Baumgartner Generations: Henry

Chapter Nine

“This will be perfect.” Libby popped a mini-tape into Henry’s recorder, snapping it closed and clicking record.

He stood at his desk, arms crossed. “I’m not letting you do this.”

“Don’t be a sexist pig.” Libby stuck her tongue out, hitting rewind and then play. Their voices came out of the little machine, sounding tinny but clear enough.

“I should be the one,” Henry insisted. “He already told me. It would be easy for me to get him to talk about it.”

“We’ve been over this!” Libby rewound the tape to the beginning again, leaving the recorder on the bed. “If it’s you on that tape, and the NCAA comes in to investigate, it could jeopardize your hockey scholarship.”

“But-”

Libby hopped off the bed, shaking her finger at him. “Listen to me. I’ve already lost everything. I gave up my job at the paper. I have nothing left to lose.” She stopped as she got close to him and saw the fierce expression on his face. “Well, almost nothing…”

“I’m not leaving you alone with him.” Henry’s jaw was working just thinking about it. This was insane. It was beyond insane. It was downright dangerous. “No way. Not after what happened to Elaine.”

Libby glared at him. “You don’t have any choice.”

“I’ll hide under the bed.” He couldn’t leave her alone in this room with Dean. He wouldn’t.

She laughed. “You’re crazy.”

“It will work,” he insisted, going over and picking up the recorder. “And you don’t have to worry about working this. I’ll do it.”

“You’re awful big,” Libby said speculatively, but she actually seemed relieved at the thought of him being in the room. She dropped to her knees, lifting his Hudson Bay blanket. “Is there room under your bed?”

Henry flushed when she pulled a box out. “Hey, what’s this?” Before he had a chance to shove it back under, she’d flipped it open and her jaw dropped. “Well… that’s a lot of porn.” She winked at him. “And you said you’d never read the Kama Sutra?”

Henry sighed. “You know that long story I didn’t tell you earlier?”

Libby just studied him with raised eyebrows, so he took a deep breath and told her-about pledging at the fraternity, about the Fleshlight and Val.

“So that’s what they did this year,” Libby mused, taking the cap off the Fleshlight and staring at it. “They had a competition last year too…”

What sort of competition had they had last year-involving prostitutes? He wanted to ask, but he was almost afraid to.

“And you won?” Libby murmured, using her index finger to prod the Fleshlight, as if she could bring it to life. Seeing Val holding it had been hot, but seeing Libby with it just felt…weird.

“Do you like using it?” She was half-smiling, amused.

He shrugged. “What’s not to like?”

“And that girl who called you…” Libby put the cap back on the Fleshlight and dropped it into the box. “That was the girl?”

“We’re just friends.” He made sure to make that point.

“Friends huh?” Libby arched her eyebrow. “Friends with benefits?”

“No.” He watched her shut the box and shove it back under the bed. “She’s a sweet girl and all, but…”

“But…what?” Curious, she crawled up onto the bed to sit next to him and he remembered bringing her back here after the football game, months ago now, how they’d spent hours listening to music and talking. He’d never felt anything like it before, that feeling of being with her, just being. It was intoxicating. Addictive.

“But she’s not you,” he finished.

“Oh, Henry.” Libby leaned her red head against his arm. “I wish I didn’t like you so damned much.”

His mouth felt dry. “Do you really?”

“What?” She lifted her head and gazed up at him.

“Do you really like me?”

Her eyes softened and she reached a hand out, linking her fingers with his. “Did you ever doubt it?”

He shrugged, swallowed, couldn’t speak. He’d thought nothing could be more important to him than doing what he loved, being on the ice-pursuing that dream and whatever made it possible was all that would ever matter to him-but he was wrong.

This girl made everything else in his life seem small in comparison.

Libby knelt up on the bed beside him, taking his face in her soft little hands. “Yes,” she said, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “Yes, Henry.” She kissed his other cheek, her mouth impossibly soft. “Yes and yes and yes,” she whispered, the words muffled and lost in their kiss.

