10. Santa Barbara
SANTA BARBARA
Jordyn
August
Though the salty late August breeze attempted to wrap around me and soothe my pride, my argument with Jamie from six weeks ago still bothered me.
How long would the space between us bleed with unspoken words and stolen glances?
As I ran parallel to the dark ocean, with the soft light of dawn more than an hour away, I couldn’t focus on the rhythmic crash of waves, or the promise of a new day.
Another glance over my shoulder said Jamie was there.
Still keeping pace and maintaining a distance.
Usually about twenty feet. Today, with the fog, he was nearly on top of me.
After we jogged in the morning, he thanked me for the dinners I’d left in the microwave and thanked me for the breakfasts I’d left on the table whenever I exited the primary suite to make said dinners.
It was this thing we do. A dance where there’s no touching or discussion. Nothing I was used to .
Dang , I still wondered if I was Jamie’s project? A fantasy or a damaged toy needing repair? For so long, desire was my identity. Become what others craved. What others took. Even though a part of my brain knew that I had issues—I was a hot mess—another part wanted to focus on getting to know him.
Eyes adjusted to the darkness, the sky still bruised purple and orange from the first light of day, I saw the divot in the cliff that overlooked the ocean. Only half a mile more, and I’d be home.
Home ? Girl, please, you don’t even know how to make a house a home, even with a gorgeous Scot who wants to ?—
What if he’s like Katlego ?
I pushed myself harder. With my toes barely touching down, my Nikes produced rapid, choppy indentations in the sand. My heartbeat like a war drum, and all the lies I ever told myself?—
My worth is in the roll of my hips, the pout of my lips.
Or better yet, the physical assets—cars, homes, bank account—of my current owner.
All those lies fled while I tried my damndest not to look over my shoulder.
Maybe Monique is right. I’m too old for him.
I stopped dead in my tracks. The wind rustled over my dark brown skin.
Okay, that has to be a lie . A lie I told myself?
While I looked over my shoulder in fear of Aleksandr—and who am I kidding, to ensure Jamie hadn’t stopped following me—I realized I didn’t have any enemies nearby. No enemies but myself inside my head.
I glanced back. My eyes consumed this man in greedy bits. Chest. Abs. That darn hair flowing as he didn’t break pace. Jamie lifted his brow in question.
As I turned back around, my foot caught onto a piece of driftwood. The sound of my yelp mingled with the distant call of seagulls.
“Jordyn— ”
“I’m okay,” I croaked, pride more wounded than it’s ever been.
Instead of continuing to charge up the shore, where an incline led home, I aimed for the street.
Fog covered the area, and I couldn’t see too far ahead of me.
Since the street was practically dead, so early in the morning in a touristy town, I darted over East Cabrillo Boulevard.
Halfway across the major street, honking broke out.
Jamie bit off a cussword as I sprinted onto the curb across the street. With the vehicles passing, the fog swooshed, and I discerned his figure in the center divider.
“JorJor, wait for me, please!”
Still not my name . I bypassed the beachfront stores and took a side street. Not ready to stop running through this ghost town. Since Santa Barbara was a tourist attraction area, people at the hotels hadn’t come out yet, and restaurants and lounges hadn’t opened.
At least when I ran hard , my brain didn’t have a say. Didn’t get to run amuck with Jordyn ain’t ?—
A dark figure lunged at me from the fog and shadows. I barely had time to scream as a rough hand grabbed my arm, yanking me off balance.
I stumbled, panic clawing my throat faster than I hit the ground. Hard. My chin bounced off the stone.
“Let go of me!” I shouted, twisting fiercely.
It felt like a distillery of every alcoholic drink known to man dropped on my chest. In a flash, his hips slipped between my thighs.
The stench could knock me unconscious, and a hand, scented of urine and dirt, covered my lips.
Teeth bit through my sports bra. Unbearable, excruciating pain.
This . Can’t . Be . Happening . Suddenly, my old life returned with a vengeance. Silently, I bit back tears.
No ! I didn’t have to sit still and take this.
My reflexes kicked in. And I bucked my hips upward. The frail transient held on .
“Jamie!” I called out, issuing a one-two punch. Cross hook.
The man gripped my neck and forced the back of my head?—
“Jordyn!” Jamie’s voice sliced through the fog.
A second later, a tennis shoe connected with the homeless man’s face with a satisfying crunch.
My attacker flew to the side and landed on his shoulder.
