Chapter Two
Chapter Two
The nutty, burnt smell of dark roasted coffee aroused her nostrils; she blinked her eyes open to see a steaming mug with a card propped against it. She was twenty-five today, and oddly, it felt like the beginning of a new life. Sitting up in bed, she opened the card, a black and white drawing of Antone’s with only the outline of the sign in front of the famous Austin music venue outlined in red. It was illustrated by Avery (Coloring ATX), one of Austin’s famous artists known for capturing the city’s history in her drawings. Jake’s words:
Happy Birthday, Sweets
Best concert ever: Antone’s with Guy Forsyth and Jeska Bailey
Best song ever: The Things That Matter
Best kiss ever: Your lips on mine (pretty sure you kissed me first—and I’m not complaining)
Today, I am grateful you were born.
Love, Jake
That kiss, that song, eddied to the forefront of her brain. As she relished the memory of their first kiss, she wondered if it were possible to fill one's life with good memories to block out the traumatic ones that seemed to dominate. Could you fill that library in your head with new experiences, stacking the shelves with positive books, so much so that the negative ones would have no room…filling your brain with only what you want to read.
I’d twisted in his arms, my hair a mess from dancing, my chest covered in a thin film of perspiration. My green eyes were glossy, wide, searching. I kept singing the words to the song as Jeska and Guy's voices swirled in the dark bar, looking at Jake as if no one else existed. “Don’t give me diamond rings, those so-called finer things…they don’t matter when they’re not there.” Snagged by the music, the tequila, and the flame in his blue eyes, I looked up at him, continuing to sing. “I only want the things that matter, only want the things you can share.” I moved up on my toes so I could whisper in his ear, “I love that song.” I craned my head back, looking up at him.
He cupped the small of my back in his hand, staring at me, his lips parting but no words had emerged—he looked as if he were somewhere else, as if he were watching a movie that he liked. He'd decided to keep whatever he was thinking to himself, but I saw something real in his expression, as if he were seeing something beyond that moment. For a second, I argued with myself, wanting to dismiss it, but I gave in to what I ached to do: bathe in it. I hadn’t had the luxury of feeling this from a man.
He had leaned down, brushing his lips to the side of my cheek. I didn’t hesitate to turn my head; the neediness to feel his mouth connect to mine drove me. And damn, it felt nice, simple and soothing. Before I knew it, Jake’s mouth covered mine, gently pulling my lips in. Then firmly, as if his control had evaporated, his tongue rushed in, my head craning back to take him in while my chest arched into his.
The music still flowed in my head like it had been bouncing off the black walls in Antone’s, the murmur of the crowd, but it seemed distant, like a recording playing at low volume. I wanted to crawl into Jake’s skin, make that kiss last, feel it over and over again, rewind, then feel it again. I had never been kissed like that; I’d never had what felt like my whole being sucked up in a kiss.
Her fingers grazed along her lips, tracing the touch of his own; that had been a start, an awakening for her, a man’s touch that felt mutual. Her response was natural but simultaneously exhilarating, like lifting her face to the first day the sun peaks out from a cloak of heavy gray clouds after a bleak winter in London, making her want to throw her arms up and let the heat carry her. It opposed her commanded reactions as an escort, an actress playing a role. The sensation of Jake’s lips consuming hers made her yearn to wallow in it. She let her nerves absorb it.
Following the smell of coffee and the aroma of something baking, she found Jake standing over the stove, spatula in hand, flipping pancakes. He was wearing gray sweats and a wrinkled white T-shirt. She came up behind him, encircling her arms around his waist; his back stiffened slightly. “Jake, thank you for the card.” He set the spatula down, turning in her arms.
He offered her a slight smile, but when her eyes took his face in, she registered his worn grimace, like he was working to smile. “Jake, you okay? You look…”
He shrugged but the casual gesture belied the consternation on his face, as if he were trying to figure out what to say, to give her a reason for his strung-out demeanor. “I just didn’t sleep well… I was thinking about all the trading in the league and our potential draft picks. When teams trade like they are this year, it really changes what the draft looks like.”
“Sometime you’ll have to explain all that football planning stuff to me. I just like watching you…”
“And…Randall Adams,” he lobbed at her, smiling, which didn’t altogether match the playful irritation lacing his words.
