Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Dwayne : Stitches out. (picture of Dwayne grinning)… Send
Jake : Looking good, dude. I think you need to spin a different story if you want sympathy … Send
Dwayne : Not even sure Coach believes me … Send
Jake : Yeah, some woman you don’t know drops a book on your head, takes you to the emergency room, claims to be your fiancé so she can see if you’re okay, then disappears … Send
Dwayne : It does sound like BS, but that’s the truth … Send
Jake : I think it’s a sign that you need a book-type girl for a fiancé … Send
Dwayne : Never getting married, dude, but I wish I could find her … Send
Jake : She was engaged!... Send
Dwayne : Something was up with that. She was timid, like a scared rabbit … Send
Jake : I’d steer clear, but you said you think she’s a teacher, so maybe Lana can help … Send
Jake : I’ll talk to Rakell. Surprising her in LA a day early. I hate this long-distance shit … Send
Dwayne : That’s what you signed up for, and usually you like that… Send
Jake : Not anymore, not with this one. Wait till it happens to you ?? … Send
Dwayne : Never!... Send
I chuckled out loud, folding a dress shirt to pack in my carry-on, thinking about that crazy night with Dwayne. I’d just climbed into bed and called Rakell. I was in a harsh mood, miffed that she hadn’t gotten to the San Antonio game. Then I’d blown up on Jaxton, which he deserved, but the whole world had seen it. Dwayne was seething that I had interfered and wouldn’t even accept my apology. So, when I got his call that he needed me to come to the hospital, I jumped at the chance to make a peace offering to Dwayne. When I got there, a social worker, emergency room doctor, and plastic surgeon were all with him in a gray-blue sterile examination room. He explained that his injury was not related to a domestic dispute.
Then a nurse handed Dwayne a clipboard with pages of paperwork to sign. I saw his eyes glaze over as he looked at the thick document the way a high school kid looks at War and Peace . A part of me thought he was just weary from a long, emotional game and a bizarre night, but when I watched his eyes and the way he moved his mouth, it reminded me of the day in the conference room when I was trying to get him to read Jaxton’s chart. It was as if he was pretending to read. I didn’t challenge him; I just said I should review it for him before calling our team doctor. I was just so damn thankful he was talking to me again after the way I blew up at Jaxton during the game.
It was our bye week; the Condors had the week off. I’d spent a few days with my family in Austin, mostly with Melissa. She’d explained that Tom had bought a high-rise apartment in Dallas since he’d been working there so much and thought it would be a good investment. I gave her the side-eye when she told me Tom was spending more time away from his family than with them. I knew it was taking a toll on my sister, but she’d said she needed to give her marriage a shot for the kids, then added sheepishly, “For the legal trail.” What the hell! She explained that since Tom had agreed to counseling, she wasn’t moving forward with the divorce for now. But she had already talked to an attorney, which seemed counterproductive to me. “Hey, that doesn’t seem right, talking to attorneys while you ask him to go to counseling. I mean, do you want this to work?” I asked, taking a long sip of the cabernet she’d just poured.
I’d made dinner and hung out with both kids so Melissa could attend an event for one of her clients. Cassie helped me make a box of mac and cheese and some burgers but told me her mom would not be happy about the processed food. I knew Cameron loved it, and uncles can get away with shit like that. I'd told my little helper that I was evoking uncle privilege. She shook her head before schooling me on the fact that even though I was an uncle and a football player, which she added, society did not regard as “thinkers” (her words), I still had an obligation to make sure they ate nutritiously and followed her mom’s rules. She already reminded me of a young Melissa.
“I’m not sure, Jake. I’ve been operating as the Melissa everyone expects me to be for so long. I’m not sure what I want or should want, but I talked to an attorney because I know Tom’s family won’t be nice about this, and I need to see what my options are for keeping the house. His parents gifted us the down payment when we bought it, and I think that may be an issue if we split.”
I tilted my chin toward the back door and said, “Let’s sit outside.” It was nearly November, my favorite time of year in Austin. When we settled onto the patio furniture, I looked at my sister, taking note of her face, etched with worry. “Hey, Issa, I have money and shit, I have houses.”
