Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Four
I punched in the code to her front door, overnight bag in tow, anxious as hell to see her. It had been almost three weeks since she’d been back in Austin. She had flown in this afternoon and insisted that Lana pick her up for their pedicure and hair appointments. That had made me a little butt sore. I knew that as we pursued our careers, we’d need to learn to navigate the long bouts of time apart from each other. Still, I struggled to reconcile our increasing periods of separation with my desire to immerse myself in a life with Rakell.
I hung up a few shirts in her closet. She hadn’t exactly made room for my clothes as I had for her stuff in my houses in Austin and Sacramento, but I wasn’t the type to wait for an invitation. Her lack of dating experience was evident in the nuances of our relationship, and I was working to adjust to this. Still, being apart for increasing chunks of time made it even more difficult to establish a protocol, a couple’s routine, reflecting an understanding that we were interwoven in each other’s daily lives.
I knocked on the closed bathroom door. “Hey, you,” I said, rapping again when I heard the blow dryer.
The whirling noise went silent. “Yeah, you…wait, I’m naked,” she said through the door.
I heard a teasing giggle embedded in her words. “Perfect, you’re wearing my favorite outfit. Can I come in?” I asked, turning the doorknob.
“Yes,” she said, and as I opened the door, I saw her twisting her arms into the sleeves of her robe.
“Damn, why did you put that on? You know naked is how I prefer you.” I took two long steps toward her, grabbing the lapel of her robe, yanking her into my chest before leaning down, covering her mouth with mine, and kissing her quickly but firmly. “I love you naked.” I bent, plucking the skin of her neck with light kisses.
Craning back from me, she said, “Jake, stop. I don’t want us to be late. Jeez…”
I pulled her in tighter, my hands around her waist. “Seriously, can’t help it, especially when I only get to see you for a few days a month before you’re back in L.A. or wherever,” I said with a slight crack in my words. I’d dated models and actresses before, so I was accustomed to long bouts of no physical contact because of distance, but this was different. There had been no one I missed the way I yearned for her when she was gone. It was more of an ache, an itch to touch her, hug her, get a whiff of her skin, her citrusy scent that seemed to penetrate my nostrils. The time away ate at me more than usual. So when I did see her, I nearly vibrated with the drive to consume her.
Leaning up on her toes, she kissed my cheek. “I know, but I don’t want to be late to your parents’. Let me finish getting dressed, and then…”
I didn’t release her. "I should’ve been the one picking you up. Then we could have spent some time getting reacquainted,” I blustered, caressing her shoulder. “I was planning to spend my afternoon with you. Naked.”
She shimmied her arm between our bodies, pushing on my chest, but I didn’t budge. “You know I was getting my toes and hair done to look good for you on your birthday.”
“You always look beautiful,” I said, flexing my arms, yanking her in harder, her breasts crushing into my chest. “How about a quick reminder of how good you feel inside before we leave?” I murmured, half pleading, half demanding.
“How about you wait until later, and I treat you to a special birthday night?” Her mouth opened, her tongue slicking along her lips in a circle, her cat-green eyes flaming with promise. I registered the appeasing tone in her voice, and fuck, I was not above a sympathy blowjob or, as she called it, “cock swallow.”
Releasing my hands from her waist as I stepped back, I said, “Sounds good. I’m calling Mom to see if I can get my birthday meal to go.”
“I swear, Jake, get out!” she shouted, shaking her head and letting a chuckle escape her mouth. “You could make yourself useful and get the salad from the fridge packed up, along with the special cookies I made.”
“Cookies?” The only cookies I really liked were Laura Bush’s Cowboy Cookies and Trisha Yearwood’s Glazed Limoncello Cookies, and she didn’t know that. Plus, I’d never known her to bake.
“Yep, I made some walnut carob chip cookies. They're wheat-free, no dairy or sugar. I used pureed carrots to sweeten them…they’re actually kind of good for you.”
“Shit, they sound like deer treats. Those don’t count as cookies. Let me get this straight—I get no sex, and cookies made from what…rabbit food?” What the hell? Carrots as a sweetener? Fuck, this Austin health-conscious bullshit was sucking all the fun out of good ‘ole Texas grub.
