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Rakell: You can do better…Send
Jake: OK, I’ll try…Send
Rakell: Jumping in the shower. I can call in a bit…Send
Jake: Skip the shower. I’ll get you wet…Send
Rakell: OMG!! Stick to the rom-com lines…Send
Jake: Think about me running my hands all over your hot ass body…Send
Rakell: Sure thing, Romeo…Send
This girl! She had that way of automatically disarming me, making me laugh. That was the thing about her: I’d never been this wound up about a woman, always questioning what she would do, but I hadn’t had someone in my life with whom I felt so natural. That’s what she did, disarmed me, yet made me paranoid. So that’s love, just feeling fucking crazy all the time, unable to concentrate on anything but that person. Why the hell do books and movies talk about it as some grand thing that we all strive for? ‘Cause if I were honest with myself, this sensibility felt destructive, like it had the potential to either make my life bigger and better than I could ever have imagined or derail my life in an irreversible way.
“Hey, Jake,” she began. I could hear her breathing as if she were moving around. “You heading to bed early? I still need to dry my hair and practice a few more times, but I know someone looked a little worn out this morning, so I wasn’t sure how late you’d be up,” she said, then narrating that she was slipping into a pair of silk shorts and a T-shirt. “Just a second…just want to get under the comforter.” Sure, like I needed to picture that shit. “Are you exhausted?” She asked.
“Nah, I took a quick nap after I dropped you off, went to the gym, then rewatched some game footage for a potential draft pick. I chatted with Dwayne. He’s flying in tomorrow, and we’re going to meet Tuesday to discuss options for next season.”
“Sounds like a pretty productive day,” she affirmed.
“Well, I had to keep myself busy after putting you on the plane. How’s practice going? That monologue you said you have to perform tomorrow—I’m available if you want to rehearse…”
“It’s way too intense to do for someone else. I’m going to read it over a few more times. I’ve been practicing, and I think I have it memorized—I just need to strike the right emotion and facial expression.”
“You’ll do it,” I said, remembering the nervous tension I felt before college games, when I knew scouts were present.
“Mmm…” she murmured, sounding distracted.
“Hey, am I losing you?” I said, staving off the irritation in my tone.
“No, sorry, Ana was texting, encouraging me to be two people at once at the audition,” she said with a mechanical quality to her voice, as if she were trying to work out how that would look.
“Interesting, what’s the movie about?”
“I can’t say too much because they make you sign an NDA before they share the script.”
“Well, since my girlfriend made me sign one already, I think my hands are tied, and my lips are sealed.”
“Oooh…both sound like a good look on you.”
“Hell no, I’m already at your mercy.”
“I don’t think anybody would buy that. I can tell you that the role would mean a lot of screen time for me, not just a clip of me serving drinks at a bar like in the last movie, or a shot of me on the beach with a couple of other girls giggling in the one before that, or the amazing scene of me at the grocery store bumping into some pissed-off woman’s cart, making her more pissed off. If I got this role, I would actually get to speak and act.”
Steeling myself, I blocked the rampage of questions charging through my head. How much interaction will you have with Bernardo? Do you have to kiss him? Will he see you naked? I didn’t think I could stomach that…but I had to remind myself that this was her career, and the world had seen the Sports Illuminated cover…the entire world had seen her barely clothed, oozing raw sexual prowess, her eyes masked, daring the camera to come hither, her breasts threatening to escape the thin, suede bikini top paired with the minuscule triangle bottom that barely reached her mons. Sure, the world got to soak up her image, and I could only imagine how many guys used that cover photo of her as visual stimulation…I shook off what they must be imagining as they brought themselves off, staring at her image.
Smugly, I reminded myself that I was the only one who knew why the fabric between her legs was wet; it was all me. Yeah, Neanderthalish, but I took some immature male pride in that. I knew it was inane, but damn, I couldn’t help the swagger that inflated my chest, knowing she’d been thinking about me when she posed in front of the cameras, and, as she described it, her pussy lips still swollen from the aggressive sex we’d had at the Driskill. Rubbing against the rock and right there in front of the entire camera crew…she had orgasmed. Christ, I’d never get the look consuming her face on the front cover of Sports Illuminated out of my mind. She’d said she wasn’t even being considered for the cover, but I’m sure they were sold once they saw that photo. That was sex personified and all because she was thinking about me: Jake Skyler. Fuck, how I wanted to DM Bernardo and let him know she was mine—and Bernardo better heed that. I had three extra copies, and damn if looking at that cover didn’t get me revved up. Inhaling sharply, Delilah’s lecture replaying in my head, I was brought back to the conversation. “Rae-kale, I think it’s going to go well. I’ll be thinking about you tomorrow. Why don’t I let you get to practicing.”
“Jake, thank you. I guess I needed…ack! I wanted to hear someone say it just like you did—like it was a given. That may not be true, but I…well, I...” She snickered.
“It’s okay to say need, Sweets. I needed to know I could be here for you right now.” Damn, how I needed it. “I suppose needing each other isn’t such a bad thing.”
“Jake…” she said my name with an admonishing tone, which is how most women in my life say my name. “We can discuss the wording for what we’re doing when I’m back in Sacramento, face to face.”
I grunted. “Sure, because you have the upper hand in person…”
“It’s because you’re easy, remember?” she teased.