“Jake, no, there’s money. I just wanted to keep the kids in this house. This is what they know. I need to play nice with Tom until I have some things in place.” She dipped her chin, her mascaraed lashes blinking, then whispered to the ground, “I’m miserable. I look at myself and think, how did I get here? How did I marry someone who, who…” She lifted her eyes, her lower lashes glistening. I watched her pinch her lids tightly as if to stave off tears; opening them, she continued, “Actually, I know how I got here. I have spun my life around attempting to be some luxury catalog version of myself. Look at my friends, the car I drive, this neighborhood.” Her gaze swept over her dress and down to her shoes pointedly as if presenting her attire as evidence to back up her realization. “My clothes…” Then she brushed her straight, strawberry-blond hair off her shoulder. “Even my hair, I get it straightened. Why? Because that’s what my crowd does. That’s what Tom thinks looks better on me, more aesthetically pleasing…I’m some walking version of those lifestyle podcast shows. My carpet even matches my curtains. My God, I’m a walking cliché.”
“No, you’re not…come on,” I murmured, shifting forward in my seat.
“Don’t, Jake, please. If you start being all lovey-dovey with me, I’ll lose it. I just have to maintain the plastic smile on my face and go to counseling so I can say I gave this a try, even though I know Tom is fully checked out. I’m sure his parents are pushing him to try counseling as well. So here we are, both playing a game. I can’t prove it, but I have a feeling that…” She hesitated, sat up straight, and took a long drink, peering at me over her glass as if reconsidering the rest of her statement. Still, I knew what she was getting at. She’d alluded to it before.
“Issa, you think there’s someone else?” I stated flatly, sifting all emotion from my voice.
“Yes, but I can’t be sure. I asked him, but he turned it back on me, said I was acting paranoid. He and I, well, he’s rarely here. He’s made it clear I’m not the woman he married. He’s said that many of his friends and colleagues have commented that Melissa appears worn out, like she’s not enjoying life anymore. That’s what he said—that I’m not enjoying life. Well, that’s accurate. I’m fighting to keep my life, but I’m not sure exactly what I’m fighting for. The other day, Tom said to me, ‘Melissa, you should take a spa day. You look haggard’…as if…”
“Fuck that bullshit,” bolted from my mouth, vitriol spilling into my tone. My hand flexed, wishing I could hit that bastard. Her eyebrows shot up, arching; I knew my reaction had instantly halted the conversation.
Just as planned, Vee, Rakell’s roommate, let me in. I had DM’d her on Instagram, asking for her number to surprise Rakell when I got to L.A. Every message she sent me ended with a winky face or a smiling emoji with three hearts on it. I knew this was a bit much for a girl who had only met me a few times. Some people are emoji-crazy, so I tried not to give it much credence, but I still had a nagging suspicion about Vee. When I walked in with flowers, she said, “Rakell left the studio early. I know you wanted to beat her home, but she’s already in the shower. I can fix you a cocktail while you wait.” She touched my chest, her outstretched fingers creeping down toward my stomach. Like an idiot, I stood there, unsure whether to step back or remove her hand. Finally, I held up the bouquet and asked, “Can I get something resembling a vase? I’ll surprise her in her room.”
“I bet you will,” Vee whispered conspiratorially, winking at me as she handed me a glass container that looked like a large mason jar. “If you don’t need me, I’ll finish getting ready to go out,” she said, pivoting toward her room. I wasn’t happy to hear that Vee would take a while before she left. My dick was already getting hard picturing Rakell in that shower, and I was going to do my best to get a screaming orgasm out of her.
When I slowly opened the bathroom door, hoping to surprise her, she was slumped against the shower wall, slightly bent at the hip, her hand between her legs, obviously going after it rigorously. My view was partly shrouded by the smoky glass and the rising steam, but her eyes must have been closed because she didn’t acknowledge my presence. I peeled off my clothes, tiptoeing toward the shower door with the care of a cheetah sneaking up on a gazelle. Carefully, I opened the door, wondering what she was imagining. I’d never tried to assess what a girl fantasized about. I didn’t care if she saw herself being taken in the middle of a forest by four lumberjacks who happened to be brothers or half-man half-beasts. I just didn’t give a fuck; whatever gets you there gets you there. But for some reason, it mattered that Rakell saw me in her mind while her hand was between her legs. I growled in the deepest voice I could muster, “Are you doing my job again?”
Her body reacted like a scared cat’s, and I swear she would have jumped and clung to the ceiling if she could have.
She half-asked, half-accused, “Jake, what are you doing here?”
I smiled as I closed the gap between us and stated in an upper-crust accent, “I’m here to pleasure you, madame.”
