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“I’m not sure, Jake. I’ve been operating as the Melissa everyone expects me to be for so long. I’m not sure what I want or should want, but I talked to an attorney because I know Tom’s family won’t be nice about this, and I need to see what my options are for keeping the house. His parents gifted us the down payment when we bought it, and I think that may be an issue if we split.”
I tilted my chin toward the back door and said, “Let’s sit outside.” It was nearly November, my favorite time of year in Austin. When we settled onto the patio furniture, I looked at my sister, taking note of her face, etched with worry. “Hey, Issa, I have money and shit, I have houses.”
“Jake, no, there’s money. I just wanted to keep the kids in this house. This is what they know. I need to play nice with Tom until I have some things in place.” She dipped her chin, her mascaraed lashes blinking, then whispered to the ground, “I’m miserable. I look at myself and think, how did I get here? How did I marry someone who, who…” She lifted her eyes, her lower lashes glistening. I watched her pinch her lids tightly as if to stave off tears; opening them, she continued, “Actually, I know how I got here. I have spun my life around attempting to be some luxury catalog version of myself. Look at my friends, the car I drive, this neighborhood.” Her gaze swept over her dress and down to her shoes pointedly as if presenting her attire as evidence to back up her realization. “My clothes…” Then she brushed her straight, strawberry-blond hair off her shoulder. “Even my hair, I get it straightened. Why? Because that’s what my crowd does. That’s what Tom thinks looks better on me, more aesthetically pleasing…I’m some walking version of those lifestyle podcast shows. My carpet even matches my curtains. My God, I’m a walking cliché.”
“No, you’re not…come on,” I murmured, shifting forward in my seat.
“Don’t, Jake, please. If you start being all lovey-dovey with me, I’ll lose it. I just have to maintain the plastic smile on my face and go to counseling so I can say I gave this a try, even though I know Tom is fully checked out. I’m sure his parents are pushing him to try counseling as well. So here we are, both playing a game. I can’t prove it, but I have a feeling that…” She hesitated, sat up straight, and took a long drink, peering at me over her glass as if reconsidering the rest of her statement. Still, I knew what she was getting at. She’d alluded to it before.
“Issa, you think there’s someone else?” I stated flatly, sifting all emotion from my voice.
“Yes, but I can’t be sure. I asked him, but he turned it back on me, said I was acting paranoid. He and I, well, he’s rarely here. He’s made it clear I’m not the woman he married. He’s said that many of his friends and colleagues have commented that Melissa appears worn out, like she’s not enjoying life anymore. That’s what he said—that I’m not enjoying life. Well, that’s accurate. I’m fighting to keep my life, but I’m not sure exactly what I’m fighting for. The other day, Tom said to me, ‘Melissa, you should take a spa day. You look haggard’…as if…”
“Fuck that bullshit,” bolted from my mouth, vitriol spilling into my tone. My hand flexed, wishing I could hit that bastard. Her eyebrows shot up, arching; I knew my reaction had instantly halted the conversation.
Just as planned, Vee, Rakell’s roommate, let me in. I had DM’d her on Instagram, asking for her number to surprise Rakell when I got to L.A. Every message she sent me ended with a winky face or a smiling emoji with three hearts on it. I knew this was a bit much for a girl who had only met me a few times. Some people are emoji-crazy, so I tried not to give it much credence, but I still had a nagging suspicion about Vee. When I walked in with flowers, she said, “Rakell left the studio early. I know you wanted to beat her home, but she’s already in the shower. I can fix you a cocktail while you wait.” She touched my chest, her outstretched fingers creeping down toward my stomach. Like an idiot, I stood there, unsure whether to step back or remove her hand. Finally, I held up the bouquet and asked, “Can I get something resembling a vase? I’ll surprise her in her room.”
“I bet you will,” Vee whispered conspiratorially, winking at me as she handed me a glass container that looked like a large mason jar. “If you don’t need me, I’ll finish getting ready to go out,” she said, pivoting toward her room. I wasn’t happy to hear that Vee would take a while before she left. My dick was already getting hard picturing Rakell in that shower, and I was going to do my best to get a screaming orgasm out of her.
When I slowly opened the bathroom door, hoping to surprise her, she was slumped against the shower wall, slightly bent at the hip, her hand between her legs, obviously going after it rigorously. My view was partly shrouded by the smoky glass and the rising steam, but her eyes must have been closed because she didn’t acknowledge my presence. I peeled off my clothes, tiptoeing toward the shower door with the care of a cheetah sneaking up on a gazelle. Carefully, I opened the door, wondering what she was imagining. I’d never tried to assess what a girl fantasized about. I didn’t care if she saw herself being taken in the middle of a forest by four lumberjacks who happened to be brothers or half-man half-beasts. I just didn’t give a fuck; whatever gets you there gets you there. But for some reason, it mattered that Rakell saw me in her mind while her hand was between her legs. I growled in the deepest voice I could muster, “Are you doing my job again?”
Her body reacted like a scared cat’s, and I swear she would have jumped and clung to the ceiling if she could have.
She half-asked, half-accused, “Jake, what are you doing here?”
I smiled as I closed the gap between us and stated in an upper-crust accent, “I’m here to pleasure you, madame.”
