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“Oh, I can think of a few things…” He winked, and she got the distinct sense that there were stories about Jake she would like to hear. Jake was so at home in his skin, in his sexual prowess, that she was sure some sordid stories were lurking in his background and not the ones caught on film. Better ones, she thought, studying him, wondering about a few of Dwayne’s spilled comments, “Jake and I are into that. Remember the time…” She was sure they’d shared women. She lifted her glass to her lips, taking a sip from the flute before swallowing coffee. Was she really going to profess her love to this guy today, tell him how she felt?
He shoved another bite between his open lips, a breathy moan leaking from his full mouth.
“Better than sex?” she asked, grinning at how he reveled in the spread. Egg, sausage and green chili casserole covered in grated cheese, which had helped soften the burnt edges, watermelon and cantaloupe cut into large chunks, mostly so she’d have something to eat without drawing attention to her not eating the cheesy egg casserole and sumptuous fluffy lemon pancakes that were hard to make without trying. The aroma and texture alone made her long to devour them. Still, she had to weigh everything she put in her mouth. She thought about strategies her roommate had started offering Rakell on how to survive the calorie-restrictive actress lifestyle. She told Rakell, once or sometimes twice a week, that she ate all the things she craved, then got rid of them, following that with a protein shake with powered greens, “for nutrition, of course,” Vee had added, as if that was completely normal. It seemed so counter to anything bordering on healthy.
“Oh, I want to give you your present.”
“That’s you, that’s all I want,” he said.
“Wait, you’ll want this.” She jogged down the hall to the office/storage room, where she kept her Pilates machine, and grabbed the stack of wrapped books. The weight of the four books sank in her arms, but it was the words that she’d pulled from The Alchemist and her own goofy poem waiting for him in the card that made her slow down. Did she really want to say all that?
Jake had navigated all the speculated moments between them, holding her hand as she tip-toed to the edge. The same words he expressed seemingly naturally and sincerely lingered in the back of her throat, but when she looked over the cliff, she didn’t see a soft landing. She didn’t dare say them, she couldn’t risk her heart for fear of the drop, the freefall. If she could look over and see puffy clouds absorbing the crash, she could put her hands in the air and run, throwing herself into the unknown. She wanted—no needed—to know there was a soft landing, that her heart would not shatter went she took the next step. The way he had enveloped her last night, absorbed her pain, deflected her self-doubt, afforded her the courage to jump off without seeing what was below.
She walked out carrying the wrapped books, a twitchy excitement coursing through her. Her chest fell up and down, as if she had a bungee cord attached to her waist and someone was about to throw her off a bridge. Would the cord hold or snap? She sucked in air through her nose as she turned into the living room, where he faced the windows, staring out into the bright Austin dayscape. He turned his head when he heard her. “Hey, I was thinking maybe we could go out on the boat tomorrow. We can do a repeat of the best day ever.”
“Yes, yes.”
“Mmm…let’s have breakfast on the lake tomorrow before all the UT kids wake up and swarm all over.”
She watched his eyes catch on her stack of wrapped books. There was no disguising her gift, but she knew he’d still be surprised. “I have fond memories of your boat.” She expected the grin paired with his lower lids, remembering that day last October. “But you need to sit and close your robe. That’s distracting,” she instructed, raking her eyes over his completely exposed crotch, taking note that his cock had grown with the mention of the boat. She had plans to take care of that after she got through this hard part, laying her emotions out there.
“Weak girl.” He chuckled, tying his robe tighter before stepping toward the couch. She noticed he had poured more Champagne into their glasses. “Bad and weak, my two favorite qualities,” he said, winking as he sat. So rogue-like with his cocky-ass smile, she thought, but damn if the combination didn’t make her want to rip that robe open and get down on her knees to show him just how much she cared. That seemed so much easier than what she was about to do.
She practically shoved the stack of gifts into his hands, stammering, “Well, here you go,” when he grabbed them. Then she reached for the Champagne and took a gulp, emptying half the glass.
His eyes darted to her, as if trying to figure out her mixed messages. “Are these books that scandalous? I should have guessed you’d give me more books, smart girl.”
“You’re going to like these…promise.” She focused on his face as he ripped the paper from the stack.
“Wow, you…” he uttered, his mouth falling open.
“Original signed copies.”
She smiled, studying how his fingers touched the leather-embossed books as if he’d know these books by feel alone. “My favorites,” he said. “Son of a Wanted Man, Silver Canyon, The Lonesome Gods, The Sackett Brand…gosh, so good. Oh, and The Quick and the Dead. It’s short but great. How did you know?” His usually confident voice was lost in grateful awe.
She clapped her hands together, then asked, “So you like them?” There was giddiness in her tone, relief letting her shoulders ease. “I may have had a little help from the senior Mr. Skyler. He knows your book collection. Apparently, you have every book written by Louis L’Amour, but he did a little recognizance in your room, and these were the ones that were the most worn.”
“Damn,” he whispered, still caressing the covers, then turning to the inside flap, running his thumb over the signature.
She tipped back the rest of her Champagne like it was a shot, before poking the light-blue envelope into the air. “And one more thing,” she said through a thick lump in her throat, “your card.”
His eyebrows arched. “There’s not some explosive powder in this, is there?” he chided, eyeing her as he reached for it.
“No.” She forced a laugh, thinking I might implode from it, but you’ll survive. “It’s just a few words.” Staring at him, she added, “Remember, I’m not a poet.”
He bit his lip, fighting back a laugh. He opened the seal, looking at the watercolor of Town Lake and downtown Austin at night, done by the same artist from whom he’d bought her birthday card, Avery (Coloring ATX). “I, well, you know I love it,” he murmured.
“Open it,” she urged, wringing her hands together. “Wait, I need more Champagne. You?”
“Okay, yes.” He swigged his bubbles, and she heard him chuckle.
Scurrying back, she filled their glasses. “Okay, okay, you can go,” she sputtered, trying to ignore his perplexed expression. “Just go, just do it.”
“Ooo-kaay,” he whispered, slowly opening the card.
She stared at his face as she read her words…
Happy Birthday, Jake!
