen, one assistant, both down for the count.

“Well,” I said finally, “this escalated quickly.”

For a second, I actually considered calling for help. Then I heard the roar of the crowd outside — hundreds of people chanting my name.

“JAX! JAX! JAX!”

Right. The show.

I glanced down at Juniper, then at Velvetina’s sprawled legs sticking out like a sparkly crime scene. “I’ll… check on you in ten minutes,” I muttered. “Maybe twenty if there’s an encore.”

The dressing room mirror caught my reflection, and damn. Even in crisis lighting, I looked incredible. The lab coat was a cute gimmick, but it screamed chem teacher, not sex icon. I needed… flair.

Rummaging through the coat’s pocket, my fingers brushed against something silky. I pulled it out and grinned. A shimmery gold thong.

“Oh, Felix,” I said aloud, “you secret freak.”

Without hesitation, I stripped off the lab coat, peeled off the world’s ugliest tighty-whities, and kicked Felix’s hideous loafers across the room.

I stepped into the thong. It hugged me like a lover who knew all my secrets. The gold shimmered under the fluorescent light, catching every contour, and every sinful curve.

“Now that’s chemistry,” I said, admiring myself in the mirror.

From the counter, a jar of body glitter winked at me.

“Well, who am I to say no to destiny?”

I scooped up a handful and tossed it high, letting the shimmer rain down over my shoulders, chest, and thighs.

The mirror reflected a star.

Outside, the bass changed — a pulsing, sultry beat. A voice echoed through the speakers:

“Ladies, gentlemen, and gentle-thems… give it up for the stunning, the sensational, the sultry temptress herself… Velvetina Jackson!”

I glanced down at the floor. Velvetina was still out cold, one false eyelash dangling off her cheek like a flag of surrender.

I sighed. “Guess that’s my cue.”

I strutted to the door, hips swaying, glitter trailing behind me like fairy dust from a scandalous Tinker Bell.

I paused with my hand on the knob, glanced back one last time at the chaos — the unconscious queen, the unconscious assistant, the serum vial glowing faintly blue on the counter.

“Showbiz, huh?” I said with a smirk. “She’s a cruel mistress.”

Then I stepped into the hallway, the lights flaring bright as the announcer’s voice shifted:

“Where’s Velvet… Hey folks! It’s the moment you’ve all been waiting for. The star of the night. The man who broke the internet… JAX!”

The crowd screamed.

I threw my arms open wide, grinned like sin itself, and murmured to myself, “The show must go on.”