Randall Adams, the seasoned quarterback of the Iowa Tornados, America’s sweetheart (Zen Cyclone), was the first American football player she’d ever heard of before meeting Jake. She couldn’t hear his name without thinking about her dad and their Sundays wearing gray Styrofoam swirls on their heads. Her dad used to joke that Green Bay Packer fans wear a giant Styrofoam block of cheese on their heads, but we get to wear a cool Styrofoam tornado hat . Rakell knew there was nothing cool about it, but it didn’t matter; it was what she and her dad did together: watch American football. He would nudge her, telling her to save herself for a guy like Randall Adams.
She stepped back, giving Jake a playful smile. “Actually, I’ve narrowed my quarterback crushes down to one.” She poked his upper arm, her finger pushing into his hard shoulder muscles, eliciting a smirk from him. It was a learning curve, adjusting to being in a relationship where people expressed themselves openly, but it wasn’t simple, and there was a strategy to it that seemed more complicated than being an escort. That thought sifted through her brain as she coyly tilted her head at him.
“Do tell,” he said, smirking at her before turning to pour more pancake batter into the pan.
She registered that he seemed to be working to assuage any tension that hung between them. She suspected it was because she was bailing on his planned birthday weekend. Is that what people in love did, pushed away their wants, pretended they were okay with the new agenda, even when they were clearly agitated? Jake wasn’t good at masking his feelings. She wanted to lecture him, let him know that chasing her dream would mean that acting opportunities had to come first, that she couldn’t consider his disappointment when accepting auditions or jobs. No, she’d spent the last five years faking it, wearing a mask for the sake of men, and that was done. But she knew that Jake was one of the good ones.
“So, tell me about this quarterback you’re into.” Again, his playfulness didn’t completely smother the unease creeping into his tone.
“Well, he chews on toothpicks. He’s sort of annoying, a little crass.” A muffled half-giggle flew from her mouth when Jake turned, his eyebrow arching, his chin out. She ran her finger over his Adam's apple to his sternum before diverting to his left nipple, swirling it around, relishing the feel of the hardening flesh under the worn cotton material. “And he may suffer a tad bit in the attention arena; he’s easily distracted, way too easy…e-zeee,” she added. Her words were wrapped in a husky breath, her mouth purposely going lax as she widened her eyes, aiming her best “come hither” look directly at him.
He reached to the side and turned off the stove, his eyes steeled on her. “Got it. He’s a mess when a pretty girl is making him crazy. So let’s get to his negative qualities…”
“Well,” she whispered, her fingers skimming the surface of the material stretched across his chest. “I’m still on the positive attributes. He can’t hide how he’s feeling, so all I have to do is scan his face and know he’s worried, but this is the real positive: he’s easily cheered up, and I know exactly how to do that.”
“Sweets, you basically just said your quarterback is easy in various ways. So, is that his only quality?”
“Nooo…but it’s the one I like best. He’s a great uncle, loves his Dolly, cooks, but the easy part is by far my favorite,” she said, trailing her fingers down his abdomen before hooking them into his sweatpants. “Oh, and he’s easy on the eyes, too, so basically easy in every way.” The corner of her mouth twisted up, her eyes entreating him.
Swiftly, he grabbed her hand, halting her.
Registering his resistance, she stiffened but was determined to leave on a positive note, wanting to make sure she left Jake smiling before she got on that plane. The familiar song from her phone stopped her plan.
“You should get that…probably birthday wishes,” he said, shifting his grasp on her hand from firm to a gentle squeeze, easing it to her side, and running his fingers up her forearm. “Grab your phone, and I’ll get your birthday breakfast ready.”
Her phone rang again; she turned toward the sound coming from the hallway, then back to him. “It can wait.” She smiled, thinking she needed to assuage the friction that seemed to occupy the space between them. She was sure it was her leaving early that was the cause of the problem, and he needed to understand that her focus was on the pursuit of this dream. She couldn’t let anyone, or anything, stop her. He’d already gotten to the top as a quarterback with a Super Bowl under his belt. She’d definitely attained modeling accolades, which led to some commercials and a few bit parts, but for her, the climb had just begun. Her agent had said, “Rakell, there’s no resting in this business because there’s always a nonstop line of talent lining up behind whoever is in front, so you can’t hit the snooze button…ever.”
