Jackson
Chelsea’s kiss is a spiritual experience. Every touch of her lips is a divine encounter, an altar I’d gladly sacrifice myself on every day for the rest of my life.
I don’t know how I got here, how I fell so fast, and I no longer care. This woman belongs to me, and I’ll wait as long as it takes for her to accept it.
Chelsea pulls away and brings a hand up to cover her mouth. “What are you doing?”
“Tell me what you’re thinking. Right now.”
“I…”
“No. Don’t stop to think. Give it to me.”
Chelsea sighs, and the sound couldn’t be more erotic. “Warm.”
Her eyes are closed, but she’s not hiding. Her face screams her emotions.
“That’s good. What else?” I nearly beg.
“Why?”
“That’s not a thought. That’s a question. I don’t want questions. I want a reaction.”
Chelsea’s eyes spring open. “You want my reaction? Okay. How’s this? Suspicion. Curiosity. Longing. Wariness. Insecurity.”
Her voice grew quieter with each word until she looked away and whispered the last. And now, we get to the heart of the matter. I’m confused, though. I thought we’d turned a corner.
My gut reaction is to swear that I would never hurt her, but I don’t. Words mean nothing to someone who was manipulated and hurt by them. And as much as I want to unpack each part of Chelsea’s whispered confession, now isn’t the time to do it. Chelsea needs an out.
“While I’m intrigued by the longing part, I figure it’s time to get back to work. You say you’ve been all these women over the years. Show me what you’ve got. And you can stop claiming we’re not friends because you know we are.”
Chelsea disagrees but doesn’t argue or run away. That has to be a good sign, so I begin running through the opening lines for the first persona in the stack. This was the one that set her off earlier.
“Let’s skip this one,” she insists.
“Why?”
“Because once I assume one of these personalities, there’s no changing. Me flirting with this guy won’t do anything but turn him off, and then where the hell will we be?”
“I know why you think so, but you’re wrong. There isn’t a man alive who wouldn’t turn his head to watch you walk by. And with an ego like Harding’s, he would not only want women to fawn over him, he’d expect it. Now stop stalling. We’ve got work to do.”
Chelsea picks up the folder and pulls out the first script, reading through the lines. Some out loud, some in her head. She ad-libs a bit, and I do my best to keep up, scribbling down notes for Birdie. By the end, I’m amazed at Chelsea’s ability to build a character and assume that role.
Chelsea views her acting skills as a survival technique, but I recognize the raw talent. Not only does her voice’s tone change, but her posture, body language, and even her accent to a degree.
We wrap up with the character she’s the least comfortable with, the lonely wife starved for affection. This one takes the longest. “Ugh. I hate this bitch, and she only exists on paper.”
I put my notes down and relax my shoulders to avoid appearing critical. “This one is a real sticking point for you. In all your time with Newel, did you never crave a deeper connection, a genuine loving touch from someone who couldn’t live without you?”
“No,” she answers, her tone flat and matter-of-fact.
“No? Really?”
Chelsea rolls her eyes. “Really, no. Is that so hard to believe?”
I cross my arms and answer, “Kind of.”
I do my best to ignore Chelsea’s chin wobble. Otherwise, I’ll fold and stop her from responding.
After a long breath, she finally says, “I didn’t wish for more because I believed I wouldn’t get it. I was conditioned to think I didn’t deserve it.”
Again, I’m fighting violent urges to find and hurt people from Chelsea’s past, but that won’t help her. I focus all my energy on the Here and Now. “What do you wish for today, right this moment?”
Chelsa looks straight into my eyes for the first time without being made to. “I want to be enough.”
Taking a risk and her hand, I open my mouth to reply, but Chelsea stops me. “I want to be enough for me.” Then, before I’m allowed to respond, her eyes become inquisitive, and she tilts her head to study me. “What is it you want?”
You. I want you.
Since I can’t give that response, I say, “To be wanted by someone instead of just needed. I want love, and I want to find it with a woman who’s real and not obsessed with society’s bullshit idea of perfection. I want someone to laugh with. I want a woman to critique bad movies with and, at the end, nibble popcorn crumbs off one another. And after all that, I want fire. Give me a woman who makes me want to work for it. I want sweat dripping down my quivering muscles. I want her to leave me crawling.”
“That’s…ah,” Chelsea squeaks, clearly not expecting my answer. “That’s awfully specific.”
“It’s a good thing I know where to find it,” I rasp, my desire unmistakable.
Chelsea’s mouth goes slack. “…” She shakes her head. “I don’t know how to get through to you, but you’re barking up the wrong tree. I’m a social mutant, a defunct pariah. I don’t get to keep people. Ever. Not even…” Chelsea exhales heavily and looks away. “Not even Bastien.”
