Dirty Professor

“Yes, I’ve been driving home by myself for several years now,” she said and her voice sounded slurry. Had she been drinking?

“Yeah, I figured, but I just wanted to check,” I said, and took another gulp of the whiskey.

“Check what?” she asked and a giggle escaped her lips. She had definitely been drinking. I found myself smiling as well. We were both drunk.

“That you were home,” I said.

“You want to come to my home?” she asked and I resisted the urge to agree.

“I would have if you weren’t drunk,” I said.

“Always the knight in shining armor,” she said and then we both fell into silence. I’d never seen or heard Beverley drunk before. In college, we all figured that she was a teetotaler, which suited her otherwise serious image as well.

“What are you drinking?” I asked her, after we’d been silent for a few minutes.

“Some whiskey. I got it as a gift. I don’t usually drink,” she said, sounding groggy again. Every time she felt silent, I wondered if she had fallen asleep.

“What are you drinking?” she asked me and I laughed.

“Whiskey too. I didn’t get it as a gift though, and I drink it quite often,” I replied.

“Figures. You seem like a whiskey kinda man,” she said.

“I didn’t drink any whiskey in college though,” I said and Beverley was laughing.

“Of course not. It was beer-pong and body shots for you then,” she said and I fell silent. I didn’t want to discuss college with her. That was a whole different story that needed to be talked about in a sober state. I was afraid of making any confessions that I wasn’t prepared for. Beverley had started humming a tune, I smiled again. I didn’t know that she was a funny and pleasant drunk.

When we hadn’t spoken for a few moments, I decided to break the silence. As nice as it was to just sit there and listen to her breathe, I didn’t want her to just hang up either.

“I’m sorry, Beverley,” I blurted out and she started laughing.

“Because you made me come?” she asked and I sat up straighter in my couch. Drunk Beverley was much more bold than sober Beverley.

“I’m sorry if you didn’t want to,” I said.

“Who doesn’t want to have an orgasm? Orgasms are great,” she said and I couldn’t help but laugh. I’d never heard her talking this way.

“You’re right, orgasms are great,” I said.

“So why are you apologizing then?” she asked in a quieter voice.

“You were angry after that and stormed out of my house,” I said and sat back in the couch, with the phone wedged between my head and shoulder. I had started to take off my slippers and lie down on.

“Yeah. I got angry. What are you doing now?” she said and I smiled again.

“Lying on my couch. What are you doing?” I said.

“Lying on my bed,” she replied and we were quiet again.

“I’m sorry about the company, Beverley, I really am. I want to help,” I said and immediately realized that it was a wrong thing to say. I was going to spoil the moment.

“Goodnight, Grant. I hope we never

have to see each other again,” she snarled and cut the call. The voice I heard in the end was more recognizable, that was the Beverley voice I knew from college and the one she’d used when she fought with me and then left my house earlier.

I remained on the couch, hugging the cushions and cradling the phone against my ear still. This was such a high-school thing to do, but these were also high-school feelings I had for her. I wanted to hold her hand, I wanted to make her laugh. The sex was good. I wanted her body too, but I wanted to be the man who could make Beverley happy.

I figured it was just the alcohol talking. She had been drinking as well. In the morning, I’d feel better. So, I closed my eyes and tried to drift away but the only thoughts I had were of Beverley and how interesting she was.