The man, whose skin was so sullied with dirt, I couldn’t even tell his race, got up, his eyes crazed like a mad dog.
Jamie pulled me up, forearm sliding over my midriff to position me behind him.
Too short to even see over Jamie’s shoulder, I peeked around the side of him. “Jamie, he’s got a knife.”
With a flick of his wrist, the man produced a switchblade. He swung the knife in an outward arc. Jamie pivoted to the side and countered with a fist to the man’s jaw. The knife rattled to the ground. Jamie’s defensive moves were fluid and powerful and made a surge of strength flow through me.
No longer rooted to the ground in fear, I rushed to grab the knife. Jamie did the same with the man’s throat. Picked him up. While the man swung out, Jamie’s hand clutched tighter.
My stomach did a flip at the homeless man’s guttural sounds.
The fists that swung, which hit Jamie more playfully than anything, stopped.
The man switched his tactic and tried to dig his filthy nails into Jamie’s hand.
Blood began to draw over the soft spot between Jamie’s thumb and index.
Still choking him out, Jamie pulled the man’s face close.
His Scottish accent was thicker than honeyed molasses.
“You might not know it since it seems you’ll go after what does not belong to you. But I take care of wot is mine.”
As if satisfied with getting the whispered threat off his chest that chilled me to the core, Jamie swung at the man. Fist torpedoed the transient’s face, a punching bag. He then threw the man back into the alley where he came from.
When he spun around and looked at me, my first instinct was to hide.
He saw … how men treated me. He couldn’t desire a woman with my history.
Used. Abused. The frigid air magnified the chilling sensations of that stranger’s revolting saliva and the bites.
Nausea swirled in my gut. My eyes hit the ground in shame. You’re trash, Jordyn.
Jamie rushed toward me, palm to my cheek. “I couldn’t stop hitting him.” Before I could speak, he enveloped me in a tight embrace that erased every despicable thought targeted toward myself. “Did he hurt you?”
“A-a little.”
Jamie took a step back, scrutinizing me with eyes I could’ve sworn belonged to an attentive doctor, with love and tenderness and training in his gaze. His eyes zeroed in on my chest, where wet teeth marks sunk into the nylon sports bra, and a look that could kill passed over his face.
“Listen, I uh, I feel dirty.” I was honest with myself and him. “I just want to go back to your place.”
Jamie corrected me. “Our home.”
Silence followed us there.
When I stepped into the house, Rebel pranced around me as if the Rottweiler had turned rabbit while Jamie strolled straight for the stairs.
I fell to my knees, allowing her to kiss me.
Lick away the disgust from the other man’s unwanted touches.
“You’re such a good girl. In these past six weeks, you’ve become my best friend. You make me feel, Rebel.”
I scratched behind the Rottie’s ears, then got up, following the sound of rushing water. Jamie kneeled in front of the freestanding tub. Sudsy water rose. He poured in enough bath oil for my rear to slide all the way down to Mexico. Then more. And more.
“Jamie.”
As if I brought him out of dark shadows, his head turned in a flash.
I jumped .
“I’m sorry, Jordyn.” He stood on his feet so quickly that I had to force myself not to jump again. Remind me not to get on his bad side . Not a counterattack in the world could save me. He muttered, “I don’t … I don’t murder.”
“Jamie, what are you talking about? The man’s not dead.”
A crack sounded between us. He went through each knuckle.
“That’s a bad habit,” I told him, taking his hands into mine. I lifted his fingers to my mouth and kissed each knuckle individually. Just when I placed a finger to my lips to pop it in, Jamie pulled away.
His voice was gruff. “I don’t. We can’t.”
“Seems to me you don’t do a lot of things. You don’t murder. Which is fine. I understand the difference between killing a man to defend me or you.”
Jamie seemed stuck, like he was on another planet.
I pulled out of my bra. Maybe that was the disconnect between us?
As a fellow assault victim, the sight of my clothing could’ve triggered him.
Though the wet bite marks had long faded during our walk home, he might still see that.
Good thing the homeless guy’s bite didn’t leave a bruise .
My heart hurt for Jamie. Yes. More for him than me.
I was used to it. I slipped out of my running shorts.
Then I glanced down at myself—everything was on display, and I mean everything—and then looked him in the eye.
The issue was that he looked me in the eye. Okay, so where are we ? “You don’t murder. The guy’s probably licking his wounds in that alley still. But what’s this other don’t ? What do you mean ‘we can’t’?”