Henry felt it happening and knew it wasn’t the best timing in the world, but neither of them could stop it. It was as if their kiss had kindled something deeply buried in them that gave them both a heady fever.

Her mouth was soft, but demanding, asking more of him, and he gave it to her, pressing her back onto his bed. She welcomed him, her slender jean-clad thighs squeezing, arms wrapped around his neck.

Then she broke the kiss, struggling with her hoodie and he helped her, groaning when he saw her in just her bra and jeans, her red hair fanned out under her. Henry took his shirt off too, and her eyes brightened as she explored his skin with her long, delicate fingers, tracing the dark line of hair down from his navel to the button of his jeans.

She undid the button, then the zipper, tugging at his jeans, and Henry hopped off the bed, shoving them down his hips as he watched her do her own, wiggling out of them and tossing them with his on the floor. Now she was just wearing a white bra and panties and little pick socks.

“Come keep me warm.” She shivered, reaching her hand out for him, and he joined her on the bed again, the two of them kissing and rolling around, fumbling, moaning, exploring. He discovered she really liked her neck kissed and licked-she made soft kitten-like sounds when he did that, her hips bucking under his.

He tried to take his time, but he was so eager for her that her bra was undone and her panties gone before he could even savor the sight of her body with them on. Her nipples were a pale, puffy pink, so very tiny under his tongue. Her breasts were little handfuls that practically melted into the flesh of her chest when she lay down, giving her a more boy-like appearance-yet everything about her was all-girl, from the beyond-soft silk of her skin to the tender cries of pleasure he extracted from her slender throat.

When his tonguing exploration reached the dip of her navel, his cock throbbed as if he’d found the promise land. Her belly was soft and pale and taut and he kissed his way down to the curly edge of her pubic hair. She whimpered in anticipation, her hand moving in his hair, waiting for him to part her red sea and drink her soothing waters. As soon as he tasted her, he was addicted, her clit a tiny, hidden treasure, the pink folds of her pussy a traceable map.

“Oh Henry…” She sighed as she came, so very pretty, her eyelids fluttering closed, her hips moving. He could fit her whole ass in the span of his hands and he did, lifting her to his mouth to drink her all up.

“Kiss me,” she begged him, sucking the taste of her own pussy off his tongue. He didn’t think his cock could get any harder, but then she was tugging his boxers off and stroking it against the skin of her inner thigh as they kissed.

“Ohhh, I want you inside me so bad.” She opened her eyes, still breathing hard. “Do you have anything?”

He didn’t want to leave her, but he managed to just sit up, letting her keep her delicious vice-grip on his cock, and lean over to open his night table drawer. He grabbed a huge handful of condoms from the pile, at least a dozen and threw them up into the air, letting them rain down like confetti.

“Atta boy!” Libby laughed, grabbing one and tearing it open with her teeth. The laughter stopped, though, when she rolled the condom over the swollen head of his cock with her thumbs and welcomed him back into her waiting arms.

Henry nudged against her as they continued to kiss and cuddle, his cock seeking entrance but not finding the right angle. Finally, Libby reached between them, sliding the head of his cock down through her swollen slit, positioning him, just right.

“There.” She whispered the words into his ear. “Now.”

He shifted his hips slowly forward, feeling her flesh give, but just a little. He pushed in deeper, her thighs silky and opening under his, feeling the snug hollow of her little hole opening too. Her pussy was wet from his tongue, wet from her orgasm, but she was still so tight! Thank god for condoms, he thought. At least it helped lessen the sensation-a little. She whimpered, her breath in his ear, when he was finally as deep as he could go.

“You okay?” he panted.

“Fuck yes,” she moaned, rolling her hips, moving his cock around deep in her cunt, making him groan and start alphabetizing states in his head. “Hey,” she said, kissing his jaw, his cheek, his chin. “Don’t stop now. Come on. Let’s go for a ride.”