Jake cleared his throat, then reached for his glass of water. She watched his neck bob as if he were swallowing more than clear liquid. “Okay then, how about you give a guy a hand?” he said, his chin nodding toward the plates on the counter.
Stepping forward to grab them, she scoffed, “I was trying to give you more than that.”
He laughed. “Bad girl! I swear, I’m easy, and you’re bad…a perfect match. For the record, I always love what you give me, but I wanted to feed you.” He chuckled as she wiggled her eyebrows at the word “feed.” He continued, “Yes, I love feeding you that, but you need something more on your birthday. Shit, never mind, just sayin’ I made some pancakes from healthy shit for you. Melissa told me you’d eat Matcha protein, crushed blueberries, and something else that’s not real flour but actually tastes good. Oh, and chicken sausage. I'm pretty sure these chickens did daily yoga based on the cost per pound, but I know you’re watching everything that goes into your mouth right now.”
“Again, with innuendos, but you’ve chosen breakfast instead,” she quipped, watching him bite back a laugh as he arranged pancakes, sausages, and fruit on their plates.
“I don’t have a table yet, so get comfortable on the couch before I end up having my way with you and putting you on the plane starving.”
“Yes, sir, but let’s be clear, it’s my way with you that you are turning down.”
He poured Champagne into two flutes, topping them off with shots of pomegranate juice. “Sit,” he said after she placed the plates on the wrought iron and glass coffee table.
The crimson liquid splashed into the yellow-tinged bubbly. Heat rushed up her throat as she stared at the red streams of syrup spiraling into the Champagne. She squeezed her legs together, picturing the popsicle. She no longer associated them with summer; after the night, he’d introduced her to the adult use of the treat—Champagne and pomegranate juice popsicles. Her body responded to the memory of the cool, sugary tip raking over her skin. How he’d rimmed her lips with the red tip, her mouth yearning for more, her whining for it. He’d let her slurp on the end before dragging the wet tip down her torso, her stomach muscles flinching from the cool wetness before it made its way to her mons. Her spine jolted with the memory of the tip entering her pussy, followed by him slurping the juice from her clit.
He arched an eyebrow while looking at her. “Thinking about something?” he asked, a cockiness to his tone that made her roll her eyes, which got her a thick chuckle from him.
Clearing his throat, he raised a glass and said, “Just a short birthday toast. I’m…well, hell…just glad we finally are on the same path and, well, happy that things are opening for you and you’re getting to realize your dreams. I want to be that person who helps you get there, and if you feel afraid or doubt things, I want to be there for that, too.” She could feel him watching her eyes flicker and the way her jaw jutted out slightly as if fear and doubt were things she had to brush off.
Her eyelids slid down and popped open, a forced cheeriness masking her face when she clinked her glass to his. What the hell was it with men—especially successful men—thinking that she couldn’t get where she wanted without them, that somehow, even if she’d done everything to set herself up, she’d crumble with self-doubt and need him? “Jake, thank you for the birthday breakfast and the card.”
“Your gifts, plus I have…”
“We can wait until next weekend.”
“Sure, we can do a double celebration, your birthday and the jumpstart to your career,” he said, sitting back. “What I meant with that toast is that…well, we are both focused on our goals, but if you need me, I want to be here for anything.” As if unable to stop himself, he added, “Like Matt, how Matt has been there, how you depend on him…”
The flash in her eyes seemed to jolt him. “Jake, Matt has done a lot for me, but he’s never made me feel like I depend on him. Our support for one another is…is…” A severeness jumped into her voice. “It’s mutual. We mutually lean on each other. That’s the diff…”
Taking a quick swig of his Champagne, peering at what she knew was her visibly pissed expression, he put up a hand. “Okay, put away your sword. I’m on your side. I depend on people, my parents, my sisters, Dwayne, my coaches, Rodger…the list goes on, and there’s nothing wrong with that, nothing fucking wrong with needing people. All I was saying is I’d welcome being one of those people in your life. That’s kinda how it works when you care about someone…” He put his glass down and went on: “You should eat,” he muttered, grabbing his fork.
