Chapter 2: Advanced Curriculum
The smell of coffee was what woke him. That, and the unfamiliar weight of an arm draped across his chest. Tommy opened his eyes to the soft, grey light of morning filtering through sheer curtains. Brooke’s bedroom came into focus—the cream-colored comforter tangled around their legs, the vintage radio on the dresser silent now, the framed black-and-white photographs of deserts and horses on the wall.
He was on his back. Brooke was half on top of him, her head nestled in the hollow of his shoulder, one leg thrown possessively over his. Her breathing was deep and even. He didn’t move. He was afraid any shift would break the spell, that he’d wake up in his own bed with the frantic, fading ghost of a dream.
But the ache in his muscles was real. The scent of her shampoo—jasmine—mingled with the deeper, intimate smell of sex and sweat on the sheets. That was real. The faint sting on his back where her nails had dug in? Very, very real.
He lay there, cataloging the sensations, the foreign warmth of another body trusting him enough to sleep this deeply. His mind, clearing from the fog of sleep, began its analysis. Query: What happens now? Protocol undefined. Error.
As if sensing his waking anxiety, Brooke stirred. She nuzzled against his neck, a sleepy hum vibrating against his skin. Her hand slid up his chest, fingers idly tracing patterns.
“Mornin’,” she mumbled, her voice gravelly with sleep. The Texas in it was thicker in the morning.
“Hey,” he said, his own voice cracking. He cleared it. “Coffee?”
“Made a pot. Knew you’d be a thinker the second your eyes opened.” She pushed herself up on one elbow, looking down at him. Her hair was a wild, beautiful mess. She had a crease from the pillow on her cheek. She looked younger, and somehow more formidable, in the plain light of day. “Sleep okay?”
“Yeah. Really well, actually.”
“Good.” She leaned down and kissed him, a slow, lazy, tasting kiss. “You’re not a loud snorer. Points for that.” She swung her legs out of bed, completely naked and utterly unconcerned. He watched the powerful curve of her back, the swing of her breasts as she stood and stretched, a symphony of muscle and grace. She tossed a look over her shoulder, catching him staring. A smirk played on her lips. “See something you like?”
“Actually, many things.”
“Keep talking like that. See what happens." She slipped on a silky robe that hung on the back of the door, leaving it untied. “Come on. Breakfast.”
The kitchen was sunny. She poured him coffee, strong and black, just like he’d drunk it at the office party where they’d met. She scrambled eggs with cheese and peppers, the sizzle filling the comfortable silence. He sat at the island, wearing just his boxers from last night, feeling strangely domestic.
“So,” she said, sliding a plate of eggs and toast in front of him. “The post-mortem. Any questions? Concerns?”
He almost choked on his coffee. “Post-mortem? Huh?”
“A debrief. Feedback’s important.” She winked, taking a sip from her mug. “Just kidding. Mostly. I’m curious what’s going on in that head of yours.”
He pushed the eggs around his plate. “Last night… it was incredible. I just… I keep wondering why. Why you’d… invest the time on me.”
She sat on the stool next to him, their knees touching.
“I told you already. I wanted to. And you were teachable. Most guys, by my age, are hardened in their ways. Usually the wrong ones. You’re a blank slate. A really smart, really sweet blank slate.” She nudged him. “Now you. Tell me something about Tommy. The non-debrief version.”
He shrugged. “Not much to tell. Code. Comics. Sometimes science fiction movies. A failed attempt at cultivating a sourdough starter during the pandemic. It’s a very, very uninteresting portfolio.”
“Bullshit. Everyone’s interesting if you dig past the headlines. What makes you tick? Why the… what did you call it? ‘Tragically uninteresting portfolio’?”
He was quiet for a long moment, listening to the hum of her refrigerator. The truth felt like a pebble in his shoe, annoying and constant.
“I guess… I’ve always felt like I was observing the main event from the parking lot. With my nose pressed to the glass. Everything I love is… internal. Or about other people’s creations. I can build a beautiful functional backend for an app, but the idea of walking up to a woman in a bar and just… talking about random shit like the weather? It was like trying to speak a language I’d only read about. The rules never actually made sense to me. The scripts were wrong. I’d hear guys talk, watch them operate, and it just seemed either predatory or absolutely stupid. I didn’t want to be either.”
She listened, really listened, her eyes on his face. “So you opted out.”
“It was safer.”
“And lonelier.”
He met her gaze. “Yeah, you can say that.”
She finished her coffee. “You know what I did when I was your age? I was a waitress at a Hooters outside Austin. I knew how to get my tips though. Haha.I also, for a very brief and financially desperate six months, posed nude for a website. One of those websites that was kind of like Playboy.... basically softcore porn.”
Tommy’s fork froze halfway to his mouth. He blinked. She laughed at his expression.
“See? You're learning. It was a choice. I needed money for my first semester’s books at community college. The pictures are still out there, somewhere in the dark recesses of the internet. I don’t care. It was a transaction. My body, my choice. Literally.” She leaned back. “I also won a Spring Break twerking contest in South Padre. It was in the early 2000s. Two hundred bucks and a cheap trophy. My point is, life is messy. It’s waitressing and stupid decisions and dancing like no one’s watching even when everyone is. You don’t get to live it from the parking lot, Tommy. You have to get dirty.”
He tried to reconcile the image. Brooke, young and fierce, grinding on a beach for prize money. Brooke, defiant and unashamed, staring down a camera. This elegant, successful woman was forged in that chaos. It made her more real, more complex.
“I’ve never done anything like that,” he said softly. “Never taken a risk that wasn’t… calculated.”