She whacked me on the shoulder and moved her lips toward mine. As we kissed deeply, I thought I was going to blow my load right there. It had been a month since I’d had a chance to touch her, and the sight I had just witnessed was so fucking hot. My right hand went to her tit as my other hand grabbed her ass cheek, yanking her into me. She grabbed the back of my neck while stroking my dick vigorously with her right hand. I couldn’t stand it anymore; I put my hands on her shoulders, easing her against the wall, wedging my knee between her legs, nudging them open even more. As I lowered myself to my knees, my eyes fixed on hers, her mouth opening in surprise as it seemed to dawn on her what I had in mind. I put my mouth on that beautiful pussy, capturing the whole of her before my tongue dove between her creamy folds, mustering every ounce of control I could. I licked her leisurely, like tasting her was part of my daily ritual, as if we had been in this shower yesterday. Impatiently, Rakell tilted her pelvis forward, her hand going to the back of my head, fingers intertwining with my hair, her body begging for me to meld my lips and tongue with her clit. Fighting against her whispered pleas…until I couldn’t hold back, then I tongue-fucked her before getting to the main course, her clit. The soft tugs at my hair turned into hard yanks. Her whispers escalated into muttered demands.
I tongue-fucked her harder, trying not to chuckle as she started panting, “Jake, oh fuck, Jake, please let me come…damn it!”
I paused just long enough to say, “The lady’s wish is my command.”
Then I focused my attention on the pulsing nerve bundle, my lips encapsulating it and sucking hard. Her knees buckled, her hands hitting the wall behind her, bracing herself. I kept the suction on her clit as I eased my middle finger into her hot, wet pussy. Increasing the speed and pressure of my tongue, I slid a second finger into her, using the “come hither” motion with my fingers as I stroked the top of her pussy wall, stimulating her G-spot. It took maybe two minutes before a wail erupted from her throat. “Oh, God, Jake, I’m coming.” Her body vibrated against the tile as I sprang up, snaking one hand around the back of her neck while my other hand covered her mouth as I whispered, “Shhh, Sweets, you don’t want Vee to know how good I am.”
She bit my hand softly before spurting out, “Cocky ass.”
I retorted into her ear, “You know it” before clamping down on her lobe. “I’m going to drill into you. Keep it down.” I cupped her lower thigh just behind her knee, instructing her, “Wrap your leg around my waist.” As I said that, my cockhead found her slit, and with one push, I bottomed out in her pussy. I slammed into her with abandon, obviously racing toward my orgasm. I fucked her like, well, I hadn’t fucked her in a month. There was a ruthlessness in my emotional and physical intent that I couldn’t restrain.
We started the night on that note and continued with a break for watermelon, popcorn, and some frozen diet dinners (no fat, no calories, no taste, no nutrition of any kind)—the only things in her fridge. A lecture on the fucked-up-ness of this diet-frozen processed shit rested in the back of my throat as I chewed some rubbery piece of chicken, but when you only get to see your girlfriend a few days a month, burning time on a teachable moment seemed like I’d be cutting off my foot. I was glad when she told me we would need to replace the TV dinners because they were Vee’s and she lived off them. I didn’t say this to Rakell, but all I could think was that Vee looked malnourished, as in her hair and skin and body screamed, I need fats . Damn, even if it were a bucket of guacamole swirled with olive oil, she needed to consume some. I almost used that as an entryway to nudge Rakell again about not curtailing her diet too much. It was what I’d seen happen repeatedly in the L.A. world.
Another reason I hated this place was that even the guys here talked more about the benefits of a “calorie deficit” diet than the actual farm-to-table food available here. This state was so fucking lucky to naturally produce nearly everything that could be grown in the world. Even the freaking livestock here seemed happier. I swear, once you exited a plane in Southern California, absorbing that salty air wafting in with the tide, sniffing all that suntan oil, taking in the millions of tight smiles behind lips that looked chronically sunburned and camel-like eyelashes that made it almost impossible to drive, somehow your mind forgot that what actually made people healthy was the outdoors and the consumable resources in California.
The next morning, my nose twitched at the smell of coffee and something woodsy filling the room. My entire system lit up, hearing her soft giggles paired with her lips dancing down my chest until she reached my stomach. My eyes popped open when her tongue started swirling in my belly button. I looked down my torso to the mass of dirty blond hair fanning across my stomach like one of those paper Japanese fans. When she tilted her head up, I captured her wry grin peeking out through mussed hair. God, I wanted this moment to be my forever reality. Waking up to this girl, my forever girl. Goddammit, let’s be real: I want her to be my wife. I wondered how long I’d have to tip-toe around a future that was crystal clear to me.