She picked up the curling iron from the counter, jabbing it in the air toward me like it was a sword. “You’re impossible. First, you're getting sex, a lot of it—later—and second, the cookies are for Cameron. Melissa’s trying to watch his sugar and wheat intake. I didn’t know this, but a lot of kids with autism have gut-related issues, so I told her I’d make him something special, something I could eat, too. They’re really not bad. I snuck a smidgen of the dough.” She said that last part like it was a confession.
This girl, shit, every time I felt dejected or wondered if all the work to get through her walls was worth it, she did something like that, as if it was the most natural thing to make sure my nephew, who even at an early age was left out of a lot in life, got to have a special treat on my birthday. Also, I couldn’t deny how much I liked it that she was in touch with my sisters.
“So go, let me finish. I’ll detail my plan to take advantage of that hot football physique after your party…on the way to your parents.”
Turning to walk out of the bathroom, I snorted. “Great, so I get to go through my family birthday dinner with a rock-hard boner. Sounds fun.”
On the drive to my parent’s house, she turned to me, her finger pinching the top of the zipper that traversed from her breasts to her crotch along the front of her army-green romper that I told her reminded me of a super sexy fighter pilot I’d like to fuck. “Sooo…do you want to see what I have under this for later?” she teased with her eyes, doing that jig thing that I had come to associate with taunting me into a frenzy.
My eyes darted from the road to her. “Anything is too much.”
“Wait for it, wait,” she snipped, unzipping the romper to just below her breasts, exposing a sheer lace and black leather one-piece teddy.
I took in that visual for a few too many seconds. Feeling the truck swerve, I shifted my eyes to the road. “Shit, okay, if you have to wear something, I’ll take it, but that’s going to make it impossible for you to go to the bathroom.”
She laughed while zipping the romper back up. “That’s what you’re thinking about? Don’t worry, there are snaps on the crotch for easy access,” she said, and the double meaning was not lost on me. “It’s from the Leather and Lace collection…they just renewed my contract. I’m going to do more TV commercials for them and a few billboards, so that means more time in Paris,” she added, her voice racing as if she was just going to sneak that in, letting me know she’d be spending more time in Europe in the near future. I wasn’t going to address that now. We had under a week together.
“So what do you think about my birthday outfit?” she clucked. My eyes scooted sideways to see her finger trailing down her torso to her crotch. “Snaps,” she said, her eyes taunting, “brilliant design, don’t you agree, mate? I could preview it for my boyfriend before the world sees it.”
“Damn, you’re bad, and yes, I love it. I need to screen everything before the world sees.” When her head snapped toward me, I realized the last part sounded way too much like a directive. I shifted to a more playful tone, “Tell me more about my present.”
She detailed what she was going to do to me using a fake, sultry voice. I laughed, shaking my head at her description, then, fuck, as she described how she would start by sucking my cock while I sat on the couch before spreading her legs and riding me until I came. “Then, when you're ready, repeat,” she purred, in that wanton, husky voice that she absolutely knew traveled between my legs, stroking my dick. Damn it!
I pulled into my parents' driveway, shaking my head as I turned off my truck. “You go in. I need to sit here for a few minutes…” I uttered, my gaze falling between my legs. “I'm going to try to imagine myself ice fishing with a bunch of offensive linemen in Speedos. That should take care of this.”
She groaned, then snorted. “Ugh…that visual is enough to turn me off for a while.”
“Good. I think we’re ready to go in.” I jumped out of the truck. “Still wanna spank you for being such a bad girl, but I’ll let you make it up to me later,” I mumbled, helping her out.
She smirked, then stepped toward the walkway leading to my parents’ front door. I thought I heard, “Didn’t know you were into that, Skyler,” but when I asked her to repeat it, she just shook her head.
We walked into a noisy house, my mom playfully yelling, partly in French, at my dad about getting the grill going, Cassie running through the living room singing, “Happy Birthday, Uncle Jake,” and Cameron twirling in frenetic circles with his arms out, screaming “Jaaaa.” My grandpa from France, who’d been staying with my parents since January, beamed when he saw Rakell. His large frame lumbered toward her. “Belle Fille,” he bellowed as he enveloped her. Then his arms opened up to me, and even against my 6’ 2” frame, my grandfather still seemed big. While slightly shorter than me, his upper torso was massive, muscles and fat resting on large bones. He whispered gruffly into my ear, loudly enough for her to hear about how smart and beautiful she was, that I should hang on to her, I was lucky. “Vous avez de la chance,” all said in French, which I was pretty sure he remembered she understood from my Super Bowl party when they’d conversed.
