3. Jake
Chapter 3
Jake
I want an I.V. of caffeine so badly I can hardly stand myself. I’ve been up since three-thirty this morning on a conference call because Lester Hollingsworth III didn’t give a shit about the time difference from the east coast of the U.S. to Japan. Not to mention, I was on-call at the fire station the night before last and I never sleep when I’m there.
Add in trying not to picture that sliver of Dylan’s tantalizing skin I saw yesterday and I’m basically a strung-out zombie.
The call with Lester didn’t go as well as I’d hoped and trying to sleep now would be useless. Instead, I grab a shower so I can head into the office.
Willing myself to get it together, I follow my regular routine, swinging by the coffee shop in the lobby of my family’s building. But when I go to pay for my salmon bagel and Americano, I realize I left my wallet in the Maserati when I dropped it off.
“Can you charge the corporate account, Lucy? I left my wallet at home.” I smile at the sweet barista who is always so cheerful even when she has to serve egotistical assholes like my father.
“No problem, Mr. Ellington.” She beams and hands over my daily breakfast.
“How are things going with Jason?” I ask Lucy about her recent boyfriend not to be nosy, it’s important to me to know everyone in this building from the janitors to the baristas to the IT guys to the board of trustees. My name is on the building and my father and I have very different ideas of what being a leader looks like.
I want these people to look forward to working for me one day, not dread it and abandon Ellington Wealth Management the first chance they get.
“They’re great. He took me to a Brave’s game this weekend because I mentioned I’d never been and have always wanted to go,” she says happily. Good man, Jason.
The toaster dings and Lucy finishes preparing my bagel before handing it over.
“I’m glad to hear it. You make sure he keeps it up, yeah?”
“Thank you, Mr. Ellington. I will.”
On the elevator ride up to my office, my brain conjures up my interaction with Dylan. I wish I wasn’t so fucking awkward around him, but I haven’t acted on a crush since boarding school and I’m a little rusty. If only it was as easy as a Brave’s game.
Not that it would go anywhere or could go anywhere…it’s pretty obvious Dylan’s straight. And yeah, I know you can’t always judge a book by its cover, but there are usually signs. And trust me, I was looking hard for any sign.
The silver lining is that him being straight makes him safe territory. Kind of like flirting with your best friend’s wife. You know she’s off-limits and he knows you’d never cross that line, allowing you to be a little more open, a little more relaxed, a little less reserved.
Except I’m not relaxed around Dylan. I’m wound tighter than ever when I’m in his space.
Hiding my sexual preferences has been the norm ever since I discovered I was attracted to guys in the eighth grade. Henry Rosenburg kissed me after fencing practice one day and stars exploded behind my eyelids. It wasn’t like I had a lot of experience kissing either gender at that age, but a year later, when Sarah Eli kissed me, I felt nothing. No excitement, no tingles, no desire to do it again. Her lips were too yielding and although she initiated the move, it was like she was waiting for me to take control and I didn’t like the pressure. I exerted enough control in my life back then between classes, clubs, and sports that I definitely didn’t want to have to call those as well. To this day, I still prefer to be a follower in the bedroom, happy to hand control to someone else.
After the encounter with Sarah, I went back to Henry to see if I still felt something or if I was broken altogether, but those damned sparks returned as soon as Henry’s firm mouth connected with mine for the second time. My hands flew to his chest and I loved the hard muscle I found there.
I let it slip one night at the dinner table that Henry had become my boyfriend. My father let me know quickly, and furiously, that being homosexual was not a route I would take in life if I had any hope of remaining the heir to his multi-billion-dollar company. And like usual, instead of helping me, my mother pretended the argument wasn’t happening. As long as her champagne flute was full, she tried to blend in with the walls…still does. It’s actually quite disgusting how cliché and unoriginal my parents are.
Exiting the elevator, I shake my current thoughts away and flash my badge at the electronic key reader, gaining access to my office as if it were a hotel suite. My grandfather purchased this building sixty years ago and it was probably the best investment he or my father ever made. My current position as head of investments allows me a top-floor office with three walls of windows that overlook the growing, bustling city below.
Standing at the southern-facing window, I squint as if I can see Dylan’s shop from here.
I wonder what he’s doing.
Steam from my coffee cup carries the bitter smell of the dark liquid to my nose and I realize Dylan’s probably working. Which is what I need to be doing. Moving to my desk, I fire up my computer and revel in the familiar sounds: the hum of my mini-fridge, the air blowing through the vents, the floor-to-ceiling blinds rolling down, giving me the privacy I crave. Even this high up, I like to shut the world out so I can focus.
However, regardless of my attempts to stay on track, my mind insists on wandering to Dylan. I wonder how he’d feel if he knew he was occupying my thoughts like this?
Who am I kidding? He’d probably be creeped out as hell and maybe even a little pissed.
The thought sours in my gut because unfortunately, I still need to go get my wallet.