She whacked me on the shoulder and moved her lips toward mine. As we kissed deeply, I thought I was going to blow my load right there. It had been a month since I’d had a chance to touch her, and the sight I had just witnessed was so fucking hot. My right hand went to her tit as my other hand grabbed her ass cheek, yanking her into me. She grabbed the back of my neck while stroking my dick vigorously with her right hand. I couldn’t stand it anymore; I put my hands on her shoulders, easing her against the wall, wedging my knee between her legs, nudging them open even more. As I lowered myself to my knees, my eyes fixed on hers, her mouth opening in surprise as it seemed to dawn on her what I had in mind. I put my mouth on that beautiful pussy, capturing the whole of her before my tongue dove between her creamy folds, mustering every ounce of control I could. I licked her leisurely, like tasting her was part of my daily ritual, as if we had been in this shower yesterday. Impatiently, Rakell tilted her pelvis forward, her hand going to the back of my head, fingers intertwining with my hair, her body begging for me to meld my lips and tongue with her clit. Fighting against her whispered pleas…until I couldn’t hold back, then I tongue-fucked her before getting to the main course, her clit. The soft tugs at my hair turned into hard yanks. Her whispers escalated into muttered demands.
I tongue-fucked her harder, trying not to chuckle as she started panting, “Jake, oh fuck, Jake, please let me come…damn it!”
I paused just long enough to say, “The lady’s wish is my command.”
Then I focused my attention on the pulsing nerve bundle, my lips encapsulating it and sucking hard. Her knees buckled, her hands hitting the wall behind her, bracing herself. I kept the suction on her clit as I eased my middle finger into her hot, wet pussy. Increasing the speed and pressure of my tongue, I slid a second finger into her, using the “come hither” motion with my fingers as I stroked the top of her pussy wall, stimulating her G-spot. It took maybe two minutes before a wail erupted from her throat. “Oh, God, Jake, I’m coming.” Her body vibrated against the tile as I sprang up, snaking one hand around the back of her neck while my other hand covered her mouth as I whispered, “Shhh, Sweets, you don’t want Vee to know how good I am.”
She bit my hand softly before spurting out, “Cocky ass.”
I retorted into her ear, “You know it” before clamping down on her lobe. “I’m going to drill into you. Keep it down.” I cupped her lower thigh just behind her knee, instructing her, “Wrap your leg around my waist.” As I said that, my cockhead found her slit, and with one push, I bottomed out in her pussy. I slammed into her with abandon, obviously racing toward my orgasm. I fucked her like, well, I hadn’t fucked her in a month. There was a ruthlessness in my emotional and physical intent that I couldn’t restrain.
We started the night on that note and continued with a break for watermelon, popcorn, and some frozen diet dinners (no fat, no calories, no taste, no nutrition of any kind)—the only things in her fridge. A lecture on the fucked-up-ness of this diet-frozen processed shit rested in the back of my throat as I chewed some rubbery piece of chicken, but when you only get to see your girlfriend a few days a month, burning time on a teachable moment seemed like I’d be cutting off my foot. I was glad when she told me we would need to replace the TV dinners because they were Vee’s and she lived off them. I didn’t say this to Rakell, but all I could think was that Vee looked malnourished, as in her hair and skin and body screamed, I need fats. Damn, even if it were a bucket of guacamole swirled with olive oil, she needed to consume some. I almost used that as an entryway to nudge Rakell again about not curtailing her diet too much. It was what I’d seen happen repeatedly in the L.A. world.
Another reason I hated this place was that even the guys here talked more about the benefits of a “calorie deficit” diet than the actual farm-to-table food available here. This state was so fucking lucky to naturally produce nearly everything that could be grown in the world. Even the freaking livestock here seemed happier. I swear, once you exited a plane in Southern California, absorbing that salty air wafting in with the tide, sniffing all that suntan oil, taking in the millions of tight smiles behind lips that looked chronically sunburned and camel-like eyelashes that made it almost impossible to drive, somehow your mind forgot that what actually made people healthy was the outdoors and the consumable resources in California.
The next morning, my nose twitched at the smell of coffee and something woodsy filling the room. My entire system lit up, hearing her soft giggles paired with her lips dancing down my chest until she reached my stomach. My eyes popped open when her tongue started swirling in my belly button. I looked down my torso to the mass of dirty blond hair fanning across my stomach like one of those paper Japanese fans. When she tilted her head up, I captured her wry grin peeking out through mussed hair. God, I wanted this moment to be my forever reality. Waking up to this girl, my forever girl. Goddammit, let’s be real: I want her to be my wife. I wondered how long I’d have to tip-toe around a future that was crystal clear to me.
She kissed her way back up my chest, then rolled to the side and said, “Try the coffee.”
I sipped it warily as my brain informed me, Son, you're not in Texas anymore. Then, I blurted out, “What the hell is in this coffee?”
“It’s regular coffee mixed with mushroom coffee.” Her voice pitched at the word mushroom. What the hell, girl? Don’t let this place brainwash you!
I didn’t even try to hide my eyebrows furrowing in irritated bemusement.
My next question was, “Why? Why mushrooms in coffee?”
“It’s good for you, all-natural, and it’s…”
“What the hell do you think coffee beans are?” I snapped.
