Muse

Chapter 8 #2

“As for Corey?” she went on. “Don’t ruffle his feathers.

His ego is fragile, but I need him intact.

” Her shoulders sagged. “Look, this isn’t the conversation I set out to have tonight.

Meet at the Mug and Trencher at noon for lunch tomorrow?

I’ll give you the grand tour of Hawthorne, which will take approximately twenty minutes. ”

I nodded.

Rachel touched my shoulder. “I know I keep saying this, but I’m sorry, Gavin. About everything. About…Shelby.”

I flinched at that name.

“I talked to her last night. I told her you were here—”

I held up my hand. “I don’t need to hear it. The two of you have your friendship, and that’s fine. Leave me out of it.”

“I promise you’ll find your place in Hawthorne. You’re going to get that faculty position next semester, I know it. But you have to listen to me. You have to trust me.”

Rachel would do anything in her power for the people she cared about. Too bad it always came attached to the need for control.

“You don't need to direct everything, Rach. In fact, you shouldn’t.”

She squeezed my shoulders. “Just put the show first, and leave Jorie alone.”

I headed into the chilly, clear night. A harvest moon hung like a ripe orange over the parking lot. Students passed by, bundled up in peacoats and parkas, while the wind whistled through my sweatshirt.

My winter clothes were still packed in boxes, along with the rest of my life.

I spotted my car at the far corner under a streetlight. The black frame hulked in solitude. No one was waiting.

Shit. Jordana must have given up and left. I sprinted for the car. The jog across the parking lot lasted long enough to make me wonder: had I made a mistake by hiring her?

Rachel was right; we still barely knew each other. This entire photo shoot depended on trust. Was it irresponsible to feel protective of her, to involve her in my project? Was she responsible enough to count on? Rachel had made her sound like a loose cannon, a wild card. A troubled woman.

She was only twenty-one. When I’d hit that age, I thought all my mistakes were behind me. That I had my act together, a full-fledged adult.

Life liked to laugh at people who were too sure of themselves. I’d learned from that mistake.

I rounded my car and almost tripped over a figure sitting on the ground.

“Oh!” She shot up, brushing off her long coat. One hand clutched a slim yellow-bound book. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I sat down to wait.”

I was too startled to answer, but Jordana was all smiles.

The wind tossed her hair around her shoulders, a seething mass of mahogany curls. Her animal-print coat wrapped around her, hiding the lushness underneath. And on her face, so much hope that my heart cracked.

I returned her smile. “Sorry I kept you waiting. What are you reading?”

“Fefu and Her Friends by María Irene Fornés. I dream about playing Julia. This is for a class, but I’ve read it before.”

“Sounds great. You can tell me all about it in the car.” I unlocked the doors and opened hers, waiting for her to climb in.

As I drove out of the parking lot, her gaze moved over me. “Is everything okay? You seem stressed.”

My feelings were a subject I preferred not to discuss. They were my responsibility; no one else needed to be bothered with them. But around Jordana, I couldn't seem to hide much.

“I just talked with Rachel. She doesn’t like that we’re friends.”

Jordana rolled her eyes. “It wasn’t enough for her to tell you I’m seductive?”

To my surprise, I grinned. The tension began to leave my shoulders. “We’re obviously bad for each other. You’re young and chaotic. I’m old and devastating. If you don’t corrupt me, I’ll corrupt you.”

She laughed. “I hope you will corrupt me, Gavin.”

She shot me a flirty look, and my cock jerked, straining against my jeans. Gripping the wheel, I focused on the road.

“How do you know Rachel, anyway?”

“College. We met on a production of The Tempest. I was eighteen, she was twenty.”

“You must’ve been pretty brave to befriend her, if she was anything like she is now,” Jordana teased. “And I say that with love. She’s my favorite professor, even if she does think I’m completely unsuitable to hang out with you.”

Her tone was carefree, but I detected the hurt beneath it.