I caught her smile, then she winked at me before turning to hug my mom, asking if she should put the salad in the refrigerator.
“Grand-père, you’re not helping me here,” I grunted, lightly slapping my grandpa on the back.
“Jake, can you and Joe get the table set up? Pull three tables together and cover them with the red checked tablecloths in the party cabinet,” my mom barked over her shoulder as she picked up a crockpot and walked outside.
“Wow, Mom, I love you, too. I sure appreciate that sweet speech about how the best day in your life was the day I was born,” I chided.
She laughed. “Saving that for later. Right now I’m busy making my baby boy’s favorite junk food. The fact that I made both your garbage foods and your heart attack in a bowl speaks to my love,” she said, walking past me. My mom often referred to the macaroni and cheese and the chicken fried steak that I love as my garbage food. I was pretty sure she meant the Velveeta queso when she said ‘heart attack in a bowl’ because that’s what Melissa called it.
Walking behind her, I asked, “Score! Is that my queso? Did you add the Jimmy Dean spicy sausage?” Then I scooted in front of her to open the sliding glass door of their sprawling ranch home so she could walk through it.
“Stay away until I can get the appetizers out,” she demanded, swatting the air in the direction of the buffet table, like I was six.
I hung back, watching Cameron run up to Rakell, raising his arms in the air for her to pick him up. “What’s up, big boy?” she said, hoisting him on her hip.
“Me issed you,” he blurted in his high-pitched, three-year-old voice. “Eitty, eitty,” he said, genuinely looking at her like she was a Disney princess. I deciphered he was trying to say “pretty.”
“Whoa,” I said, placing my hand on my nephew’s back, half massaging, half tickling. “Watch it there, Romeo, that’s my birthday present.”
Cameron repeatedly pecked her cheek gruffly. I’d told her that he was spending hours a week in intensive speech and behavioral therapy after being diagnosed with autism, so she smiled at him even if his eyes didn’t meet hers and said, “I missed you, too.” Then her gaze landed on me. “Mmm… mmm, you may have a little competition here.”
I threw both hands in the air. “Hold up! I can’t be replaced that easily!” Sheepishly, I added, “Can I?” Pathetic Jake, always eking out reassurance from this girl.
Cameron threw his head back and laughed manically at my overexaggerated gesture; I had the fleeting thought , he’s trying to connect.
“Well…” She squinted her eyes as if contemplating the answer to that question, then turned in a circle, holding Cameron. “This one is pretty cute, probably talks less, too.”
I pulled my eyebrows in, purposely darkening my expression. “Hey…I thought you liked my narration skills.”
My uncle Joe walked into the kitchen and said, “Hi, Rakell. It’s great seeing you here.”
She offered him a full-faced smile, her eyes lighting up. “Ah, good to see you, too, my favorite bartender.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere. I’ll pour your drink first, then I need to steal Jake. Put him to work.” He moved his gaze toward me. “Come help me set up these tables. Your mom’s getting testy.”
I pecked Rakell on the cheek while giving Cameron a light poke in the ribs. “Hey, little man, watch yourself…don’t forget this is Uncle J’s birthday present.”
“Jaaaaay!” he yelled, throwing himself backward. Rakell strained to hold on to him.
Melissa came around the corner, shaking her head. “I swear that boy always finds you. Sorry, come here, Cameron, Aunt K. can’t hold you all night,” she said, reaching for Cameron and putting him down, pointing to the back door. “Gammy has snacks out there.”
“Ga-meee,” he yelled, running for the door. We all followed him outside.
I overheard Rakell saying to Melissa, “He’s talking so much. He’s really trying.”
I saw Melissa’s hand go to her chest, her eyes rolling toward the sky, and overheard her saying, “Thank you for noticing and saying something.” Looking at Rakell, she continued, “I don’t expound on this much, but when you have a child whose behavior is considered out of control, it seems like people either want to give me advice on how to do things better or scold me. Sorry, I'm not sure why I’m saying all that except to say, thank you.”