“Yes, I’m starving,” she replied, stuffing a piece of pancake in her mouth, then murmuring, “Yummm.” She watched him as he shook his head and ate. He definitely wasn’t an actor. Every emotion that snapped in his brain changed the features of his face, so even if Jake didn’t constantly share what he was thinking, he was a simple read, she thought. A muted laugh escaped between her bites.
“What the hell?” He shot her a bemused look. “What’s so funny? I think these pancakes are damn good.”
“They’re great…all of it’s wonderful…including you.”
“Ah huh, I can tell,” he said, sarcasm intertwining with the irritation in his tone.
She washed down her pancakes with a sip of coffee. “Don’t go into acting,” she started with a wry grin. “All of your thoughts show on your face, your voice, and the way the cords in your neck pop, like every part of you is trying not to pound the table and say that I’m a brat and that you’re a good guy and I should be grateful and…”
“Hold the fuck up,” he grunted, then with his balled fist, he gave the table a quick hit, his eyes flashing at her. “I did that for effect, but, this part I’m serious about, I don’t look at it the way you're saying it…like you should be grateful…all the fuck I’m saying is that I’m…”
Shooting her hand up, she replied, “Stop. I get it Jake, I do, but I left home when I was barely seventeen, and I haven’t looked back. Then I had to perform as an escort—in some ways, that prepared me for acting because I had to pretend like I needed those men, that somehow I wasn’t enough without them. Except for Matt, but with the others, I always felt like I had to act weaker and more vulnerable than I know I am, so needing someone feels like stepping back. I am moving forward, and I don’t want to need you…I don’t want you hoping that you're going to be my knight in shining armor and that somehow, you’ll save me, because you won’t, because I don’t need it from you or any other man.” She shut her eyes to stave off the emotion pushing behind them, the crackling feeling that she couldn’t come to terms with. She had to charge at life; the notion that she could trust him, that her fears would be protected seemed foreign. It was easier to push him back. Make sure he knew she could do this herself.
She watched as he raked a hand through his hair, his eyelids seeming heavy, as if he were exasperated by the whole conversation. God, she needed to get better at this, at making him feel like she cared because she did, but she’d worked too hard to end up needing him or anyone. Matt, yes, but the security and trust she had in Matt wasn’t something she could imagine in a lover.
She wiggled her ass toward him, being purposefully playful, trying to shove aside the fact that she’d just erupted from his declaration that he would be there for her if she needed him. She knew how to steer this moment, to shift his focus.
He leaned back on the couch, watching as she approached him. She straddled his muscular thighs, then put her hands on his shoulders. His features shifted with subtle amusement, the wariness she’d seen on his face only moments ago drifting away.
A small, triumphant smile emerged on her face as she pondered her next words: “I have an idea. What if we say want, we want each other, we want to be around each other, we want to share what’s going on in our lives with each other, we want…” She bent down, her lips grazing the base of his neck before nuzzling into his ear. “We want to fuck each other. Have I covered everything we want ?”
She saw the movement in his sweatpants, his cock twitching from her breathy words. “Fuck,” rushed out of his mouth. He grabbed a fistful of her long, mussed hair and pulled her head back, eyes fixed on her. “ Bad girl…I didn’t know you also got yourself an English degree. Again, with the fucking wording, need, want, desire. However, you choose to term it, yes, I need to fuck you. But we’ve got less than thirty minutes before we have to be out the door.”
She rocked her hips against his pelvis, her eyes hooded. “I trust that you want to make this happen before I jump in the shower. You have ten minutes, superstar…and…”
His tense muscles gave way to her touch and the whisper of naughtiness in her voice as she bent forward, nibbling at his bottom lip. His hand snaked up her soft cotton shirt, grabbing a handful of flesh, kneading the soft mound.
She moaned, then arched into his touch, encouraging him. “Yes…Jake…” she rasped, “yes.” With that, he hooked his thumbs into the waist of her boy shorts and yanked, then found her clit. She could hear the lust in his low, gravelly voice as he rattled off his illict plan of what he’d do to her when she returned. She’d wanted to fuck him, feel him in her, watch his eyes roll back as she slid up and down on his cock, but her nervous system gave in to his thumb rubbing circles on her sensitive nub, shooting sparks from her groin into her pelvis. Realizing he was fighting to be needed, she gave in, hissing his name into the air before collapsing on him.