“More like I’m unsuitable to hang out with you,” I hurried to say. “And yes, she was exactly the same. Everyone was terrified of her, but she couldn’t scare me off. We stayed friends. Worked together on and off in New York until she came here.”

“And now you’re here, too.”

“I was ready to leave New York. She suggested Hawthorne. She’s putting in a good word for me to teach here next semester.”

“So you just picked up and moved?”

I shrugged. “The time was right.”

Jordana flipped the pages of the script in her lap. “Can I get a head start on calling you professor? I’ve got an old prep school uniform collecting dust in my closet. We could pull it out for tonight’s shoot…”

“That’s not really my kink,” I muttered.

“No? Does Rachel know your kinks?”

I laughed, though the thought made me queasy. “So many questions.”

“You ordered me to crawl to you in Uncle Charlie’s last night. Is it that embarrassing to discuss this?”

Frustrated, I stepped on the gas. “Rachel and I understand each other. Let’s leave it at that. But there are a lot of things I can’t talk to her about, and things in our past that aren’t perfect.”

“And why, exactly, is she so against us spending time together?”

When I didn’t answer, she shrugged off her fake-fur coat, exposing the lushness of her curves. Her sheer white dress clung to her figure — toned, but with a stubborn softness that drove me to distraction. My gaze skipped between the road and her bare arms and legs.

I was rock hard now. I coughed, trying to bring the conversation to safe ground. “How’d you like your chai today? Did it keep you awake?”

A smile lit her face, smaller and sweeter than the dazzling grin she put on, but a shadow chased it.

“It was great!” she said with false brightness. “Tomorrow, drinks are on me.”

Warning bells rang in my head. I braked for a stoplight.

“Something wrong?” I asked gently.

“What do you mean? Nothing’s wrong.”

I blew out a breath. Jordana clearly didn’t like discussing her feelings any more than I did. I shouldn’t pry. I was already trying to keep my distance.

I tapped my hands on the wheel. “Don’t worry about drinks tomorrow. My coffeepot’s unpacked. I’ll make you a cup if you’re sleepy.”

She stared out the window. “You’re sweet,” she murmured, but her voice was flat. “I-I ran into Corey after you gave me the chai. He told me not to talk to you while this show is running. He said I’d regret it.”

Red filled my vision. I gave the steering wheel a hard twist, pulling over to the side of the road and yanking the transmission to park.

“He won’t talk to you that way ever again. I’ll make sure of it.”

“Gavin, no. Don’t go after him.”

“He threatened you.” I was so enraged, I could barely speak. “That’s unacceptable.”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle.” She tried to smile, but faltered and looked up at the sunroof.

I’d opened the cover, leaving the glass closed, and the full orange moon beamed down on us.

“I can’t believe I ever wanted him. I don’t want him at all, anymore.

Do you know how weird that feels, not wanting someone you’ve been obsessed with? ”

“Yes, I do.”

Jordana gave me a curious glance. “I need to say no to him. Tell him we’re done. But — my throat closes up when I try.”

“You just said no to me,” I pointed out, trying to rein in my temper. “Why can’t you say no to him?”

“It’s easier with you. You make me feel safe. But with Corey — with most people —”

Fuck, was I coming on too strong? I drew a breath, trying to calm down.

“Why is it so hard to say no, Jordana?”

Her head drooped, her shoulders hunching toward her ears. “It’ll make people feel bad. Make them angry. Then they won’t like me. They won’t…love me.”

After seeing her fill a theater with energy, it staggered me that she looked so small.

I made my tone as gentle as possible. “Where did this come from?”

“My mom, I think.” She was whispering, her arms and legs pulled in tight, huddled on the passenger seat. “She always told me to be careful with ‘no’ and use it as sparingly as possible. Especially…with boys. With men. Because they don’t like to hear it.”

I stared out the window at the quiet rows of townhouses, attempting to measure my words, to keep from wrapping her up in my arms. Squeezing the wheel, I looked back at her, hoping to communicate: I see you.

