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She saw the movement in his sweatpants, his cock twitching from her breathy words. “Fuck,” rushed out of his mouth. He grabbed a fistful of her long, mussed hair and pulled her head back, eyes fixed on her. “Bad girl…I didn’t know you also got yourself an English degree. Again, with the fucking wording, need, want, desire. However, you choose to term it, yes, I need to fuck you. But we’ve got less than thirty minutes before we have to be out the door.”
She rocked her hips against his pelvis, her eyes hooded. “I trust that you want to make this happen before I jump in the shower. You have ten minutes, superstar…and…”
His tense muscles gave way to her touch and the whisper of naughtiness in her voice as she bent forward, nibbling at his bottom lip. His hand snaked up her soft cotton shirt, grabbing a handful of flesh, kneading the soft mound.
She moaned, then arched into his touch, encouraging him. “Yes…Jake…” she rasped, “yes.” With that, he hooked his thumbs into the waist of her boy shorts and yanked, then found her clit. She could hear the lust in his low, gravelly voice as he rattled off his illict plan of what he’d do to her when she returned. She’d wanted to fuck him, feel him in her, watch his eyes roll back as she slid up and down on his cock, but her nervous system gave in to his thumb rubbing circles on her sensitive nub, shooting sparks from her groin into her pelvis. Realizing he was fighting to be needed, she gave in, hissing his name into the air before collapsing on him.
Chapter Three
I glimpsed at her as we made our way through the Sacramento airport. It kind of made me giggle when I said the words Sacramento International Airport. It was a preschooler compared to the Austin Airport, but I remember laughing at the idea of Austin being anything international. Now it bustled like JFK or LAX and definitely had better food than most. This girl possessed so many different looks. Today, faded jeans that hung on her hips, a worn-thin gray T-shirt with “YEAH, NAH” printed across the front, her hair up in a messy knot, no makeup shrouding the redness that seemed to have settled on her upper cheekbone, and those eyes, left unadorned. That look that said: Lock me away on a ranch, let’s make babies together, ride horses, and sit on the back porch every night sipping whiskey and gasping in awe as the Texas sun bids adieu. That fucking look was my favorite… too clean, too fresh, too earnest for fucking L.A.
I blinked in response to her loudly clearing her throat, her eyebrows drawing in. “Jake, wake up, you need to say goodbye to your girlfriend, mate.” She leaned forward on her toes, pecked my bottom lip, and whispered against my mouth, “I’ll miss you.” My lips softened when those big green eyes blinked up at me. “Jake, I really will,” she added. Damn if the promise in her tone didn’t grab my gut. A pathetic angst rolled through me…did I really need her to reassure me? I’d already texted Delilah, so I wasn’t going to say a word about Bernardo until I had a chance to find the best way to share the concerns banging around in my head. If I started talking now, after a night of pacing, staring at a whiskey bottle, imagining Rakell’s past as an escort, and replaying the Instagram pictures of Bernardo and Jessica, all of it colliding in my brain like one massive wreck, the words that were sitting on my tongue would sound too much like a threat. If you take this role, you can’t be alone with him…if you, if he. I couldn’t do that, not when we were walking on the same path together for the first time. Damn, I did not want to undo last night by spewing the cadre of fears brewing in my gut…our hearts in the mirror, corny if I told someone else, but between us, a pact.
Gripping the back of her neck, yanking her in deeper, I kissed her as if I needed her to know she was mine. This one is mine. When we broke suction, I growled, “Damn those lips.”
My hand slid down her back as I asked, “Is there some Australian hidden message behind, YEAH, NAH?”
She stepped back, cringing because it came out of my mouth like a nasally high-pitched Louisiana accent with a little Cockney thrown in.
“Huh?” She pulled her eyebrows together and said, “Oh...my shirt?” She lit up, a cocky-as-hell grin eating up her whole face. “It’s Australian for nooo. The yeah just gives the asker time so we can ease them into the nah…but it was no all along.” She laughed, twisting her head to look at the security line, and said, “I better go.” She shifted again. “See you soon. Wish me luck,” she added, over her shoulder. I stared at her hips as she sashayed away, wishing I had fucked her this morning, savored her body, taken in every moment, delighted in her expression as I strung her body along until she burst. Maybe then I could be sure she couldn’t forget how good we were together when she stood in front of Bernardo, reciting her lines. But time wouldn’t allow, so I decided to give her relief in hopes she’d think about her return, about what I wanted to do to her for her birthday.