“Let the motor calm down a bit,” he panted. “Otherwise we’re gonna overheat.”

Libby ran her fingernails lightly over his back, his shoulders, and they waited, breathing together, Henry’s face buried in the sweet-smelling mass of her hair, until he had some bit of control again.

“Now?” she whispered, her hips shifting, her pussy clenching. “Please?”

This girl was going to be the death of him, he decided, gritting his teeth and beginning to move. There was nothing soft and yet tight enough to describe the sensation of her flesh, the way she felt enveloping his cock. There was no silicone that could match it, and no other woman or girl he’d ever met, either. It was beyond pleasure, beyond good. It was perfection.

“Henry!” Libby moaned, and he felt her hand moving between them, touching her clit, working to get herself off. “Please! Oh god your cock feels so good!”

“Honey, I can’t do this very long,” he apologized, holding back, every muscle strained, as her pussy began to flutter and pulse. “Libby, baby, I can’t-”

“Come!” she cried, her back arching, her long legs wrapped around his waist, driving his length deep into her waiting cunt. He couldn’t have stopped then if he wanted to, the explosion through his body beyond fire-it was nuclear. He saw flashes of light behind his eyes, the red heat consuming him completely as he buried his face in Libby’s hair, and gave himself over to pure sensation.

“Oh my god,” she whispered, kissing him over and over as they rolled on the bed, condoms sticking to them. “I’ve wanted that for so long.”

“Me, too,” he breathed as they finally slowed and Henry curled beside her, his cheek resting on her tiny breasts.

He didn’t know where it came from, why he said it. Like the climactic explosion they’d shared, it just welled up in him and spilled over.

“Libby, I can’t read.”

And then it was all flooding in, a dam bursting.

He told her about tutoring. He told her about Toni. He talked and talked and Libby listened, silent. When he finally stopped, spent, he found himself filled with a cold fear. Would she pity him? Hate him? Walk out of his life forever this time? He cursed himself for ever opening his mouth when he lifted his head and looked at her closed eyes, tears slipping down into her temples.

“I’m sorry,” he choked. “You must hate me.”

“Henry, I don’t hate you.” She finally turned toward him, opening her wet eyes and cupping his face in her hands. “I luh-” She pursed her lips, blinking, holding back, and then kissed the tip of his nose. “I like you.”

He smiled. “I like you, too.”

“Uh-oh, we missed one.” She reached over and peeled a condom off his hip, holding it up. Then she tore the wrapper off with her teeth. “Oops, it’s open! Shouldn’t let these go to waste.”

“No,” he agreed, finding himself back in her welcoming arms. “We definitely shouldn’t.”

His cock was already getting hard again.

“Whoa. Hey. Libby?” Dean stopped in the doorway-even from under the bed, Henry heard the surprise in his voice and wondered if this was going to work at all. How was Libby going to explain how she’d gotten in?

“Hey, Dean.” Libby’s voice was low, sexy. Henry bristled at the sound of his roommate’s name in her mouth, said that way.

“Where’s…Henry?” Dean took a few tentative steps into the room. Henry could see his shoes. He was clearly trying to put the pieces together.

“He left,” Libby said.

Dean sounded incredulous. “He left you here?” Henry heard the door close.

“I told him I came here to see you,” Libby told him. Henry really didn’t like that sexy tone to her voice. It was downright seductive.

“Huh.” Dean’s tennis shoes crossed the floor between the beds and Henry shrank back without thinking. “How come?”

“Come over here.” Libby was practically purring. Henry closed his eyes and reminded himself why she was doing this in the first place. “Closer.”

“What is this?” Dean sounded cautious, bemused…but interested. Definitely interested.

“I wanted to ask you something,” Libby murmured. Henry could barely hear her, but Dean obviously could. He was standing facing his own bed-the bed Libby was on.

Was she just going to come right out and ask him? Henry hit the record button on the little micro recorder.