Hearing Melissa say that to Rakell gripped my chest. She was dealing with so much. Rakell didn’t answer immediately; I could tell she was trying to figure out how to respond to my sister. “Well, I don’t have any experience with children, so I can’t imagine other people thinking they have the authority or right to offer advice to a mom, lest it be words of encouragement.”
“Again, thank you. He still gets incredibly frustrated when he can’t express his thoughts and just screams, which is always so much fun in public, but I see my little boy working really hard, especially with family. They’re still not seeing it at preschool, but I’m starting to feel optimistic just knowing he’s there. When he registers that someone genuinely likes him, he seems more comfortable…I can see the difference. Like with you, he knows you like him, and…he musters everything to communicate.” I heard genuine gratitude override the strain in Melissa’s voice.
“It feels nice to be one of those people he trusts,” Rakell said, touching Melissa’s arm. Shit, the emotions were ping-ponging around in me. Hearing that conversation, my sister seeming so guarded and unsure, Rakell saying all the right things…they both seemed to latch on to each other, as if Rakell were part of my family and damn if I didn’t start seeing our future, seeing these family dinners with her as a regular part of my life. And yet, I couldn’t help wondering, what about her family? She steered every conversation that veered too close to them away. I knew there was a strain between her and her mom, but what about her dad? When she spoke about him, it was always in short acknowledgments, as if she were being pulled between melancholy and good memories.
Once the meat was ready, Melissa and my mom started bringing out dishes from the kitchen, arranging them on the buffet table. Everyone lined up, grabbing plates. I moved into the line behind Rakell, leaning down to softly growl into her ear, “I can’t stop thinking about that zipper, the key to my happy birthday.”
Shaking her head, she admonished me, “Hey, stop it,” looking around to ensure no one could hear us.
I smiled, kissing her cheek. “Seriously, I’m a little distracted.”
“What’s new?” she said in tandem with an overexaggerated batting of her eyelashes. That reflexive retort that she so readily came at me with made it feel like we were already an entrenched couple, that we’d spent years loving, laughing, and getting on each other’s nerves, yet wanting more of the same. I wished we could just skip to that part, knowing we were locked in and settled, not the back and forth figuring out part laden with insecurity.
She broke me out of my dream drift. “Hey Jake,” she hushed, “this is a huge spread of food. Did your mom make all your favorites?”
“Yep,” I said, using tongs to put some tri-tip on her plate, but when I reached for another slice, she pulled her plate back. “This is not the night to demonstrate self-control in anything,” I whispered, gently bumping her hip. “You’re in Austin, not L.A.…time to enjoy.” Damn, that just fell right out of my mouth, and with a judgy tone, but hell, I was already seeing the L.A. life creeping in, and I can’t say it didn’t make me uneasy.
Ignoring my statement, she pointed to two bowls of macaroni and cheese. One looked sort of limp with watery orangish liquid, and the other looked creamy, something you would find in a high-end restaurant. "Is one of those meant for the kids?” she asked, pointing to my comfort food, her nose scrunching up in disgust.
“Um,” I stalled.
“Hell no, the kids are smart enough not to touch that stuff,” my cousin Will blurted out.
She turned toward him, and, of course, Will continued on: “Even kids know that there’s no comparison. Aunt Annette’s French gourmet mac and cheese is far superior to that crap. She uses gruyere cheese and adds lobster to it, but my cousin likes that shit out of a box with powdered cheese, all runny—just look at it, but since Jake loves that slop, Aunt Annette obliges her baby boy.” He sniggered, making an over-exaggerated grimace.
“Hey,” I yelled, “you might not be so cocky when I smoke you in horseshoes later.”
Rakell laughed. “So, you’d rather have that fake processed macaroni and cheese over your mom’s homemade stuff? Thought you had better taste than that!”
“I have great taste, only the best…I just have a slight weakness for my college staple here.” I bent, putting my ear next to hers. “Just so you know, for me, it’s not an either-or…it’s both… sort of like I enjoy tawdry-dirty sex as much as slowly, meticulously making love to you. So once again, great taste depends on the moment.”
She gave a hushed giggle. “Jake, you have such a way with words. I’ll give you ‘great taste’ this time around.”
“Since I know a good dish when I see one, I’ll stick with anything Aunt Annette makes versus that boxed shit.” Will’s eyes darted to Rakell, as he scooped a large spoonful of Annette’s mac and cheese onto his plate.
