Chapter 13
thirteen
. . .
Gavin
I held the door for Rachel as we entered the warm, window-lined lobby of the theater building, a brisk fall wind at our backs. Students and faculty mingled at round tables and chairs, and colorful student art hung on display.
“I’m so glad we did lunch,” she exclaimed, squeezing my arm. “I’m telling you, you’re not allowed to be a hermit now that you’re in Hawthorne. Theo, hi! You remember Gavin?”
She waved to Theo Lombard, the middle-aged, tweedy professor she’d tried to get me to talk to the night I met Jordana. Theo ambled over, along with a woman around our age.
“And this is your niece?” Rachel asked. “Welcome! I heard you were visiting.”
Introductions were made all around, but I missed the niece’s name. Because right then, Jordana walked through the sunlit lobby, and our eyes met.
Fuck, the jolt that hit me, like I was a teenager glimpsing his crush. The conversation dropped to a meaningless hum.
Jordana looked away with a secret smile and slipped her arm through her friend’s — the girl who played Stella in Streetcar. My gaze was drawn by the bounce of Jordana’s hips in her wide-legged jeans, the crescent of bare back beneath her tight, cropped sweater.
“Right, Gavin?” Rachel continued.
“Hm?” I dragged my attention back to the conversation.
“Gavin could show you around town,” Rachel said to Theo’s niece. “He’s got time on his hands — just finished doing lighting design for our show.”
Jordana was loitering by the staircase, flipping back her coppery halo of hair. She had a collection of confident poses she liked to put on, but I was learning what lay beneath them — the vulnerability and self-doubt, but also the intelligence and humor.
She made me laugh.
Dammit, she was the first woman I wanted to talk to, fuck, spend hours with after my marriage imploded, and she was a college student with a cargo load of baggage.
“Are you free tonight?” the niece asked me. “I heard Uncle Charlie’s is fun. A local favorite.”
I coughed. “Sorry, no. And I’m not the best person to be a tour guide for Hawthorne. I just moved here.”
“How will you get to know this town if you don’t go out?” Rachel asked. A ding came from the giant canvas bag on her shoulder, and she pulled out her phone. “Sorry, everyone. I was very well-behaved during lunch with Gavin, but that’s my reminder to check my emails.”
I shook my head, feeling the need to cover for her behavior. “Rachel’s a demon on email. All types of messaging, really. If you contact her, expect an instantaneous response.”
The niece laughed, her eyes lingering on me. That didn’t explain the electricity raising the hair on my arms. When I glanced away, Jordana was watching us from the stairs.
“Oh, for God’s sake, Jorie,” Rachel muttered, frowning at her screen. “Can you believe this? A student just asked for a recommendation with a week’s notice. She said she only found out today about this internship. The show’s going up in three days. There’s no time. How irresponsible can you get?”
She gave me a look that said See? One more reason to stay away.
“Jorie Green?” Theo asked. “But she’s very responsible.”
“This internship is prestigious,” Rachel snipped. “Competitive. Paid, in Chicago. We have a whole group of students applying. They asked for recommendations weeks ago. There’s no reason to give Jorie special treatment.”
“Paid?” I asked mildly.
Jordana had tried to refuse my payment last night. After her father — unbelievably — hadn’t let her work as a teenager.
She’d gotten so used to having her power taken from her, she’d started doing it herself. Handing it over to the resident best actor prick, to other men.
How far could she go if she stopped giving away that power?
“The Rachel I know thrives on being busy,” I told Theo and his niece. “She can write recommendations in her sleep. All three hours of it per night.”
“Oh, you.” Rachel smacked my arm. “I get at least five hours a night.”
I shrugged. “And you work so hard for these students. That’s why they all look up to her,” I told Theo’s niece. “They trust her to come through.”
“I bet they love you,” the niece said to Rachel.
“Sure, when they don’t hate me,” Rachel said tartly, her cheeks pink.
“It’s a fine line,” Theo said amiably. “But they love her.”
“That’s right,” I agreed. “I’ve heard students say they came to Hawthorne specifically to work with Rachel Salazar. She’s making a real name for herself.”
“Fine…” Rachel grumbled. “I’ll do it.” She typed rapidly on her phone. “But I swear, if Jorie gives me any reason to regret this, there’ll be trouble. I expect the absolute best from that girl this week.”
So did I.
I glanced toward the staircase, but she was gone.
I should have felt wrong today, after I fucked the hell out of her last night. I’d tried to set boundaries — friends, no touching. What a joke. All my guardrails had blown away like smoke.