“Whoa, hey!” Dean exclaimed and Henry saw him take a step back from his bed. “What-?”

Henry was dying to know what, too. He couldn’t hear anything at all except his own breathing but he had a feeling he knew what was going on. Libby hadn’t said anything about how she was going to get Dean to tell her what she needed to know, but now he had an idea. A very bad idea.

“Libby,” Dean gasped. “Are you drunk?”

“So what if I am?” She actually slurred her words a little bit. TV news anchor? No-actress, Henry decided. Her talents were being wasted on paper, that much was clear.

He heard Dean groan. What the hell was going on out there? Henry set his jaw, watching the wheels turn on the cassette, willing himself not to move. It took all his effort.

“Oh, god…Libby…” Dean sighed and Libby made a sound, a very familiar sound, one Henry had heard not too long ago when they were in bed together. She was moaning.

Then he heard her say in a low, throaty voice, “Take off your pants. I want to find out if you’re as good as your big brother.”

“Ha.” Dean was smiling. Henry could actually hear his roommate grinning. “I love a competition.”

Of course he did. Libby knew damned well he did.

Henry saw Dean’s pants fall to the floor.

“Oh yeah, that’s good.” Dean’s shoes were still on the floor, but his feet weren’t in them anymore. “Come on, take your shirt off.”

No way. Henry closed his eyes. This wasn’t happening. She wouldn’t dare…

“Stay there.” Libby got off the bed, walking over to Dean’s dresser. Henry saw her cute pink stockinged feet. “Don’t move. You promise?”

“Sure, baby,” Dean agreed. Was he so arrogant? Did he really believe Libby had shunned Henry and chosen him instead-that she had come here just to fuck him, with nothing else on her mind? But he seemed to have bought it, hook line and sinker. Dean fully expected he was going to get laid.

“Let’s play a game.” Libby’s voice was teasing.

“A blindfold! Kinky!” Dean chuckled. “But I want to see those gorgeous tits.”

Henry gritted his teeth. He heard a strange clinking and then a loud CLICK.

“What the-?”

Another loud CLICK.

Libby asked, “Are you ready to play?”

“Handcuffs? Naughty!” There was clear anticipation in Dean’s voice, but Henry understood now.

Libby moved to sit on the edge of Henry’s bed and although he couldn’t see her, he felt her energy somehow-she was saying, This is for us, for you. I want you, not him. He didn’t know how he could possibly interpret things that way, considering all she’d done was cross the span between the twin beds and take a seat, but he knew it was true.

“Hey.” Dean didn’t sound so happy now. “Where’d you go?”

Libby was sitting on the edge of the bed, clearly aware of Henry beneath her as she told Dean, “You’re not going anywhere.”

“I wasn’t planning on it.” He snorted. “Come over here.”

Libby’s next words created both silence and confusion for at least thirty seconds. “Marcus’s guys are on the way.”

There was real fear in Dean’s voice when he finally found it. “What are you talking about?”

“You wanted to know who my source was for the hazing article?” Libby was like a cat, playing with a bird or a mouse. “Marcus and I go way back. And he’s not very happy with you, is he, little man?” She put a disdainful emphasis on the word little.

Dean was scared, but he was trying not to show it. “Quit fucking around. Give me the key.”

“No.” There was no teasing tone to her voice anymore. She practically spat the words out. “This is for Elaine.”

“You fucking cunt!” Dean roared. “You know who my father is! You’ll be fucking expelled!”

“Big threats from such a tiny, little man.”

Ouch, Henry thought, finding himself oddly proud of the way she was standing up to him. He wished, more than anything, he could confront Dean directly and, well…kick his ass. That’s what he wanted to do. But this, Libby toying with him, manipulating him, was almost as good. Almost.

“I still have that tape,” Dean threatened. “I’ll put it on fucking YouTube, I swear to god I will!”

“Do what you want.” Libby sounded bored. “They may just kill you anyway.”