Having a limitless credit card floating around isn’t a great move, but I have a full morning. I also need to figure out how to not be creepy as hell before I interact with him again. Although, truthfully, there isn’t any amount of time that’s going to help me with that.
Finally, after two meetings I was beginning to think would never end, I head for the parking deck, strengthening my resolve to let this rapid and unchecked obsession go.
Because it’s raining, I’m driving the Range Rover today. A humorless laugh escapes my throat at the thought that I chose my car based on the weather. Still perseverating on that fact, I’m a little self-conscious as I pull into the lot of Ryder Automotive thirty-five minutes later, remembering Dylan’s comment from the day I dropped it off. Spoken like someone who has an extra hundred grand to lose.
Touché, sir.
Thankfully, there’s an empty parking space right in front of the office because the downpour has just become torrential. Having no umbrella, I jump out of the car as fast as I can and run inside. Drenched after only ten feet and three seconds in the rain, I look like a wet dog.
A gorgeous woman with long black hair is behind the counter. When her eyes meet mine, I automatically know she’s related to the man who’s been occupying my thoughts all morning.
“Wow. You look just like Dylan.”
She laughs. “I’m three minutes older. So, technically, he looks just like me .”
Twins.
“Oh, um, right.” Real smooth, Jacob. Way to not be creepy this time.
She smiles politely and changes the subject. “Is there something I can help you with? You dropped the Maserati off yesterday, right? I’m afraid it won’t be ready for a while,” she says, playing with the ends of her hair. Not in a clueless-while-chewing-gum way, but more like she’s trying to keep her hands busy way.
“Of course. I just realized this morning that I left my wallet in the glovebox.”
“Let me check and see if Dyl has it in the bay already. If it’s up, he’ll have to grab it for you. I’ll be right back.”
She returns a moment later with Dylan in tow. He’s wiping his hands on a shop towel, his hat is backwards again, and he’s wearing a black tank top and what look like gray Dickies. The way I am not prepared to see him punches me square in the face. His pecs are barely contained in his tank top and more of his tattoos are exposed on his arms and shoulder. My salivary glands are letting me know they’re here for the look…and they aren’t the only ones.
“Hey, Jake. Come on back,” he says in a voice deeper than mine.
Following behind him, I pass through the door into the active car bay. One car is in a lift, two others, including my Maserati, are just parked on the floor in the open space. Dylan stands aside, holding a hand out toward my car. “Grab what you need.”
“Thanks.” The word comes out breathless as I fight the urge to run my tongue up his chest, followed by my hands before they get tangled in his… Christ, man, just grab your fucking wallet already .
Reaching into the car, I hear the music playing through the shop. I’m familiar with the song, but I never use my brother’s connection for my own gain. It’s bad enough my father’s connections have already paved every inch of the road that is my life.
But it’s extremely tempting.
My resolve to be normal is already long gone and it only took one look at Dylan in that tank top to realize I’m too desperate for his attention to be normal around him.
“Are you a Beautiful Deceit fan?” I ask, backing out of the passenger side of my car, wallet in hand.
Dylan’s face lights up. “Yeah, they’re pretty much all I listen to. They have such a unique sound and I swear everything they put out is better than the album before it. It’s fucking hard to get tickets to their shows anymore though because they sell out so goddamn fast and I can’t afford those bullshit third-party prices.”
“Yeah, I hear you. They sold their upcoming tour out in what, three minutes?” I ask, even though I know damn well it was one. Tim filled me in the last time we spoke, the pride in his tone was unmistakable.
“I wouldn’t have pegged you as a Beautiful Deceit fan.” Dylan says in shock, making me laugh.
“Making assumptions based on the suit again, I see.” I tease.
He runs his tongue over his bottom lip, pulling my eyes to the gesture and making my heart race.
“Yeah, I guess I am. My bad, man.”
“It’s all good,” I say, letting him off the hook. “I have to admit they aren’t terribly popular amongst my colleagues.” We stand in silence for a beat before I get on with it. “Well, hey, thanks for letting me grab this. I’ll get out of your way.” I swipe at an errant rain drop making its way down my forehead from my soaked hair.
Finally… finally… I’m starting to behave like I have a functional brain.
“I just opened a new pack of shop towels. You, uh, want to dry off?”
“Yeah, actually, that’d be great.” I want to do anything that prolongs my time in his vicinity.
While he’s squatting down, rummaging around one of the built-in counters, a man who looks to be in his late-fifties to early-sixties comes into the shop from the office.
“Can I help you, sir?” he asks, looking around, clearly thinking I’m in here alone.
Dylan pops his head over the counter. “It’s all good, Pop. I’ve got it.”
The older man eyes me a second longer, no doubt taking in my custom suit and the Rolex on my wrist. “Are you the owner of the Maserati?”
“Yes sir,” I reply, nodding my head once.
“Dyl told me about banging it up. He’s good for making it right. You’ll never know anything happened.”