Yet there was no shame. No regret. After a long stretch of numbness, it felt so damn good to be with her.
Jordana.
Naked, spread, open, panting. Trying desperately to keep quiet for me. Her mouth eager, her rust-colored curls everywhere, her skin a glowing map of curves, her gorgeous tits begging to be sucked and marked…
My phone buzzed, banishing the haze of dirty images.
“Dammit.” I glared at the notification for a meeting with Andy, my editor. He wanted an update on the photos. He didn’t know about Nina bailing.
I’d been so consumed by Jordana, I’d forgotten about it.
“Everything okay?” Theo’s niece asked.
“I’ve got a video meeting. It slipped my mind.”
“Use my office,” Rachel offered. “I won’t be in there for another hour. I need to see about a new batch of flyers being printed for the show.”
“Thanks.” I nodded goodbye to Theo and his niece, who looked disappointed that I was leaving, and hurried upstairs.
Rachel’s office was in its usual state of controlled chaos.
The desk overflowed with books and papers, and colored sticky notes decorated every surface in a system only she understood.
Photos of her shows hung on the walls, some of which I’d taken during college and afterward, when we both lived in New York.
Closing the door, I took my laptop from my bag and sat at her desk. My fingers clattered on the keys. I stared at the screen, waiting to be let into the meeting.
I hated being late, hated anything that was less than professional.
The book was the goal. The clock ticked toward Monday, when the photos were due. I’d come too close to losing this dream to risk it now that the finish line loomed.
Especially for…whatever this was with Jordana. If I thought too hard about it, I knew it couldn’t last. No matter how much I wanted it to.
But I was too punch-drunk on her to care.
Andy’s broad, ruddy face appeared on-screen, exultant as always, like you were the best thing to happen to him all day.
“Gavin! T-minus one week! How’s it going with Nina?”
“She bailed. But don’t worry.”
Andy’s smile vanished. Even his goatee seemed to droop. “Nina bailed? You know I believe in you, but I’m worried, Gavin. I’m really fucking worried. This book —”
I held up my hand. “Just wait. I found a new model who’s going to blow you away.”
“Ooookay.” Andy sounded more skeptical than pleased. “A new model. Again. Hang on, let me get Joy in the meeting.”
I waited. A neon green Post-it blared from the desk, scrawled with Rachel’s handwriting.
B-day present for Shelby. Book + candle?
My neck itched. Right. My ex-wife’s birthday was in two weeks. Rachel was her closest friend; she probably hadn’t missed a birthday since the two of them met in college.
I’d known them both back then, but while Rachel was brash and in your face, Shelby hovered on the periphery, a quiet mystery.
I didn’t really get to know her until four years ago, when Rachel left New York for Hawthorne and insisted Shelby and I hang out to “ease the pain” of Rachel leaving.
I suspected this was more for Rachel’s sake than for mine or Shelby’s, but we did it. Just to make her happy.
And fell into each other like quicksand.
She needed to be taken care of. I wanted to take care of her.
The sex we had was like a drug, clouding our vision.
But once the haze cleared and we were married, we fought.
About many things, but especially about money.
Constantly, until we passed the point of no return and barely spoke to each other.
She spent; I saved. She thought I was stingy; I thought she was wasteful.
But for her birthday last year, I wanted to get her something special.
Things were already falling apart. I didn’t know if we would make it.
I was afraid we wouldn’t, and that it would be my fault, my failure.
So I spent much more on her birthday gift than I normally would — a black sweater she’d admired in a shop window.
It would look beautiful on her. I waited for her face to light up when she opened it.
Instead, she darkened. Gavin, what were you THINKING? There’s no way we can afford this. Take it back, we can’t keep it. I’m serious, return it today. If you got a steady job instead of gigging, maybe we could manage, but no, you refuse to do that…
Always the same fights. Around and around in circles, like we were trapped on the world’s worst merry-go-round. I bit my tongue, instead of retorting that she was the one who burned through our savings. But too often, I didn’t bite my tongue.
For a while, the fights led to makeup sex. To tenderness. Until they didn’t.
I moved the note behind my laptop.
“Gavin, hi!” Joy, the editorial director, popped up on my screen. She tucked her long black hair behind her ears. “Andy says there’s a new model? We need to see this girl before you go ahead with her. You know we’re down to the wire.”
“What’s her name?” Andy asked.
My mouth went dry.
“Gavin?” Joy prompted.
“Jordana,” I said. “Jordana Green.”
“She’s an experienced model?”