“Watch it, bro. See you at the horseshoe pit later so we can settle this.” I turned to Rakell, shaking my head. “It’s a wonder I have any confidence with this family.” I smiled and scooped a small spoonful of my mom’s macaroni and cheese up. “You do have to try my mom’s,” I said, moving the cheesy spoonful of elbow macaroni to her plate. Her arm flinched as I plopped it next to a small piece of tri-tip and salad. “Like I said, tonight is the night to indulge.” Her eyes shifted to her plate, then to me, as if she were contemplating the caloric intake. Fuck! I moved past it using my chin to point toward my parents, “Sit by my dad.”
I slid in next to Rakell at the end of the table, across from my mom and next to my dad. Then I did a shitty thing: I stabbed a small bite of my mom’s macaroni and cheese from her plate and held my fork up. “Open that beautiful mouth. You have to try this.”
Her eyes narrowed in protest, but then my dad said, “Rakell, Annette makes the best. No one can resist it. Try it...”
“Yes, yes, I can’t wait.” She smiled sweetly at my dad, then opened her mouth, letting me slide the forkful of macaroni and cheese into her mouth. As soon as her tongue absorbed the creamy gruyere smothered noodles with a hint of lobster, her eyes closed, then opened, a sort of troubled look in them. Then, as soon as her gaze shifted toward my mom, her expression switched into a gracious grin. “Ms. Annette, this is so delicious, I have to get the recipe.”
“Take a bite of meat. There’s no better combo than mac and cheese with beef.”
“I can feed myself, Jake,” she murmured, clearly trying to deliver a message without drawing attention. Still, I caught Melissa directing her eyes toward me with a barely perceptible chin shake as if to say, stop, enough . I finally got the message.
People were talking over each other, lively conversation and laughter traversing down the long tables. Sophia, my seventeen-year-old cousin, teased me, “Jake, my mom says that that cheese stuff you eat is all chemicals.”
“Nah, Sophia, it’s dehydrated, like powder. Just add some milk, and you got this yummy, soupy, cheesy dish.”
“Yuck, that sounds gross, Jake, just gross. Doesn’t that kind of stuff give you cancer?”
“I guess if that’s all I ate, but I only have it on my birthday.”
Melissa chimed in. “He used to eat it every day in college, a whole box…daily!”
“Hey now, it was my midnight snack.”
“Yuck.” Sophia scowled. “Maybe that’s what made your arms so big.”
“Nah, thinking I got this girth from Grand-père.” I scanned down the table, smiling at my grandpa. My mom told me he’d seemed depressed since my grandma died, so she’d insisted he stay with them until the Texas summer became unbearable, then he could return to France. But I could tell he missed home. He lived in a small village where everyone knew him.
“Jake,” my dad asked, “what are you doing for your birthday tomorrow? Is there anything special planned? Mom said Dwayne couldn’t be here tonight because he’s picking up Eva from college and would host a birthday party for you on Sunday. She said we were invited.” My eyes grew like saucers. I didn’t want them at that party, but I could tell my dad was ribbing me. “But what about tomorrow on your actual big day…any plans, you two?”
“Since I only get to see this beautiful girl for a few days before she heads back to L.A., I know what I’m doing tomorrow,” I joshed, my voice low and husky as I leaned toward Rakell, lightly pecking her head.
Rakell yanked her head back, looking at me pointedly. “Hey, you, not cool,” she chided, pointing a finger at me. I fucking wanted to suck on that finger, then move up her arm, her neck, all of her.
“That’s right, Jake…inappropriate,” my dad added, scanning the table.
I caught my mom scowling at me across the table. Do my parents realize I’m twenty-nine tomorrow…not nine?
“Please, you have children in earshot,” Melissa warned.
“Jeez, this crowd…. your minds are in the gutter,” I said, making a clucking sound. “I can tell you, my comment was innocent, but your minds,” I said, my eyes dropping to Rakell, “twisted.” I stood. “Getting another beer, and before you ask, Dad, this is only my second.”
I chuckled as I walked toward the cooler, taking in Rakell’s flushed cheeks. She looked down at her food, moving it around with her fork. My dad looked at her and said, “Sorry, we really should not have spared the rod with that one.”
She lifted her eyes, nodding at him before they both laughed.