“What?”
“Yeah. This story is so fucked-up, Mel. I swear, part of me wanted to get the hell out of there last night, but I didn’t.”
“Do you know why she was there?”
I smiled and bit my lips together before replying. “Well, see, I was told to stay in the office so he could see who it was. But he was gone for so long and I’d heard him yell, so I might have went to eavesdrop.”
Mel laughed. “And what did you find out.” She was completely enthralled.
Pushing my sandwich aside, I dove into the story. “Well, apparently Mason’s been sleeping with Rachel, and she was there to tell him he was the father of her baby.”
Mel gasped and I laughed.
“I know, but hold on. It’s like a fucking soap opera. So then, Mason basically laughs at her because he had a vasectomy years ago and can’t have kids. And apparently John can’t have kids, either.”
“So, was she lying?”
I shook my head. “She had an affair with Donicko and got pregnant.”
Mel had her sandwich halfway to her mouth but stopped and stared at me before lowering it to the table. She looked dejected as she wiped at her mouth and took a drink of water.
“Are you sure you heard them right?”
I regarded her suspiciously and nodded. “Oh, it was pretty clear. I didn’t stay for the rest of the conversation, but she definitely said he was the daddy. Mason practically forced it out of her.”
She let out a sigh and tossed her napkin on the table before standing up.
“Well, there goes that.”
Confusion was clearly evident on my face.
“There goes what?”
She let out another sigh and rubbed a hand over her forehead. “We’ve been together a few times.”
If I’d had water in my mouth, I’d have spewed it all over the floor.
“Eww, Mel. God, does he have a hoard of woman playing ‘ring around the dick’ or something? He’s, like, older than Dad, Mel. That’s so gross.”
“Eww, no, he’s not. Don’t even make that comparison.”
“Mel, he’d have to be in his late fifties or something. Yeah, he’s a good-looking older guy, but, eh, how could you go there?”
She laughed. “He’s a really sweet guy and man, he’s got this power and dominant thing going on. He’s a turn-on. And when he’s got it aimed at you, it’s hard to resist.”
I tried to hide my lip curling up in disgust, but I didn’t think I was doing a good job.
“Well, try harder from now on, will ya?”
We both laughed.
“I’m going to be looking at you in a completely different way now. Gross.”
“Oh, shut up. You’re screwing your professor. What’s the difference?”
“Um, hello? Mason is way younger and hotter.”
“Whatever.”
We chatted and finished our lunch, but things began to get hectic with her phone continuously ringing, so instead of staying around to bug her, I decided to leave. I grabbed my things and gave her a hug before heading out.
I needed to get home anyway to go over everything we’d discussed in class. Since the substitute had no idea what he was actually teaching, it was up to me to make sure I knew the proper material.
After grabbing a cab and getting back to the apartment, I plopped down on the couch and rested my head. I closed my eyes and let my mind drift to Mason and the way he’d played my body the night before.
I began to wonder if he’d ever let a woman take control. Probably not. I’d learned a lot from him with the few questions I’d asked him. He’d probably always had sex with some type of blindfold in order to keep his scars hidden, so a woman wouldn’t be able to be in control. He was always the enforcer.
I wondered what he’d do if I tried to take over. I didn’t think he’d push me away, but I wasn’t sure he’d be willing to try, either. But there was only one way to find out.
Grabbing my phone, I pulled up Mason’s number and sent him a text.
Me: You busy tonight?
I reached into my bag, pulled my books out, and set them on the table just as my phone chimed with a text.
Mason: Yes
I sat back on the couch and stared at his reply. I knew I wasn’t the only woman in the world who hated to receive short, vague answers. This ‘yes’ could mean so many different things. Yes, he was busy working. Yes, he was busy with his friends. Yes, he was busy fucking another woman. Why does the mind have to work in overdrive at these kinds of responses, and why do men have to be so damn vague?
Me: Oh, okay. Never mind.
What else could I respond with after a one-word reply? Ugh.
Grabbing my notebook off the table, I flipped it open to the lesson notes I needed to go over.