24. Down Bad
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
down bad
ROMAN
Déjà Brew is the most popular place to go near campus aside from The Hi-Dive. Two business grads decided to open it up last year and they make a killing selling overpriced lavender oat milk lattes to their peers. It’s cozy, with minimalist decor, the interior has dark red brick walls, and the place always smells like freshly brewed coffee and pastries. It kind of reminds me of a coffee shop you’d find in Brooklyn.
The place is packed this morning, with students crowding around tables, madly typing away on their laptops and scrolling through their phones. There’s even a little shop cat named Butterball who’s currently passed out on top of one of the bookshelves.
But the thing I’m the most interested in is sitting all alone out front, her computer on a little cafe table and a pair of giant headphones on her head. She’s managed to tuck herself into a somewhat secluded spot at the edge of the seating area, but I’d recognize that hair anywhere.
I do my best to ignore her for now, making my way toward the front counter and ordering a black coffee along with something called a cronut. The name makes me frown, but it’s the only pastry in the display that looks even half-palatable.
And then there’s the unfortunate fact that it’s ten goddamn dollars.
I take my overpriced treat and settle in at a table by the front window, with a great view of Imogen. Her long tattooed legs look so striking stretched out in front of her, and even her hair is shimmering, more luminous than usual in the morning sun.
I distract myself by biting into the pastry, hoping to keep from looking desperate as she glances in at me with a little smile. It’s delicious, crispy and flaky without being too heavy. There’s even a sugary sour cream glaze on top that allows the entire thing to melt on my tongue.
“Son of a bitch...”
I shove a whole half of it into my mouth, washing it down with a big gulp of perfectly bitter black coffee. It’s even better than the stuff I make in my Keurig, and ends up costing about the same. I guess if I’m going to spend $15 on coffee and a donut, it makes sense to get my money’s worth.
Imogen’s head is still partially turned toward me, and I can tell she’s trying to get a glimpse. Even now, just casually relaxing in the cafe, I feel like I’m doing something I shouldn’t be. I guess that’s part of the game. It’s exciting— so exciting, in fact, that it’s hard to keep my mind from wandering back to the feeling of her mouth around my cock.
I’m about to reach into my pocket to press the button on the little remote, but I catch myself just in time to stop when I see Frankie strolling up to me.
“Roman? What the hell are you doing here?” He asks, looking sincerely baffled.
I chuckle, taking in the surroundings.
“Am I not allowed?”
He grins and arches a brow, his curly golden hair looking like a halo around his head before he twists his face up in mock frustration.
“I distinctly remember you saying, and I quote, why would I spend 20 bucks at a coffee shop when I have a perfectly good Keurig in my office ?”
“You do a horrible impression of me.”
“Logan thinks it’s great.”
It’s actually pretty great.
“He would, wouldn’t he?” I say, leaning back in my chair. “Well, I’ve decided I’m turning over a new leaf this year. Going out more. Just like you two razzed me about.”
“It’s that new girlfriend, isn’t it?”
“She’s not a girlfriend,” I remind him. “And it’s really none of your business.”
“You’re practically glowing, my friend.”
“It's the stress of being around you,” I reply flatly. “Makes me sweat.”
My eyes dart back to Imogen for just a moment, finding her head buried in her book, both hands in a position that I call The Graduate Student . It’s a lot like that famous sculpture The Thinker , but if you look at the finer details, there always tends to be more tears and hair pulling. At the very least, she looks like she could use some stress relief.
I reach into my pocket and wrap my fingers around the remote, just as Frankie slides into the seat across from me.
“Well, it just so happens you’re the man I’ve been looking for this morning.”
“Fancy that. Am I in trouble again?” I click the button, watching her out of the corner of my eye as she sits up a little straighter.
“Nope,” Frankie replies. “ But I have an opportunity I want you to consider.”
Imogen adjusts her position, shifting her laptop and crossing one leg over the other.
“Roman, are you listening?”
I’m pretending to look out the window at the fallen autumn foliage that’s made the ground look like a sea of intense reds and golds. It’s pretty, but she’s prettier.
“Yeah.” My eyes flick back to him. “What’s the opportunity?”
“There’s a big conference in Aspen. A whole weekend, all expenses paid by the department.”
“Wow, you’re really going all out.”
“My buddy Glen’s got connections at Oxford University Press, and he’s looking for academics with research that’s off the beaten path.”
“Grief and stigma aren’t exactly unique,” I chuckle as I quickly glance over at Imogen. She’s hunched over her laptop, looking like she’s about to fall apart.
“But the way that you approach it, theory-wise, is . Dramaturgy and identity management? That’s?—”
“Just Goffman.”
I hit the button again, raising the intensity just as Frankie leans sideways, cutting into my field of view.
“What are you looking at?”
“I saw a rabbit. Outside.”
It’s not a particularly wild lie, and luckily Frankie seems to accept it, just shaking his head as he lets out an exasperated sigh.
“Look, man. The department had a meeting and there’s a list of professors that they want to put pressure on to publish this year. You’re one of them. When was the last time you put out a paper?”
I press and hold the button to turn the vibrator off for a bit, opting to give her a short break.