For a brief moment, I’m in danger of my head exploding. There’s no way she’s saying… Though my heart is pounding, I keep my mouth shut, hoping Chelsea’s not about to tell me she’s in love with my best friend.
She winces at an unpleasant memory and continues without encouragement. “Bash hasn’t had much to say since the beer conversation. Like everyone else, he sees how damaged I am and how much baggage I carry and doesn’t want to deal with the drama. It’s fine. I’m used to it, but that doesn’t mean I enjoy the experience.”
Fear becomes rage, and I breathe slowly and stand before I say something we both might regret. Chelsea doesn’t try to stop me or even ask where I’m going when I turn and unlock the door to leave. The woman is indeed used to being abandoned. That and only that gives me pause. “Would you excuse me for a minute?” I growl through clenched teeth. I need to have a word with Bastien.
I don’t know where to find him in this big, damned building, so I check the parking lot to see if his truck is even still here. It is, so I call him. “Where the hell are you?” I demand as soon as the call connects.
Curious and apprehensive, he answers, “In the cafeteria, having lunch.”
I don’t remember how to get there from here. “Where the fuck is that? Forget it. Don’t you have somewhere in this building where I can legally kick your ass?”
The dining hall sounds quieten. I assume because Bastien covered his mouth and the phone. “Whoa! Hold up. What the hell did I do?”
“Where, Laurent?” I roar.
“Shit,” he grumbles. “The training room, but I’m not volunteering for a beat-down unless you give me a damned good reason.”
Calm but determined, I say, “Okay. I’ll come kick your ass in the cafeteria.”
I end the call and approach the first person I run into. “How do I get to the cafeteria?”
The timid corporate-type woman points to the stair door and stutters through directions. “Down one floor. You’ll see a sign.”
The door bounces off the wall when I shove through, likely scaring the woman in the hall. On the way down, I run into Bash on the mid-floor landing. This works just fine. I slam him against the wall and snarl. “What is your problem? You won’t talk to your partner after learning what she went through. Doesn’t that lump you in with the rest of the assholes from her past?”
Bash rolls his eyes, making me want to imprint his face on the block wall. “Oh yeah. I forgot you’re so perfect that you don’t understand the shame I might feel because Chelsea felt the need to hide her real self from me for two years. If His Highness would permit me…” Bash reaches into his pocket and produces a folded stack of papers. “I was working out what to say to her in a letter, so I didn’t fuck things up any worse than I already have.”
I look down at the papers in his hand and instantly let the man go. I clear my throat and add, “You should go handle that. Chelsea thinks you’ve written her off. You’ve been added to an already long list of people who walked because she didn’t measure up.”
Bash’s eyes widen. “Aww fuck! Where is she?”
“Still in the conference room.”
My friend races up the stairs, no longer concerned with me. I watch for a second and then continue downstairs to give him time to make amends with his partner.
Twenty minutes later, I’ve eaten Bash’s lunch and found my way to the training room. The trainer’s dog, Piper, keeps me entertained through the big windows. She’s working through an elaborate course of challenges for treats and making good time doing it.
“You!”
I whirl around at the angry yell and see a furious Chelsea barreling toward me. Before I know it, I’m on my back with the wind knocked out of me. I gape like a fish until my lungs work again and splutter, “What did I do?”
With all the rage of a cocaine bear, she screams, “You wanted me to trust you, and you go spilling my shit to Bastien!”
It’s just now that I notice her eyes. She’s been crying. Chelsea is hurting, which means she really had begun to trust me. And in her eyes, you just fucked all that up. “I put my best friend into a block wall just now, and for some reason, he demanded to know why. Since that was fair, I called him out for turning his back on you.”
Chelsea lifts me an inch, slamming me back to the mat. “He didn’t turn_”
I grip Chelsea around the middle and flip us. I’m now hovering above her, my nose touching hers. “Do not defend anyone who makes you feel less than enough,” I practically growl at her. “Bastien fucked up, and he did it because you let him.”
“I… What?!”
“You. Heard. Me. You’ve been shit on your whole life because you let people do it. You’ve more than earned your place at the table. Stand up for yourself. If someone has a problem with you, fuck them. They’re not needed.”
I soften my voice and relax my body. “The people around here have great respect for you. You don’t have to buy it. Accept it and the good people in your life. Hold each other accountable when someone screws up. That’s how friends help each other grow. They don’t shy away and let things fester.”
Chelsea lies motionless with fire in her eyes. A slow clap sounds nearby. “Couldn’t have said it better myself, and I’ve been trying for years.”
We look up to see Austin “Spatch” Madden standing over us. The hard-ass trainer walks away, leaving Chelsea with her mouth hanging open. She shoves me off her and clambers up, appearing more embarrassed than angry.