Free The Faculty Club: A Novel by Danny Tobey

press up against my back. I heard Daphne whisper in a husky voice into my ear that she'd been waiting for me. Her cheek was hot against my neck. Her lips were full and soft, moving in my ear, working her words in soft vibrations on my skin. "I have an offer for you," she said. She turned me around with her hands in my hair, on my waist, until I faced her.
    "I'm not going to lose," she said softly, urgently, her sapphire eyes boring into mine. I tried not to look at the deep shadow between her breasts, her dress that clung to a perfect, full body. "I won't leave it to chance," she whispered. "It's too close." She moistened her lips with her tongue. "But . . ." She smiled. "I've done my research. I know how to win." She ran her hand down the side of my cheek, down my neck. She whispered into my ear. "The Thomas Bennett Mock Trial--it's not perfect," she said, her lips humming, "but I've traced the winners. It's an edge. It can break a tie.
    "Think," she said, looking down, letting her forehead touch mine, her lips moving inches from my lips. "Nigel and John are the talkers. You and I--we're the brains. Pair the talkers with the brains, you have a competition. Maybe
I
have a good day, maybe
you
have a good day, who knows . . . But . . ." She met my eyes and smiled. "Put the two brains together, and the talkers have nothing to say. We crush them. They're just two puppets with their hands up each other's asses."
    I saw it. "We take two spots, they fight over the third," I whispered.
    "I knew you were smart," she said, letting her lips graze mine. She pressed me against the door, her body pushing into mine. I felt points of warmth all down my front, her breasts on my chest,her stomach on mine, her thighs hot against my legs. God I wanted her. I wanted her like I've never wanted anyone. I wanted to pull her dress up over her waist right here in the hall, slide into her right here. "I read your article," she said in that husky, teasing voice. She let her thighs slide back down against the bulge in my pants, then up again. "You did?" She let her hand trace lazily down my stomach, over my belt. "A little superficial," she murmured, her nails grazing up the zipper of my pants, "otherwise, it was pretty good." I grabbed her hand and jerked it away. "How many articles have
you
published?" I snapped.
    She pulled herself off me, swept her hair from her eyes. "Think about it," she said. "It'll be a good chance to get to know each other."
    I watched her walk away down the hall, swinging her ass and taunting me.
    When I got to my room, not sober, not fulfilled, horny and furious and thrilled and bewildered, I found another envelope on my bed. This time, I didn't even bother to feel surprised that my doors and windows had been locked. I'd seen bigger tricks tonight. I tore it open and read it quickly.
    It said, simply, in typed letters:
    NOVEMBER ELEVENTH. SEVEN THIRTY P.M.
    And below it, a quick, handwritten addendum:
    Get a new suit.

9
    I threw myself into the mock trial. Daphne's logic was appealing. Her eyes, her lips, her rosewater scent were overwhelming. I would guarantee our entry into the V&D. I would win her admiration. I would win
her
. Did it matter that I knew, on some level, that these were exactly the ideas she wanted rolling around in my brain?
    The case was fascinating: a war hero had suffered a terrible head injury and come home changed. Suddenly, this mild-mannered husband was capable of murdering his coworker in cold blood. It would all come down to
mens rea:
what had
really
caused this violent crime--was it the war hero? Or was it the injury that changed him?
    Word had already spread across the class: this year, the judges' panel would include a retired Supreme Court justice, a former United States Attorney, and, as always, the famous professor Ernesto Bernini. Dozens of students were drafting briefs, hoping they would be selected to compete in the final trial, to show off their skills in front of this stratospheric panel.