“I don’t know your mom, and I don’t know your situation, but that’s fucking wrong. It’s wrong, Jordana. That’s her fear. She probably doesn’t want you to say no to her.”

“Probably. But I feel like I have to protect her.” She stared at her tightly crossed legs.

“I like you,” I muttered. “I will still like you if you say no to me.”

Slowly, she looked up. “I believe you.”

Relief eased the tightness in my back. “With this project — hell, with anything in life — you have to be able to say no as well as yes. If you can’t say no, your yes means nothing at all.”

A faint smile curved her lips. “You’re right. I’m saying yes. I told you, I’m on board.”

“I’m going to push your boundaries. It’s the nature of the work. I need to count on you to say no to anything you’re not willing to do.”

“What if I’m not sure?”

Her green eyes were headlights, wide and bright. I was caught in their beams, a deer who wanted to run toward her instead of away.

“Then we’ll discuss.”

“How about we practice?” A mischievous smile crossed her face. “You know how in improv, the answer is always yes? Let’s flip it. We can call it the ‘No Game.’ You ask me for things, and I’ll say no.”

“All right.” I leaned back in my seat. Her excitement was infectious. “Can I have a million dollars?”

“Nope.” She laughed.

“Can I have your leopard coat?”

“Cheetah,” she corrected.

“What’s the difference?”

“The spots are solid black. Leopard spots are open with a lighter center. And absolutely not.”

“Will you drop out of college and fly to Bali with me to surf all day?” I winked.

Her cheeks turned pink. “I mean…when you put it that way…”

I cleared my throat.

She pouted. “No.”

“Ride in a rodeo?”

“No!”

“Be my slave for a month?”

Her eyes rounded. “Um, yeah.”

“Jordana.” I fixed her with a stern look. “You’re supposed to say no.”

“I’m going to need more details before committing to a no on that one. Would I, like, be your maid? Or would you chain me to your bed? Use me at your evil whim? I need to know!”

She dissolved into laughter, tipping toward me, the script falling from her lap, climbing over the transmission until her face hovered inches from mine. Her eyes were half-closed, her soft warmth drugging me, her full lips a breath away. I gripped the steering wheel until my hands ached.

Finally, she spoke. “Can I have a kiss?”

A car passed, washing us in a sweep of headlights that left blackness in its wake.

“No.”

Slowly, she settled into her seat.

It was all I could do to keep from grabbing her, throwing her in the backseat, and having my way with her. I was in much too deep.

Starting the car, I pulled onto the street.

“I’m going to drop you off at your place,” I told her. “Bring a robe to wear between takes and put on something form-fitting. Workout clothes or a swimsuit.”

“What for?”

“The tight clothes are for our first takes. I want you to get used to posing before you go nude.”

I sounded professional, detached, but my heart slammed against my chest. I could only guess how exquisite she’d be.

I parked in front of our neighboring buildings.

“Meet me at my place in twenty minutes. Apartment 4C.”

Jordana scooped up her bag, her face bright with anticipation.

“What about hair and makeup? Do you want me to look like Nina? My hair’s a lot bigger than hers.” She fluffed up her halo of auburn curls, a contrast to Nina’s sleek black bob. “But I can copy her makeup exactly—”

“Don’t look like Nina. Look like Jordana.”

She fidgeted with the strap of her bag. “But she’s who you wanted, originally. We can do everything like it would have been with her. I can be Nina, or whoever you want.”

I had to stop myself from cupping her chin so I could look into her eyes.

“I don’t want you to be Nina. I don’t want you to be Blanche DuBois, or Lady Macbeth, or Abigail Williams, or anybody else. I just want you to be you.”

Jordana’s gaze narrowed. “You found my résumé.”

“You have a website. Available to the public.”

“Stalker.”

With a gorgeous smile, she scooted out of the car. A swirl of leaves followed her as she disappeared from sight.