I nodded, offering her a thumbs-up in response to her small wave as she approached the TSA booth and scrambled to get her license out of her purse. Staring after Rakell as she disappeared through security, I shook my head. This was work…just when I thought I’d talked myself through her past, seeing myself as a reasonable guy, giving myself a pat on the back for being evolved, uncertainty returned. Surely, I could reconcile her past because I, too, had seedy stories and a long history with a parade of women (which my sisters didn’t hesitate to remind me of), but I still had to grapple with the conflict of mine versus hers. Her string of men who’d paid money to have her…was that the fissure between my affairs and hers? Other than the number of women I had been with, my experience was within societal norms. Hers were illegal, thus, in my eyes, hers were less acceptable. Yet, I’d told myself, I am a good guy, a progressive guy, and I was willing to let her history go in order to move forward with her. Still, now she would be auditioning for Bernardo Cappuccino; how far was she willing to go to get what she wanted? Shit, my head is spun up about this.
Before starting the SUV, I took out my phone, thinking if I could just talk to Matt…But I knew I’d be pushing Matt’s willingness to be open if I asked the question scratching at my brain: Can I trust her?
She’d made it clear: she didn’t need me. I definitely picked up on her fear of relying on others, as if that were driving her. Everyone thinks successful people are always positive, keeping their eyes on the goal, but the truth is, most people who get there learn that doubt and fear of failure are parts of success, sometimes even the catalyst. For some, it makes them freeze; for others, they run harder, and for most, they run, then freeze, thaw off, and then run again. I wouldn’t describe myself as super intuitive, but what I read from her was that she had wrapped her identity up in the idea that to move forward, she would fight not to lean on anyone else. Is she throwing me in with all those men from her past? Please, please give me the same chance you gave Matt.
Delilah picked up on the second ring. “Hi, Jake. I saw your text this morning. I’m confused. I thought you were taking Rakell to Tahoe for her birthday. Isn’t that today?”
“Yeah, but her agent called about a lead role. I guess she sent a video audition, so now the casting director is asking for an in-person audition,” I sputtered, pulling in a deep breath, trying to arrange my thoughts. “And the movie's main star is interested in having her try out with him. So, we’re going to go next weekend, but now I may have to look at booking something in Napa. Tahoe may get some late snow, but the reason…”
“Jake, that is so exciting for Rakell,” Delilah said, jumping in. “Jake? You don’t sound excited. Actually, why do you seem rattled?” she probed.
My gruff sigh filled the empty space; I knew my acting skills weren’t fooling Delilah. “Well, soo…”
She jumped in. “I know you are big on celebrations, but this is important. She’s in the early stages, so she can’t say no to anything…certainly not a lead role. You get that, right?”
“Bernardo Cappuccino…” I blasted out his name, my mind jolting back to the picture of him and my ex-girlfriend canoodling at Nobu all over Instagram. “The lead actor requesting Rae-kale is…”
“Oh my God,” burst out of her mouth, followed by a sharp uptake of air.
“Yep, fucking Bernardo Cappuccino,” I said, grinding the words out, vitriol punctuating every syllable. I continued, trying to control the inflection in my voice. I just needed advice.
“Delilah, it’s such bad timing,” I kept spewing. “Just last night, I thought this was something real. This is a girl I love. We’re finally getting somewhere after being on such a twisty road, and well, now all I can think about is what I know about her…and what everyone knows about Bernardo. Damn.”
“Mmm, okay, I know what Jordan heard that night, so, I’m going to make a leap that she’s worked in some sort of companionship business in Europe when she was in school.”
I snorted. “Sure, companionship, if that’s what we call it these days? I cannot keep up with this politically correct terminology.” My tone oozed sarcasm. “I swear…yeah, companionship.”
“Well, whatever you want to call it, let me lay out the facts as you know them, and I assume you know more than Jordan or me. With that said, if she chose to open up to you, making you the keeper of her secrets, and we all have them, then that’s exactly what you are. You are also someone who understands implicitly; a person isn’t defined by what others deem are their worst choices. Often, we don’t understand the extenuating circumstances around those choices. Sometimes, it’s simply a young developing brain that can’t see into the future making a decision that seems right at the moment but, as you know, can overshadow their future.”
“Hey, my record has been expunged, good behavior…ya know that.” I knew exactly what her pointed remark was referring to, and truthfully, I’d do it again and again but, of course, I didn’t say that to the judge. I’d acted sorry, but when he asked me to approach the bench, he whispered, “Good job, son.” His low, frothy Cajun accent making me smile when he added, “But until we have a law in place that exonerates you from knocking people over who say racist crap, you’re going to have to keep your hands in your pockets. Got it?”
“Yes sir,” I’d responded.
“Actually, don’t tell Jordan this, but I think that was your finest hour, knocking that redneck piece of shit off the barstool after calling my Jord…well, let’s just say that earned you guaranteed godfather status to my first baby.”
“Really, I would do that all day long for fun, but knowing that I got to be Jazzie’s godfather makes it even better. I want to do way more than that to Bernardo…”
