Chapter 21 Sticky Situation
A knock interrupts my dream. I hear Issac calling me from the other side of the door, asking if he can come in. I’m blinking away sleep, saying, “yes.” While my mouth feels dry from drooling, he enters the room fully dressed.
“You’re not going to be able to eat before your flight if you don’t wake your ass up,” he says.
I groan, roll right onto my vibrator. It sticks to my cheek and— Oh God. I hurry to push it under the pillow and pull the covers up to my neck.
Issac walks over, sits at the end of the bed. “Whatchu hiding over there, Ni?”
Blood rushes in my ears; I turn to him with a grin. “Nothing.”
He lifts both brows and smiles. I wonder if he’s already seen it.
“What time is it?”
“Almost noon,” he tells me.
“Shit. Shit.”
“Mm-hmm.”
He doesn’t ask why I slept in this room. I didn’t mean to; the orgasm must have put me to sleep without consent. The orgasm. Suddenly Issac being this close makes me feel a prickling shame that starts in the center of my chest. If he knew what I did last night we’d have to reevaluate this plan. No. We’d absolutely have to stop. Maybe we should.
But then I remember our talk last night about chemistry and remind myself these feelings are normal. Maybe I’m delusional, but I release a breath. I’m only human. It’s been a while since I’ve had sex, I was tipsy and feeling good in that damn dress, it doesn’t matter that it was Issac. It could’ve been anyone. Yup. I’ll just ignore the fact that I danced with other people last night and Issac’s the only one who made my body ache.
He sits there searching my face for something, and I can hardly meet his gaze. Clearly there’s some delusion going on because feeling chemistry is one thing but having an orgasm while thinking of him is another. Maybe after the summer ends, I should be more liberal with my body and give it what it wants. Just not with him.
“They loved you, everybody did,” he finally says. “I mean, how could they not.” His words help shift my focus. I’m still in shock about the way I spent my night. “Lauren’s sad you’re going back home. It’s kind of cute.”
Issac’s laugh is like a balm on my anxious heart. I sit up in bed, push the vibrator farther under my pillow just in case. “Shida Anala gave me her number so we can talk through the Wildly Green product line,” I say, feeling the spark from last night reignited. “Shida. Anala.”
“And honestly,” Issac says, smacking my thigh that’s hanging out of the covers, “she’s the one who’s winning. Her hair is about to be blessed. Especially by Vanessa’s growth oil.”
“You’re such a sweet talker,” I say, wishing he’d smack me again. Good Lord, I need to get home or I’ll…His phone vibrates on his lap. I look down at the caller ID, see Melinda on the screen. Issac’s eyebrows meet in the middle. My stomach twists with ugly jealousy when he stands to leave.
“I’m going to take this but get downstairs and eat something good before your flight.”
When he walks out, I throw myself back on the bed. My vibrator bounces and accidentally switches on.
Did seeing us together fuel Melinda’s desire to try dating him again? Did dancing with me last night make Issac realize how much he wants her? Maybe I was wrong about getting between the two of them. Maybe this dating scheme will actually push them together instead. I try to feel happy, relieved even. I fail.
Bernie offers to bring me to the airport because Issac has a meeting with a new designer, but he’s an impatient man who doesn’t take any of Issac’s shit. Grumbling something under his breath when Issac warns him to watch for paparazzi, Bernie takes one of my bags to the car. I like him better for it.
“I’m a grown woman,” I say, standing in front of Issac. “I don’t need a babysitter.”
“If it’s not me, it’s Bernie. Period.”
I cut my eyes at him, but he doesn’t care. He gives me money for airport souvenirs I don’t need, makes sure my phone is charged, shoves his favorite new sunglasses and one of his hoodies at me for the flight.
“Franklin, your other favorite hermit crab, will keep you company while I’m gone,” I tell him.
This morning, we decided Franklin was better off here with Issac. Hermit crabs don’t live very long, and I’d be worried about him on the long flight.
