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Registering his resistance, she stiffened but was determined to leave on a positive note, wanting to make sure she left Jake smiling before she got on that plane. The familiar song from her phone stopped her plan.
“You should get that…probably birthday wishes,” he said, shifting his grasp on her hand from firm to a gentle squeeze, easing it to her side, and running his fingers up her forearm. “Grab your phone, and I’ll get your birthday breakfast ready.”
Her phone rang again; she turned toward the sound coming from the hallway, then back to him. “It can wait.” She smiled, thinking she needed to assuage the friction that seemed to occupy the space between them. She was sure it was her leaving early that was the cause of the problem, and he needed to understand that her focus was on the pursuit of this dream. She couldn’t let anyone, or anything, stop her. He’d already gotten to the top as a quarterback with a Super Bowl under his belt. She’d definitely attained modeling accolades, which led to some commercials and a few bit parts, but for her, the climb had just begun. Her agent had said, “Rakell, there’s no resting in this business because there’s always a nonstop line of talent lining up behind whoever is in front, so you can’t hit the snooze button…ever.”
Jake cleared his throat, then reached for his glass of water. She watched his neck bob as if he were swallowing more than clear liquid. “Okay then, how about you give a guy a hand?” he said, his chin nodding toward the plates on the counter.
Stepping forward to grab them, she scoffed, “I was trying to give you more than that.”
He laughed. “Bad girl! I swear, I’m easy, and you’re bad…a perfect match. For the record, I always love what you give me, but I wanted to feed you.” He chuckled as she wiggled her eyebrows at the word “feed.” He continued, “Yes, I love feeding you that, but you need something more on your birthday. Shit, never mind, just sayin’ I made some pancakes from healthy shit for you. Melissa told me you’d eat Matcha protein, crushed blueberries, and something else that’s not real flour but actually tastes good. Oh, and chicken sausage. I'm pretty sure these chickens did daily yoga based on the cost per pound, but I know you’re watching everything that goes into your mouth right now.”
“Again, with innuendos, but you’ve chosen breakfast instead,” she quipped, watching him bite back a laugh as he arranged pancakes, sausages, and fruit on their plates.
“I don’t have a table yet, so get comfortable on the couch before I end up having my way with you and putting you on the plane starving.”
“Yes, sir, but let’s be clear, it’s my way with you that you are turning down.”
He poured Champagne into two flutes, topping them off with shots of pomegranate juice. “Sit,” he said after she placed the plates on the wrought iron and glass coffee table.
The crimson liquid splashed into the yellow-tinged bubbly. Heat rushed up her throat as she stared at the red streams of syrup spiraling into the Champagne. She squeezed her legs together, picturing the popsicle. She no longer associated them with summer; after the night, he’d introduced her to the adult use of the treat—Champagne and pomegranate juice popsicles. Her body responded to the memory of the cool, sugary tip raking over her skin. How he’d rimmed her lips with the red tip, her mouth yearning for more, her whining for it. He’d let her slurp on the end before dragging the wet tip down her torso, her stomach muscles flinching from the cool wetness before it made its way to her mons. Her spine jolted with the memory of the tip entering her pussy, followed by him slurping the juice from her clit.
He arched an eyebrow while looking at her. “Thinking about something?” he asked, a cockiness to his tone that made her roll her eyes, which got her a thick chuckle from him.
Clearing his throat, he raised a glass and said, “Just a short birthday toast. I’m…well, hell…just glad we finally are on the same path and, well, happy that things are opening for you and you’re getting to realize your dreams. I want to be that person who helps you get there, and if you feel afraid or doubt things, I want to be there for that, too.” She could feel him watching her eyes flicker and the way her jaw jutted out slightly as if fear and doubt were things she had to brush off.
Her eyelids slid down and popped open, a forced cheeriness masking her face when she clinked her glass to his. What the hell was it with men—especially successful men—thinking that she couldn’t get where she wanted without them, that somehow, even if she’d done everything to set herself up, she’d crumble with self-doubt and need him? “Jake, thank you for the birthday breakfast and the card.”