She kissed her way back up my chest, then rolled to the side and said, “Try the coffee.”
I sipped it warily as my brain informed me, Son, you're not in Texas anymore . Then, I blurted out, “What the hell is in this coffee?”
“It’s regular coffee mixed with mushroom coffee.” Her voice pitched at the word mushroom . What the hell, girl? Don’t let this place brainwash you!
I didn’t even try to hide my eyebrows furrowing in irritated bemusement.
My next question was, “Why? Why mushrooms in coffee?”
“It’s good for you, all-natural, and it’s…”
“What the hell do you think coffee beans are?” I snapped.
She chortled, taking a sip of that woodsy crap before countering with, “This has medicinal value.”
For the moment, I couldn’t determine whether she really meant it or if she was fucking with me. I hoped it was the latter and parried with, “These particular fungi do not have the kinds of properties we are looking for. Oh, and if they did, you know I get tested regularly and could get kicked out of a job, right? You’d have to take care of me.”
She grinned, her eyes twinkling as if an idea had just sifted into the forefront of her brain. “Perfect, I think you’ll make an excellent househusband.”
Sure, she was mocking me, but I didn’t care. Hearing her refer to me as a husband made me giddy, even if she was poking fun, looking for a reaction. Flipping her onto her back, I crawled on top of her. “Your natural woody-enhancer is obviously working, OR it could be that I’m in bed with a hot-ass chick.” I grit out, lightly sinking my teeth into the groove between her neck and upper traps.
She laughed, trying to push it off, and said, “It’s supposed to decrease your appetite.”
I flexed my pelvis against her and snarled playfully, “It didn’t work.”
As I pushed my cock into her, she whispered, “Don’t come inside me.”
I was not expecting that, so I grunted as I slid into her more, “Huh?”
“Jake, I won’t have a lot on. I’m, well, I’m shooting an intimate scene today,” she stammered out in a way that sounded way too much like a pre-confession.
Oh fuck. I have to picture anything but that. I’m the one fucking her right now. Remember the shower, remember the Driskill . “Okay,” I muttered without much oomph.
My head might have been in question, but my cock surely was not. Her low, continuous husky moans were driving me crazy, and my cock promptly responded. I started to pound her, almost to make the point that she was mine . After a few minutes, she erupted in an orgasm, which triggered mine. I pulled out just in time, spraying cum from her tits down to her belly button. I flopped onto the mattress, regaining my breath as she scurried into the shower.
She walked out wrapped in a towel just as I’d finished the woodsy shit she’d given me. Then I figured out why this stuff decreases your appetite—it makes your mouth taste like you just gargled with manure. They say all the people moving from California to Texas were changing the place; I’ll take the Love is Love mindset, but damn, I hope they forget to bring this fungi crap with them.
She gave me another breakdown of the area around her apartment, including the quickest way to the jogging path, the grocery store, and the best place to order lunch. I got her to agree to me bringing her food later in the afternoon, so she gave me the security information and instructions on how to get into the studio lot, letting me know that she should have a break around three.
After she left, I put on my running gear, thinking I’d find some breakfast along the way, maybe some steak and eggs, to balance out the lack of consuming any real food over the past twenty-four hours. I was about to exit her room when I noticed a thick binder on her desk.
I knew I shouldn’t open that fucking thing, but I couldn’t help myself. I am the guy who asks the next question you shouldn’t ask. The problem was I had the self-control of a raccoon looking at a shiny object. As I cracked open the screenplay, I sensed the same trepidation as Dante entering the first circle of hell, fearing there was more to this than I wanted or needed to know.
Halfway through the script, I grabbed my gnawing gut. I looked at the clock, saw that it was noon, and realized that she had left a bit before nine. I’d been reading this damn sex-laden script for more than two hours, picturing the love of my life as Anabelle, the psycho, multiple-personality, sweet Georgia girl, who scraped her way into the psyche of multiple men using her body and her evil mind so that she could obliterate their lives.
Shit, Rakell wasn’t just on camera with one guy and naked in a few scenes, as she had alluded to when she’d vaguely skimmed over the plot of this script, saying she wasn’t allowed to reveal more because they had her sign a specific NDA. She was on screen in many scenes with different guys. This wasn’t just “some” sex; it was the movie's core theme. In some movies, if you removed the sex scenes, there would still be a story arc. In this movie, if you removed the sex scenes, you’d have a waitress in a diner delivering coffee repeatedly. The general gist of this movie is that all men fall easily. We cannot withstand the adoration mixed with the sexual promise that targets our white knight complex. Few of us XYs could resist the sweet temptation that was Annabelle with the Georgia accent.