“Thank goodness for Franklin,” Issac says, wrapping me in his arms and lifting me from the ground. For some reason, during this intimate moment, I feel the urge to ask about his conversation with Melinda, if things are truly over between them, but instead I kiss his cheek. He loosens his hold on me, and leans against the doorframe to watch me go.
After all the junk Issac says about how overbearing Bernie is, I’m surprised that I don’t mind his company as we walk through the airport and check my bag. He’s got a scratchy voice to match his serious eyes, and he isn’t a small talker; he tells me he just celebrated his wife’s fiftieth birthday last week, shows me pictures of his two kids, and admits he really loves working for Issac. When they first met, Bernie was getting ready to leave the industry due to lack of success, but then he found Issac and saw something special in him. It’s a story I already know, but it’s nice hearing about the soft spot Bernie has for my best friend.
“Issac’s a pain in my ass, but we just click,” he says as we walk through the crowd. “And I’ve been thinking of how, before all of this, we were both coming from living the broke life, you know? Maybe we connect because we can’t always relate to people who got here differently, who don’t appreciate success the same way and know how fragile it can be.” Something stirs in my gut while he speaks, but I let him press on while we approach my gate. He stops walking, turns to me. “I know it was rough seeing that article about where you work.”
I hurry to speak, to tell him I’m fine and I nearly forgot about it, but he shakes his head.
“Listen, there are worse things that can happen when you’re romantic”—he stresses the word like he’s suspicious of how true it is—“with someone like Issac Jordan. If there’s anything you have in your past, anything people can find to expose, they will.”
I blink up at him. “Are you trying to scare me away or something?”
“No,” he says with a cautious laugh. “I’m trying to prepare you. You don’t seem like someone that can handle the negative attention.”
“Bold of you to assume I can’t.”
“Sorry if I offended you,” he says, “just observations. You don’t even use social media.”
Oh. Now he’s getting on my nerves. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”
“Well, I hope so. But my main concern is Issac. Because if his image falls, that affects my life. It might be all pretty and easy with him now, but these people? This lifestyle? It can come for you. And Issac needs to be on his game. His career is shining, he can go even further with his art. I think he has A-list celebrity potential. But he can’t be distracted…or heartbroken.”
The last one makes me want to laugh because there’s no way I can break Issac’s heart.
“Got it,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Good. I’m glad you do,” he says, and I wonder what I’d feel like if it was a real relationship between me and Issac. Would Bernie’s words have been enough to scare me off?
For a moment, I consider texting Issac to tell him, but I hate the thought that it could put a strain on their working relationship. I understand what survival instincts are. I know what it looks like when someone has no intention of going back to where they came from. I decided to agree to a crazy scheme as a last effort to save the shop. Bernie isn’t playing games with his career or Issac’s—he’s being protective, and I can’t blame him because I’d never want to put Issac’s stability in jeopardy. Especially not when his art is about to move toward center stage.
“I got Issac,” I say again. “I care about his career too. You don’t have to worry.”
Bernie smiles but still looks weary. “Okay,” he says, “it was good talking to you. By the way, Issac said you might be able to give me some stuff to help my hairline grow back in.”
I laugh, but, as Lex would say, the energy between us is stiff as hair spray now. “I can try, but Issac swears I work miracles, and that’s not the truth,” I tell Bernie.
He rubs his head, says, “Definitely see what Issac likes about you. Pretty, quippy, loyal.”
Bernie enunciates the last word, and on my walk to the gate I find myself wishing he knew that there’s no one else in the world besides Mom who cares for Issac the way I do.
I’d never hurt him. I’m not even in the position to break his heart. But when a text comes through from him, it makes mine squeeze a little.
I know we’re probably not supposed to talk about our dance at Shida’s party, boundaries and all, but I just wanted to say that it reminded me of dancing during prom. You wore a great dress then too. Had me singing the chorus of Brent Faiyaz’s “Jackie Brown” when you walked out my door today. Have a safe flight, Ni.
My chest warms, I bite my lip to stop from smiling. I thought of the same night, I reply.
He loves the message, and I get on the plane, wondering if he knows I’ll be spending the next six hours scrutinizing every sentence of the song.