“About two years ago.”
Imogen’s body relaxes and she takes the opportunity to cool herself down. Even from inside the coffee shop, I can see her bright red cheeks and her hot heavy breath in the crisp autumn air.
“You know that’s how you stay employed.”
I run a hand through my hair while keeping my other wrapped firmly around the remote. The pressure to publish, teach, mentor, attend conferences, and sit in on thesis defenses is insane. Frankly, I don’t know how any of us keep up with it.
Logan and Abi can pump out papers like crazy, but they’re still pretty young and inspired. You can still see the passion in their eyes when they talk about academia. Some days I don’t know if I have anything left. After almost 20 years, I’ve been sucked dry.
“There just aren’t enough hours in the day.” I shake my head. “And it’s not like this job encourages a reasonable work life balance. How many of us have our goddamn emails on our phones?”
Frankie leans forward, his face awash with compassion. He hates having to give these talks, and I don’t blame him. Publish or perish is pretty much the motto if you want to keep your job.
“Look, man. This conference might be a good way for you to network, okay? EBU prides itself on its active academics, not dinosaurs who sit around still trying to pitch shit they wrote 30 years ago.”
Frankie taps the table gently.
“Logan’s going, Abi’s going, and I’m planning to ask some students to submit papers as well.”
“What about you?” I ask, clicking the remote back to medium.
“Got my cousin’s wedding to go to that weekend, all the way out in Florida.”
I shift in my seat, gazing back out the window while trying to keep my eyes from lingering for too long. She’s still got one leg crossed over the other, staring intently at her laptop. Every few seconds, she adjusts her position, fidgeting to make it look like she’s slightly uncomfortable, but I know the truth. I want to text her and ask her what payback feels like, but I think it might tip Frankie off.
“So?” Frankie asks. “Aspen?”
“When is it?”
“Late November, so no excuses.”
“You mean aside from grading, drowning in papers, and students having nervous breakdowns during finals?”
Frankie shrugs.
“They’re actually not called nervous breakdowns anymore. They’re called mental health crises.” He clicks his tongue. “Gotta get up to speed, old man.”
“I’ll work on that.” I take a deep breath, deciding to appease him because I know my job could be on the line. “I’ll apply.”
“Great. Proposals are due next week.” He checks his watch, getting to his feet with a groan. “And I’m officially fucking late.”
“Not a good look, doctor.”
“Get fucked, doctor ,” he laughs, turning around and heading for the door.
I watch him waltz toward the path before he spots Imogen, waving as he heads right for her.
“Shit.”
Quickly, I pull the remote out of my pocket and make triple sure I’ve turned it off. The collar of my shirt feels too tight all of a sudden, but from here at least, Imogen seems totally fine. In fact, she’s all smiles as Frankie stands in front of her. I guzzle the rest of my coffee and grab my phone to distract myself, finding two missed text messages.
IMOGEN: What do you think you’re doing, cowboy?
IMOGEN: You like to play dirty, huh?
I glance back up to see the two of them still in casual conversation, but Frankie quickly slides his phone into his pocket, gesturing toward campus before heading back down the path. Once he’s gone, Imogen turns her attention back to me, her eyes steely. She closes her laptop and slides it into her backpack before standing up and shrugging her jacket over her shoulders.
At first, I think she’s going to leave me high and dry, but to my surprise she saunters right into the café and makes a beeline for me. My throat becomes a desert as she approaches, and I scan the shop to make sure nobody’s looking at us. The baristas are all busy filling orders and everyone else is engrossed in their own little worlds.
“Dr. Burke, could I have a word with you?”
“Have a seat.”
I smirk and click the button on the remote just to watch her jaw tick. Her eyes are piercing, but this is way too much fun. I never really thought I had a competitive side but it turns out, when the reward is watching a gorgeous woman on the brink of a climax, I can be pretty ruthless.
“I was thinking we could go someplace more private.”
I lean over, my body pulsing with adrenaline. I have no idea what I’m doing so I just let instinct take over.
“And I said sit ,” I growl.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” She hisses, sliding into her seat.
I turn the vibrator up another couple steps and savor the sight.
“Just enjoying my coffee.” I grin. “You’re pretty when you blush, darlin’.”
“I’m gonna?—”
“You’re gonna what?” I tilt my head playfully. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”
Her entire body tenses and she struggles to control her breathing as someone walks by. Luckily for her they’re so focused on their phone that they don’t even notice.
God bless technology.
“So, how’s the grading coming along?” I ask with a smirk. “Anything giving you trouble?”
“You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” She fires back, holding her voice steady.
“Of course I am, it’s a game. Don’t you enjoy playing games?”
Her eyes close for a moment, a smile flickering across her face. I think I’ve been doing okay, but this could go south at any moment.
“I bet you’re soaked through those slutty little panties. I bet you’re so wet I could just bend you over this table and fuck you without even warming you up first.”
I turn the vibrator off, grab my coffee, and get to my feet.
“Stick around after class this afternoon. I need to give you the rubric for the midterm.”
Her body slumps with a mix of relief and disappointment as I head out the door, casually waving at her with the remote before sliding it back into my pocket.
I think I won that round.