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Chapter Two
The nutty, burnt smell of dark roasted coffee aroused her nostrils; she blinked her eyes open to see a steaming mug with a card propped against it. She was twenty-five today, and oddly, it felt like the beginning of a new life. Sitting up in bed, she opened the card, a black and white drawing of Antone’s with only the outline of the sign in front of the famous Austin music venue outlined in red. It was illustrated by Avery (Coloring ATX), one of Austin’s famous artists known for capturing the city’s history in her drawings. Jake’s words:
Happy Birthday, Sweets
Best concert ever: Antone’s with Guy Forsyth and Jeska Bailey
Best song ever: The Things That Matter
Best kiss ever: Your lips on mine (pretty sure you kissed me first—and I’m not complaining)
Today, I am grateful you were born.
Love, Jake
That kiss, that song, eddied to the forefront of her brain. As she relished the memory of their first kiss, she wondered if it were possible to fill one's life with good memories to block out the traumatic ones that seemed to dominate. Could you fill that library in your head with new experiences, stacking the shelves with positive books, so much so that the negative ones would have no room…filling your brain with only what you want to read.
I’d twisted in his arms, my hair a mess from dancing, my chest covered in a thin film of perspiration. My green eyes were glossy, wide, searching. I kept singing the words to the song as Jeska and Guy's voices swirled in the dark bar, looking at Jake as if no one else existed. “Don’t give me diamond rings, those so-called finer things…they don’t matter when they’re not there.” Snagged by the music, the tequila, and the flame in his blue eyes, I looked up at him, continuing to sing. “I only want the things that matter, only want the things you can share.” I moved up on my toes so I could whisper in his ear, “I love that song.” I craned my head back, looking up at him.
He cupped the small of my back in his hand, staring at me, his lips parting but no words had emerged—he looked as if he were somewhere else, as if he were watching a movie that he liked. He'd decided to keep whatever he was thinking to himself, but I saw something real in his expression, as if he were seeing something beyond that moment. For a second, I argued with myself, wanting to dismiss it, but I gave in to what I ached to do: bathe in it. I hadn’t had the luxury of feeling this from a man.
He had leaned down, brushing his lips to the side of my cheek. I didn’t hesitate to turn my head; the neediness to feel his mouth connect to mine drove me. And damn, it felt nice, simple and soothing. Before I knew it, Jake’s mouth covered mine, gently pulling my lips in. Then firmly, as if his control had evaporated, his tongue rushed in, my head craning back to take him in while my chest arched into his.
The music still flowed in my head like it had been bouncing off the black walls in Antone’s, the murmur of the crowd, but it seemed distant, like a recording playing at low volume. I wanted to crawl into Jake’s skin, make that kiss last, feel it over and over again, rewind, then feel it again. I had never been kissed like that; I’d never had what felt like my whole being sucked up in a kiss.
Her fingers grazed along her lips, tracing the touch of his own; that had been a start, an awakening for her, a man’s touch that felt mutual. Her response was natural but simultaneously exhilarating, like lifting her face to the first day the sun peaks out from a cloak of heavy gray clouds after a bleak winter in London, making her want to throw her arms up and let the heat carry her. It opposed her commanded reactions as an escort, an actress playing a role. The sensation of Jake’s lips consuming hers made her yearn to wallow in it. She let her nerves absorb it.
Following the smell of coffee and the aroma of something baking, she found Jake standing over the stove, spatula in hand, flipping pancakes. He was wearing gray sweats and a wrinkled white T-shirt. She came up behind him, encircling her arms around his waist; his back stiffened slightly. “Jake, thank you for the card.” He set the spatula down, turning in her arms.
He offered her a slight smile, but when her eyes took his face in, she registered his worn grimace, like he was working to smile. “Jake, you okay? You look…”
He shrugged but the casual gesture belied the consternation on his face, as if he were trying to figure out what to say, to give her a reason for his strung-out demeanor. “I just didn’t sleep well… I was thinking about all the trading in the league and our potential draft picks. When teams trade like they are this year, it really changes what the draft looks like.”
“Sometime you’ll have to explain all that football planning stuff to me. I just like watching you…”
“And…Randall Adams,” he lobbed at her, smiling, which didn’t altogether match the playful irritation lacing his words.
Randall Adams, the seasoned quarterback of the Iowa Tornados, America’s sweetheart (Zen Cyclone), was the first American football player she’d ever heard of before meeting Jake. She couldn’t hear his name without thinking about her dad and their Sundays wearing gray Styrofoam swirls on their heads. Her dad used to joke that Green Bay Packer fans wear a giant Styrofoam block of cheese on their heads, but we get to wear a cool Styrofoam tornado hat. Rakell knew there was nothing cool about it, but it didn’t matter; it was what she and her dad did together: watch American football. He would nudge her, telling her to save herself for a guy like Randall Adams.
She stepped back, giving Jake a playful smile. “Actually, I’ve narrowed my quarterback crushes down to one.” She poked his upper arm, her finger pushing into his hard shoulder muscles, eliciting a smirk from him. It was a learning curve, adjusting to being in a relationship where people expressed themselves openly, but it wasn’t simple, and there was a strategy to it that seemed more complicated than being an escort. That thought sifted through her brain as she coyly tilted her head at him.
“Do tell,” he said, smirking at her before turning to pour more pancake batter into the pan.
She registered that he seemed to be working to assuage any tension that hung between them. She suspected it was because she was bailing on his planned birthday weekend. Is that what people in love did, pushed away their wants, pretended they were okay with the new agenda, even when they were clearly agitated? Jake wasn’t good at masking his feelings. She wanted to lecture him, let him know that chasing her dream would mean that acting opportunities had to come first, that she couldn’t consider his disappointment when accepting auditions or jobs. No, she’d spent the last five years faking it, wearing a mask for the sake of men, and that was done. But she knew that Jake was one of the good ones.
“So, tell me about this quarterback you’re into.” Again, his playfulness didn’t completely smother the unease creeping into his tone.
“Well, he chews on toothpicks. He’s sort of annoying, a little crass.” A muffled half-giggle flew from her mouth when Jake turned, his eyebrow arching, his chin out. She ran her finger over his Adam's apple to his sternum before diverting to his left nipple, swirling it around, relishing the feel of the hardening flesh under the worn cotton material. “And he may suffer a tad bit in the attention arena; he’s easily distracted, way too easy…e-zeee,” she added. Her words were wrapped in a husky breath, her mouth purposely going lax as she widened her eyes, aiming her best “come hither” look directly at him.
He reached to the side and turned off the stove, his eyes steeled on her. “Got it. He’s a mess when a pretty girl is making him crazy. So let’s get to his negative qualities…”
“Well,” she whispered, her fingers skimming the surface of the material stretched across his chest. “I’m still on the positive attributes. He can’t hide how he’s feeling, so all I have to do is scan his face and know he’s worried, but this is the real positive: he’s easily cheered up, and I know exactly how to do that.”
“Sweets, you basically just said your quarterback is easy in various ways. So, is that his only quality?”
“Nooo…but it’s the one I like best. He’s a great uncle, loves his Dolly, cooks, but the easy part is by far my favorite,” she said, trailing her fingers down his abdomen before hooking them into his sweatpants. “Oh, and he’s easy on the eyes, too, so basically easy in every way.” The corner of her mouth twisted up, her eyes entreating him.
Swiftly, he grabbed her hand, halting her.