“FUCK,” I yelled as I swiped the binder off the desk. I plunked my head down and repeated, “FUCK” over and over again. Realizing that I had to meet Rakell for lunch at the studio, I stopped banging my head, hoping I hadn’t already left a mark, then rose to get in the shower. As I went to pick up the binder to put it back so that she wouldn’t notice that I’d read it, the pages were open to somewhere in the second half of the script, and I noticed a mention of the “restaurant bathroom,” so I HAD to read that part. Oh fuck, another guy, taking her from behind in a fancy restaurant bathroom while the patrons listened, pulling her hair, talking possessively to her. I couldn’t take much more of this, so I set it back on the desk precisely where I’d found it and jumped in the shower.
The Uber dropped me off at the proper studio gate to access her trailer. When I got to her trailer, it was locked, which would have been fine, but I’d ‘slightly’ over-shopped and was carrying enough food for, probably, the entire cast. Sitting on the steps, my mind raced with the thought, Is some man in that studio touching her body right now? I’d become so used to taking on the role of the re-assurer… don’t worry, I’m not doing whatever …now I was the one needing reassurance. Wow, this didn’t feel good at all. Wasn’t it only ten days ago that I’d felt compelled to explain to Rakell that the picture of me on Insta flanked by two cheerleaders was innocent? It had been cropped, and there were many more folks in the picture, but when one of the team cheerleaders posted it, it looked like just me and two women. Is this what our life is going to be going forward?
Before I could answer my own question, I was interrupted by the visual of two bodies emerging from the building in front of me. Rakell, wearing nothing but a robe and flip-flops, and some Julio Iglesias Jr.-looking guy, also only in a robe, his hand on the small of her back, looking down at her salaciously. His hooded gaze was just under the bar for being seen as lascivious—you know the point, just below the trigger for being called out, but evident to anyone watching. They nodded to each other, then he said something, looking over her shoulder toward me. She whipped around with a false grin in an obvious, thin attempt to assuage my reaction to what I had just observed.
She forced a smile as she approached and offered, “Hi, sorry we ran over the expected time. Some of these scenes take longer…”
I cut her off. “I bet.”
I followed her into the trailer and started setting down containers on the small table.
She walked past me mumbling, “I should change.”
“Hold up,” I spat, my teeth gritting together, my tone betraying more angst than intended.
“Yeah, Jake?” There was a tightness creeping up her neck to her jaw, as if she were readying herself for my verbal assault.
Don’t be THAT guy, Jake . I rocked back on my heels and said, “Aren’t you supposed to go back on set?”
“No, they shot the scene three times and think they got what they wanted. I’m done for the day.”
“Is that what you wore during filming?” My eyes crisscrossed the oversized white robe draping from her body before locking on her green eyes. The look on her face reminded me of a small child trying to decide if the truth would get them in more trouble or if they could get away with a small lie.
She replied, “Not exactly.”
Because I obviously enjoy flogging myself, I had to ask, “What exactly did you wear on set?”
I knew the answer, and it became clearer when her eyes narrowed, her chin going up in challenge as she said, “Okay, Jake, since you asked.” Slowly, she untied the belt, then rolled her shoulders, shrugging the robe off in one motion. Her eyes never left mine as she revealed that all she still had on were flip-flops and a mischievous little smirk. I noticed that she also had on a thong that barely covered anything and was almost the exact color of her skin, so it gave the illusion of her being completely naked.
In a single lunge step, I was in her space, ready to grab and plant a kiss on her.
Her hand flew up in stop sign mode. “Don’t touch me; every inch of me is covered in makeup.”
I jerked my head back, unable to hide my perplexed look. “What? Why?”
She sounded almost teacher-like. “To cover up all my imperfections: stretch marks, moles, freckles, and so on. You know, anything that makes me look human.”
“Obviously, the Iglesias-looking guy out there thinks you look pretty perfect,” I challenged.
She pushed two fingers into my sternum and stated, “You mean Joeseph Cantu? He’s been like a big brother to me,” she said, turning toward the shower. “Let me wash this stuff off before I muck you up.”
Yeah, right, big brother. You can’t be that stupid…or expect me to be, I thought, repeating her words in my head. “You mean Joeseph Cantu? He’s been like a big brother to me.”
I wanted to scream: “You already mucked me up!”