“He’s not really coming,” Dean said softly, muttering. “I told him he’d get his money this weekend. You’re just fucking with me.” He almost sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

“Oh he’s coming,” she assured him. “Listen to this.”

Henry clamped a hand over his mouth, stifling his own surprise. Now Henry knew why Libby had asked for his phone. It wasn’t just so she could turn it on “silent” and keep it from giving away his position under the bed.

Val’s voice came out of Henry’s cell-of course, Dean was blindfolded and had no idea that it belonged to Henry. He just heard the desperate, pleading whisper of Val’s voice saying, “Dean’s in trouble. Marcus’s boys are coming for him tonight!” before Libby turned it off again.

Once he’d heard it, Dean howled like he was in pain. “Let me go!”

“Are you kidding me?” She scoffed at the idea. “No way. You deserve it after what you did to Elaine.”

“Fuck that.” Dean swore, sounding desperate, but also somewhat calmer. “Libby, listen to me. I’m going to have their money this weekend. Call her back! Tell them to call the dogs off!”

“And Santa Clause and the Easter Bunny are your best friends too, right?” Libby actually laughed.

“Look in my backpack.” Dean was gritting his teeth. “Front pocket.”

Libby moved from the bed, finding his backpack by the door.

“Right up front. See it?” Dean asked.

“What is this?” Libby padded back toward the bed, sitting on the edge of Henry’s bed again. “Names?”

“The guys in my study group.” Dean hesitated and Henry knew this was it. He was going to say it. He was actually going to tell her. “Notice they’re all football players.”

“So?”

Dean went on, spilling it, his voice actually gaining strength as he talked. “We’re playing Eastern Michigan this weekend. EMU hasn’t had a winning season since 1995. Not only are they going to beat the spread against U of M this weekend, they’re going to win the whole damned thing.”

Jesus Christ, he actually sounded proud! It made Henry nauseous.

Libby pressed him further, and Henry knew she wanted it to be as clear as possible on the tape. “What are you talking about?”

Dean hissed, “We’re throwing the game! It’s all fixed! And it cost me a lot of damned money, too.”

Libby was quiet and then she said, “And you’re betting on the winning team, of course.”

“Hell yeah-all bets will be on Eastern!”

And there it was, all the proof they needed. Dean had admitted it to a witness and they had it on tape.

“Why would they?” Libby mused. “Why would these guys in your ‘study group’ jeopardize everything like this?”

“Because they’re getting paid!” he exclaimed. And then he stopped, as if he’d just realized something. “You could get paid, too, Libby. I know your parents are frickin’ dirt poor. Just think what you could do with ten thousand dollars!”

“Ten thousand?” Libby asked. “Is that what they’re getting?”

“No.” Dean paused. “Fifty thousand each.”

“How much are you keeping?”

Another pause. “Half a million.”

“Holy hell,” Libby whispered. “Where did all the money come from?”

“Literacy Tutor Foundation.” Dean laughed. “It’s my dad’s pet charity. I’ve been pimping for it since the beginning of the year.”

“Stealing from it, you mean,” she snapped.

“Whatever.” Dean shifted on the bed. Henry could hear the handcuffs moving on the post. ”After Saturday, there’s going to be plenty to go around. Tell Marcus I’ll pay him double!”

Libby hesitated. “What if I just tell him you’re going to throw the game?”

“Marcus looks out for himself. He’s a second-stringer with a bad knee. He’s never going to play pro ball. He’d be lucky to get a tryout as a walk on!” Dean scoffed. “He’s not stupid. If he finds out, I’m sure he’ll just use it to his advantage, like I am.”

“Yeah, but there’s a difference,” she snarled. “You planned this whole thing!”

“So?” Dean’s voice had the same arrogant tone it always did, and Henry found it infuriating. His roommate was handcuffed to a bedpost, afraid half a dozen defensive linemen were on their way to beat him to a pulp, and somehow his worldview had yet to change. “Look, there’s nothing he or anyone can do about it now. It’s a done deal. We might as well all profit from it.”