“Maybe it’s time that you did.” She stood, taking his empty plate. “And for the record, all that ‘internal’ stuff? That’s not a bug. It’s a feature. It makes you thoughtful. It makes you a listener. The guys who are always the loudest in the room are usually covering for the fact they’ve got nothing to say.” She turned, bracing her hands on the counter behind her, the robe falling open. “You think I’d have brought a loud, cocky twenty-three-year-old back here? Please. I’d have bored myself to tears.”
He got up, drawn to her. He stood in front of her, not touching, just sharing the space. “You’re not what I expected.”
“What DID you expect?”
“I don’t know. Someone… jaded. Or cynical. Playing games.”
“Life’s too short for games. I did my time with a game-player. My ex-husband thought marriage was a strategic alliance where he got to fuck his secretary.” Her voice was flat, matter-of-fact. “I’m done with that shit. Now I do what I want. And I wanted you.” She reached out, hooking a finger in the waistband of his boxers, pulling him close. “I still want you.”
The desire was a sudden, sharp resurgence. It flooded him, burning away the morning’s introspection. He saw the same hunger reflected in her eyes, a darkening of the green, a slight parting of her lips.
He kissed her, this time with a newfound sureness. He wasn’t decoding a signal; he was answering one. His hands found the tie of her robe and pulled it loose. The silk whispered open, and he filled his hands with her, the warm weight of her breasts, the curve of her waist. He broke the kiss to trail his mouth down her throat, licking the salt from her skin.
“Here?” she breathed, her head falling back.
“Yes.”
He turned her around, gently bending her over the cool marble of the kitchen island. The cream-colored robe pooled around her elbows. The morning sun streamed across the bare skin of her back, the swell of her ass. He stepped out of his boxers, his cock already hard and aching.
He ran his hands over her hips, his thumbs tracing the crease where her thighs met her body. She was wet; he felt the slick heat when he touched her. A low groan escaped him. He positioned himself, the broad head of his cock nudging against her entrance.
“Look at you,” she murmured, glancing back over her shoulder, her cheek pressed to the marble. “No hesitation. That’s my boy.”
Her words sent a jolt of pure possession through him. My boy. He pushed into her, a slow, inexorable invasion that made them both gasp. She was tight, gloriously so, and still stretched perfectly around him from the night before. He set a deep, rhythmic pace, his hands gripping her hips for leverage.
The sounds were obscene and beautiful—the wet slap of skin on skin, her ragged moans muffled by the countertop, the low, guttural curses he didn’t even know he had in him.
“Fuck, Brooke… you feel so goddamn good.”
“Harder,” she panted, pushing back against him. “Don’t you hold back on me now. Fuck me like you mean it.”
He obeyed, his thrusts becoming harder, faster, driving into her with a force that shook the whole island. A glass rattled near the sink. He was everywhere—in the scent of her, in the clench of her body, in the red marks his fingers were leaving on her skin. He was present, utterly animal, all thought burned away in the furnace of sensation.
One of his hands snaked around her hip, finding the swollen nub of her clit. He rubbed rough, tight circles, matching the rhythm of his thrusts.
“Right there, oh god, right fucking there!” she screamed, her body seizing around him in a violent, pulsing contraction. Her inner muscles milked him, a wave of intense pressure that shattered his own control. He came with a shout, thrusting deep as he spilled into her, his vision whiting out at the edges.
He collapsed over her back, both of them slick with sweat, breathing in broken, desperate gulps. He could feel her heart hammering against his chest through her back.
Slowly, he softened and slipped out of her. He rested his forehead between her shoulder blades, his arms wrapped around her waist.
After a minute, she straightened with a wince and a soft laugh.
“Well. Good morning to you too.”
He helped her turn around. Her face was flushed, her eyes bright and sated. He kissed her, softly this time.
“Sorry. I got… carried away.” He said.
She swatted his arm lightly. “Stop apologizing. I told you not to hold back. That...” she said, nodding towards the counter, “...was not holding back. That was perfect.”
They cleaned up in complete silence, a comfortable intimacy in the simple acts of washing hands, retying robes. Back in the living room, curled on opposite ends of the green velvet sofa with fresh coffee, she looked at him, her expression turning serious.
“You asked why I’m investing time,” she said. “It’s because you’re a catch, Tommy.”
He snorted.
“Sure. Right.”
“I’m serious. You’re intelligent. You’re kind. You’re genuinely interested in the world. You have a career. You’re respectful. And now...” she smiled, a predatory gleam, “...You’re officially skilled. You just need to own it. You’ve been looking at yourself through the wrong lens. You see the guy in the parking lot. I see the guy who just fucked me senseless on my kitchen counter and is now worried he was too rough. That’s a whole man. A good man.”
The words landed in his chest, heavy and warm, like something he’d been waiting to hear without knowing it. They didn’t magically erase years of doubt, but they created a crack in the shell of his self-perception.
He didn’t know what to say. “Thank you” seemed ludicrously inadequate.
She saw his struggle and saved him. “Don’t thank me. Just believe me. And for god’s sake, buy a few shirts that fit. We’re going out this weekend. A bar. A real one. And you’re going to practice. On other women.”
The idea sent a fresh bolt of anxiety through him.
“Wait. What?”
“You can’t learn on a simulator forever, pilot. Time for a live flight. Don’t worry,” she grinned, finishing her coffee. “I’ll be your wingman. Now, go take a shower. You smell like sin and poor life choices.”
As the hot water hit him, her words echoed. You’re a catch. He looked at his reflection in the steamy glass, seeing not just the nerd, but the man who had been with her. The man she saw. The parking lot felt very far away. For the first time, he wondered what the main event might look like from inside.