That’s unlikely since every time I close my eyes these days, I see a tan-skinned man with dark hair, blue eyes, and tattoos, making me well aware something happened .
“It was just a small bump. They just don’t make ‘em like they used to.” I can’t help coming to Dylan’s defense. I feel sleezy about this whole situation and the last thing I want is for Dylan’s dad to blame him for any of this.
“You can say that again,” the older man chuckles.
“Here you go.” Dylan hands me the towel and I take it as my cue to leave.
“Thanks. I guess I’ll talk to you when she’s done.”
He nods and returns to his work.
Back in the Range Rover, my phone starts to ring.
“Hey, Cora.”
“Hi, Jacob.” No one in my circle calls me Jake except Knox, Phoenix, and Hudson. When Dylan did it automatically, I didn’t correct him because I wanted to bask in the familiarity. “Don’t forget we’re having dinner with my parents tonight at the country club.”
“I haven’t forgotten.”
“I told them I’d already made reservations at Olive Garden. You should have heard my mother choke on her tea.” Cora’s laugh lightens the pressure in my chest.
For all intents and purposes, our relationship is arranged...only she doesn’t know it. Neither of us really chose the other. My parents made it clear I would court her and win her over and her parents encouraged the budding relationship and found ways to constantly throw us together.
The deal between our fathers was struck up on the golf course years ago. My father needed wealthy clients and her father needed to secure funding for his campaigns.
If I was attracted to women, Cora would be a solid choice. Cora’s been bred for high society and honestly, it’s a good look on her. She has a big heart and enjoys philanthropic work. She excels at spending her father’s money and making him look good, but she’s also an entrepreneur and her company is growing rapidly.
I carry a lot of guilt knowing I’ll never love her the way she deserves, but I try to make up for it however, and whenever, I can.
“I’m sorry I didn’t get to hear that reaction,” I tell her honestly. Cora’s mom is a piece of work and more often than not, Coraline and I bond over our parents’ many shortcomings. “Before I forget,” I tell her, “I’m on call at the fire station this weekend, so after dinner, I’ll have to head over.”
“I worry so much when you’re there, but I admire that you do it. I just wish you didn’t keep it a secret so others would know how selfless you are.”
A pang of guilt nestles its way behind my sternum and settles there, causing me to sigh.
“We both know my father would shut that down immediately and just find another way to trap me in the ivory tower of Ellington Wealth Management.”
I joined the volunteer fire department three years ago. The requirements are pretty minimal because we have a kick-ass squadron of full-time firefighters , but it gives me the thrill I crave after spending all day in the corporate world of number crunching.
I enjoy my day job, I really do. Hell, if I didn’t, I would’ve said fuck it to my whole life like my brother did. But I like the challenge of trying to beat the system. I like the puzzle, the analysis, the dollar signs, the satisfaction on my client’s faces, and if I’m being brutally honest, I enjoy the pride on my father’s face when I outperform his expectations. But I also have a need to be wild and free and I seek that thrill by running into burning buildings and waiting on edge to hear those sirens go off. It’s the one piece of myself I’ve been able to hold onto.
I met my three best friends at the fire station. Hudson, Phoenix, and Knox help me feel normal. Although they don’t know I’m gay, I doubt they’d give a shit if they found out. They don’t give care about my money and they fuck with me just like they do with each other, which means more to be than they’ll probably ever know.
“I know. I love your rebellious side,” Cora teases. “Just make sure you hide it under your suit and tie in front of daddy.” She giggles like only an innocent debutant lamb can.
She thinks me secretly volunteering with the fire department is my rebellious side…I shudder at what she’d think about the deepest desires in my heart for the man with the tattoos and ice-blue eyes.
Cora is all smiles after dinner when she wraps herself around my arm and laces our fingers as we wait for the valets to retrieve our cars.
“I wish you didn’t have to go into the fire station tonight,” she says, gripping me tighter. I kiss her head, but stay quiet, unsure how to respond, when she continues. “I bought something I was hoping to show you.”
I look down at her and to my utter shock, she’s discreetly pulling the neckline of her dress aside, revealing a dark, lacey piece of lingerie underneath.
My eyes go wide with surprise and I’m thankful she interprets the shock as lust. The move is so out of character for my conservative girlfriend.
“I thought you might like it,” she whispers as my headlights draw toward us. When the valet tosses me my keys and Cora’s car is pulled in behind mine, she kisses my cheek. “You can see the rest soon. Be safe tonight.”
Cora’s growing interest in our sex life — as well as her recent insistence in discussing marriage, kids, and the future — isn’t good for me. Already on a prescription for Viagra — after lying to my physician and telling him the stress of my job is really killing my libido — I’ve still been struggling to manage the couple of times a month our schedules actually align and allow us to make it happen.
I kiss Cora’s cheek one more time and get her tucked into her Audi before climbing into my own car.
I’ve never been as relieved to head to the fire station as I am right now. Getting out of having sex with your partner shouldn’t feel like dodging a bullet.