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Rakell shook her head. “Well, not exactly. I mean, I did do that, but I’m not sure that’s how I ‘got him’ as you say.” Her tone masked the irritation the young girl’s insinuation incited in her.
Jake snaked an arm around her shoulder, looked at the girls, and said, “Truth is, I’ve been chasing this woman for over a year, and she finally said yes to being my girlfriend.” He steered her body toward the luggage area as he finished the last word.
Rakell nudged his side. “I love how the world thinks I got you by making a fool out of myself, jumping up and down on the Jumbotron,” she said as they walked toward the baggage claim.
She heard his husky chuckle. “I could do a press conference and tell folks the truth…”
Rakell lifted her eyes to his face, “And that is?” She couldn’t hide the challenge in her voice.
“That is that you had me with ‘cock swallow.’” A throaty chortle jumped from his mouth as she shoved her hip into his side.
“Mate, that would be your last press conference.” Smirking, she added, “Alive.”
He guffawed at her jest, his eyes cutting her way. “If I could just do a press conference to tell the world I met that girl.”
He had an intangible way of making her shoulders relax, leaving her feeling like they were two ordinary people, that he truly was the boy from Austin who’d grown up on a ranch wanting to be a history teacher, not who he was, the NFL quarterback whose team had just won a Super Bowl. His very nature juxtaposed the people she had been surrounded by in Hollywood, everyone buzzing around, making sure you knew who they were, not who they really were, but their titles or what they had done seeming more relevant than anything that indicated who they were as people.
“I think we’ve given the world enough to buzz about, Jake. How about you just don’t talk?”
“Got it,” he said, then grabbed her suitcase, joining his fingers with hers and pulling her toward the exit.
The effusive brightness that had ruled the Southern California sky as she’d boarded the plane, partially owing to the Santa Ana winds that whipped through the day before, clearing out the smog, had softened to a muted glow during the hour-long flight north. The yellow orb lingered close to the ground as Jake rolled her suitcase to his car, his other hand grasping hers. The air she sucked into her lungs made her think of a pine soap commercial, like in the next few steps, they’d be descending a mountain and pitching a tent on its peak. This juxtaposed with the ocean-moneyed oxygen of L.A. with Sacramento at the base of the Sierra Nevada mountains, which had a more rustic scent.
Just like people, places are infused with a smell that seems unique to them.
Chapter Sixteen
Damn, this would never get old, being the one who greeted her as she made her way down the escalator, except I’d controlled myself, controlled my urge to swoop her up, tug her into me, and kiss the fucking hell out of her. It was her; she was the one who’d let her bag fall from her hand as she softly whispered, “I missed you so much.” A fraction of a second later, she was yanking me in, her lips grazing mine, my signal to dip my tongue into her mouth. My reward was her chest arching into me, a move that said, “I’m all in and don’t care who sees.” For a few brief seconds, we locked into a way too passionate kiss, the kind of kiss where you ignore the travelers milling about, making it clear to that person that the moments without them had been excruciating. Well, until the laughter of teenage girls halted the onslaught of public affection; a level that should have been at least semi-private. I didn’t care. It felt right like this was exactly what I should be doing, kissing this girl, wrapped in a cocoon of need, not at all concerned that the world was inches away, bustling around us.
God damn, if that wasn’t the best feeling in the world…to be missed by someone you love, to want to yank back the minutes you were apart from them. The picture of my mom picking me up from summer camp popped into my head; she’d always hugged me as if she hadn’t been sure I would return, and every second I wasn’t with her, she ached for me. I hugged her like that the first year; before I knew the other boys were watching me. After, I’d say, “Okay, Mom, enough.” I wished now I hadn’t done that.
I intertwined my fingers in Rakell’s, lit up by her enthusiasm to see me. I sensed the change in the sky, a tiny droplet sliding down my cheek as we walked through the parking lot to my pearl-white Rivian SUV. Opening the door, I took in her high ponytail, no makeup, and white slip-on tennis shoes. She wore a light-blue cotton skirt and cropped white T-shirt embossed with the Hollywood sign. That made me wince, knowing that’s what she was aiming for. I helped her climb in and watched her settle into the seat, how she tilted her pelvis up, tugged her skirt down, shifted her feet to put her purse between them, tightening her ponytail twice, an almost nervous gesture.
There was always a tentative push and pull with us in those first moments of being back together like she was skittish about our solidness, or did she not think we would last? I flip-flopped in my brain, continuously trying to figure her out, but I was also the guy who wanted to know how the book or movie ended before it even started. It didn’t need to unfold for me…let me know if it ends well, and I’m in; if not, I’ll skip. I felt that way when I finished Old Yeller, almost weeping, regretting that I’d read it. But hell, I still tortured myself with the movie one night when it was just Dad and me. If my mom said, “After dinner, I have a surprise dessert,” I’d bug her until she told me what it was. Why wait? I hated that part of life, the waiting for the good stuff. I don’t get the point.
A few more drops landed on my arm. “Hey, it’s going to rain. Do you have a jacket in your suitcase? The temperature will drop on our drive to Napa. It’s supposed to snow in Tahoe, which usually means rain for Sac.”
“Yeah, I’m already getting chilly,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “There’s a jean jacket in the big suitcase. I can get it.”
“I’ll grab it.” Opening the back hatch, I unzipped her suitcase, scanning for the jacket. My eyes snagged on a string bikini; my jaw hardened just thinking about that prick getting to see her in this scant swimsuit. I jerked the jean jacket out and closed the suitcase before rifling through my travel bag for a flannel shirt; the temperature had plummeted within minutes, which meant the sky was ready to let loose.
I turned the heat up as we pulled out of the parking lot and made our way to the highway, heading directly to Napa. “Warmer?”
“Yes, wow, the temperature changed so suddenly.”
It was as if the sky answered back, cracking loudly, disparate droplets raging into a rain sheath. “I checked. It’s supposed to be nice in Napa tomorrow.”
“I saw that the Harvest Inn has real fireplaces; that sounds so homey. You don’t see them in hotels anymore. You have to be at a castle or an old Italian or Parisian mansion to find a wood fireplace anymore.”
A sharp grunt left my mouth. “Yeah, 'cause I’ve stayed in so many European castles.” That may have been said too tartly for a guy who desperately wanted this weekend to be perfect.
“Well, I think,” she mused, “if that’s what you wanted, you should have chosen a different profession,” she stated, deadpan.
What the hell? How was I supposed to respond to that statement? Oh yeah, honey, I should have been an escort to billionaires because lots of guys I know have that job. “Yeah, I don’t think I would have been good at that.”
“Really,” she shot back. “I think you're damn good at it.” Her words caught up in a raspy laugh.
“I mean the playing up to billionaires.” I tried to sound neutral, but I couldn’t completely squelch the sharp edge of my voice.