“Your gifts, plus I have…”
“We can wait until next weekend.”
“Sure, we can do a double celebration, your birthday and the jumpstart to your career,” he said, sitting back. “What I meant with that toast is that…well, we are both focused on our goals, but if you need me, I want to be here for anything.” As if unable to stop himself, he added, “Like Matt, how Matt has been there, how you depend on him…”
The flash in her eyes seemed to jolt him. “Jake, Matt has done a lot for me, but he’s never made me feel like I depend on him. Our support for one another is…is…” A severeness jumped into her voice. “It’s mutual. We mutually lean on each other. That’s the diff…”
Taking a quick swig of his Champagne, peering at what she knew was her visibly pissed expression, he put up a hand. “Okay, put away your sword. I’m on your side. I depend on people, my parents, my sisters, Dwayne, my coaches, Rodger…the list goes on, and there’s nothing wrong with that, nothing fucking wrong with needing people. All I was saying is I’d welcome being one of those people in your life. That’s kinda how it works when you care about someone…” He put his glass down and went on: “You should eat,” he muttered, grabbing his fork.
“Yes, I’m starving,” she replied, stuffing a piece of pancake in her mouth, then murmuring, “Yummm.” She watched him as he shook his head and ate. He definitely wasn’t an actor. Every emotion that snapped in his brain changed the features of his face, so even if Jake didn’t constantly share what he was thinking, he was a simple read, she thought. A muted laugh escaped between her bites.
“What the hell?” He shot her a bemused look. “What’s so funny? I think these pancakes are damn good.”
“They’re great…all of it’s wonderful…including you.”
“Ah huh, I can tell,” he said, sarcasm intertwining with the irritation in his tone.
She washed down her pancakes with a sip of coffee. “Don’t go into acting,” she started with a wry grin. “All of your thoughts show on your face, your voice, and the way the cords in your neck pop, like every part of you is trying not to pound the table and say that I’m a brat and that you’re a good guy and I should be grateful and…”
“Hold the fuck up,” he grunted, then with his balled fist, he gave the table a quick hit, his eyes flashing at her. “I did that for effect, but, this part I’m serious about, I don’t look at it the way you're saying it…like you should be grateful…all the fuck I’m saying is that I’m…”
Shooting her hand up, she replied, “Stop. I get it Jake, I do, but I left home when I was barely seventeen, and I haven’t looked back. Then I had to perform as an escort—in some ways, that prepared me for acting because I had to pretend like I needed those men, that somehow I wasn’t enough without them. Except for Matt, but with the others, I always felt like I had to act weaker and more vulnerable than I know I am, so needing someone feels like stepping back. I am moving forward, and I don’t want to need you…I don’t want you hoping that you're going to be my knight in shining armor and that somehow, you’ll save me, because you won’t, because I don’t need it from you or any other man.” She shut her eyes to stave off the emotion pushing behind them, the crackling feeling that she couldn’t come to terms with. She had to charge at life; the notion that she could trust him, that her fears would be protected seemed foreign. It was easier to push him back. Make sure he knew she could do this herself.
She watched as he raked a hand through his hair, his eyelids seeming heavy, as if he were exasperated by the whole conversation. God, she needed to get better at this, at making him feel like she cared because she did, but she’d worked too hard to end up needing him or anyone. Matt, yes, but the security and trust she had in Matt wasn’t something she could imagine in a lover.
She wiggled her ass toward him, being purposefully playful, trying to shove aside the fact that she’d just erupted from his declaration that he would be there for her if she needed him. She knew how to steer this moment, to shift his focus.
He leaned back on the couch, watching as she approached him. She straddled his muscular thighs, then put her hands on his shoulders. His features shifted with subtle amusement, the wariness she’d seen on his face only moments ago drifting away.
A small, triumphant smile emerged on her face as she pondered her next words: “I have an idea. What if we say want, we want each other, we want to be around each other, we want to share what’s going on in our lives with each other, we want…” She bent down, her lips grazing the base of his neck before nuzzling into his ear. “We want to fuck each other. Have I covered everything we want?”