Henry held his breath under the bed, watching the wheels of the tape turning, sealing Dean’s fate.

“Come on, Libby, let me go.” Dean wasn’t pleading anymore. Maybe the fear had receded some, or maybe he really felt he was getting somewhere with his bribe. Who could turn down money, after all? “Ten thousand dollars. Think about it.”

“Twenty,” Libby said quietly.

Under the bed, Henry’s eyes widened.

“Fine,” Dean agreed. “Just let me go.”

“Fifty,” she countered.

Henry blinked. Was she serious? Was she really contemplating-?

Dean didn’t answer for a minute, and then he said, “Okay, okay…”

“Quarter million.” Libby’s voice was flat, emotionless. Ruthless. She had him beat, and clearly Dean knew it.

After a brief, defeated silence, he said, “Okay. Whatever you want.”

Henry watched as Libby stood, walking toward Dean’s bed. She stood there for a while, long enough to make Henry squirm. He was sure Dean was, too.

“You didn’t even acknowledge what you did to Elaine.” Her voice was so low he almost couldn’t hear her at all. “You don’t even care.”

“Oh come on!” Dean exclaimed, sounding really angry now, and even a little…self-righteous. “We both know she was drunk and she fucking wanted it. She was more than ready to top Henry off-why not me?”

Dean suddenly howled in pain.

Henry winced, his breath caught. What in the hell had she done to him?

“You couldn’t pay me enough to let you go, you motherfucker,” she growled and Dean screamed in pain again. “I hope they do kill you!”

Then Libby was bending low, peeking under the bed, urging Henry from underneath. He slid out as quietly as he could, taking the tape recorder with him. Dean was writhing in pain on the bed in his boxers, still blindfolded, hands over his head, the handcuffs looped between one of the wooden posts.

“Libby!” Dean yelled as she headed toward the door, gathering shoes and coats and pulling Henry in that direction too. “Don’t you leave me like this! Don’t you fucking dare!”

They closed and locked the door. It might afford Dean a little protection, if Marcus’s boys did show up-and at the very least, it would keep anyone from unhandcuffing him for a while, even if they did hear him yelling for help. Maybe even long enough for the cops to arrive.

It wasn’t until they were outside in the snow that Henry asked, “What did you do to him to make him scream like that?”

She shrugged, giving him a lopsided grin. “Apparently it’s true what they say about men’s testicles being sensitive.”

“Ouch.” He winced. He didn’t even want to think about it. He touched the tip of her nose, where a snowflake had landed and was melting. “Okay, Erin Brockovich, now what happens?”

“Now we take this information to the paper.” She took the tape recorder from his hand, tucking it into her jacket pocket and she showed him the notebook she’d taken from Dean’s backpack. It detailed not only the players involved, but beyond that there was a whole list of bets and an entire record of the ‘charitable donations’ people had made to the Literacy Tutoring Foundation that Dean had funneled elsewhere.

“The university paper?” Henry asked.

She set her mouth in a grim line. “No, the real one.”

Henry grabbed her hand as she turned to go, pulling her back into the circle of his arms and kissing her breathless.

When she broke the kiss, her eyelids fluttering open, snowflakes caught in her red lashes, she whispered, “I lied.”

“About what?” He couldn’t even imagine.

“I don’t like you.” She pressed her cheek to his chest, his heart thudding there under her listening ear, and he knew Toni had been right. He’d known all along who his soulmate was.

“Could have fooled me.” He kissed the top of her head.

“I don’t like you,” she repeated, her words muffled against his jacket, confessing, “I love you.”

He didn’t say anything-couldn’t speak-words had completely failed him. His whole life, they had failed him. They meant nothing, spoken or written. Like or love? It didn’t matter how they were spelled. It was the feeling behind them that mattered.

No words, he just held her, the world turning white around them.