“Ok.” Penelope presses her forehead against the steering wheel, her breathing deep and uneven. I’m tempted to rub her back, to help calm her down, except I’m too busy rolling my eyes at her hysteria.
“Wait.” She sits up. Breath calm. “Wait.” She turns, both hands on the wheel, eyes on me.
“What?”
“Why is your car at David Jacobs’ house?”
“Well…”
“YOU KISSED DAVID JACOBS?” She screams it, mouth open, practically shattering my ears with the volume inside the car and I wish I had thought to roll down the windows before I gave her the news.
“I did.”
“You didn’t.”
“I did.”
“Oh my god, you didn’t.”
“I did.”
She continues to stare at me, and I wonder if I should have called Dory who, at least, would not have been surprised. Or Christine, who probably wouldn’t have cared.
“FUCK, Jane. Why didn’t you start with that?”
“And miss your thoughts on the mayor’s husband?”
“Tell. Me. Everything.” She grabs my hand. “Everything. What kind of tongue does he have?”
“I-what?” I shake her hand off of mine. “What sort of question is that?”
“Firm, or wide, or soft, or-”
“You know what? I will tell you everything. I will, I promise.” I place my hand on her shoulder, trying not to laugh at the prepubescent absurdity of two women in their thirties screaming about kissing a boy. “But can we please get my car first?”
“Ok. Ok.” She nods, and turns the key in the ancient engine. “My god, Jane. I have never been this shocked. You making out with movie stars?” She shifts out of park and looks behind her as she reverses out of my driveway. “Honestly, I’d be less surprised if you killed a man.”
Penelope pulls into the long driveway and I remind her not to scream when she sees him.
“Hopefully he’ll still be asleep, and you can just drop me off.”
“No way.”
“Well,” I sigh, beginning to feel slightly bad for David. If he does come out the door, he has no idea what he’s in for. “If he is home, feel free to chat, but don’t linger. We’re just picking up my car. That’s it.”
“Sure.”
“We’re not going inside.”
“Of course.” She drives slowly, hands clutching the steering wheel like it’s a life raft on the Titanic and I know she’s lying.
“And don’t act crazy.” I pause, think about the ramifications of her running towards him, screaming like a lunatic, probably begging to bear his child.
Well, that would certainly get me out of having to see him again.
Which would get me out of having to risk my heart with him.
Which would guarantee my emotional and psychological safety.
“You know, maybe do act crazy.” I turn to her as we pull in front of the house. “Just a little bit.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she says with a huff. “I can behave like a civilized person when I have to.” She grins, “I just prefer to live a life where I don’t have to.”
She pulls her car next to mine, both shaded by the overhanging boughs of the maple trees on the side of his garage.
“Isn’t this the old Hanson estate?” She peers across me through the passenger side window.
I shrug. “I don’t know. That must have been before I moved here.”
“Huh.” She puts the car in park. “You know I came up here for trick or treating a few times when I was a kid, but it sure looks different now. Did he do a bunch of renovations before he moved out here?”
I shake my head, eyes closed. “I don’t know.” I open my door and turn to her. “Look, he’s not up, so I’m going to grab my car and we’re both going to leave, ok?”
She smiles at me. “No, we’re not.”
“Why not?”
She grins and points past me. “Because he’s standing on the deck.” Before I can stop her, she’s opening her door, waving vigorously and shouting, “Good morning, David! Hope we didn’t wake you!”
17
David
She’s here. And she brought a friend. I glance at the paint-spattered overalls of the driver, the wild curly hair pulled back in a messy bun held together by paintbrushes, and notice the sawdust over her shoes.
“You must be Penelope,” I say as I come down the stairs, coffee mug in hand. I smile at Jane, noticing her wary glance as she slowly extricates herself from the ancient car.
“I am.” The woman walks towards me, eyes bright, grin wide. “How did you know that?”
“Jane told me you made her mailbox. You look like someone who could make a mailbox.”
“Well, thank you!” She grins as she shakes my hand. “I am indeed someone who can make a mailbox. Would you like one too? I can customize it anyway you like.”
“That’s very kind of you,” I see Jane rolling her eyes as she approaches us. “Maybe later. I’m still settling in. Good morning, Jane.” I turn to her, enjoying the soft flush to her cheeks, the dance of sunlight against her hair. I catch the slightest whiff of coconut as she moves closer and have a sudden image of her in the shower, soft and wet and covered in bubbles. I glance down and surreptitiously adjust my stance.
“Good morning,” she says, voice low. “I came to get my car.”
“How did it end up here?” Penelope asks, eyes between us. “What did you two kids get up to last night?” There’s a twinkle in her eye and I suspect she has a very good idea what we two kids got up to last night.
Well, almost.
“Penelope-”
“We went out to eat. Had a bit to drink. So I walked her home.”
“Ah,” Penelope nods slightly, glancing at Jane, as if she just figured out the answer to challenging equation. “You were drunk.”
“I was not drunk,” Jane glares at her friend. “I was modestly under the influence.”
“We both were,” I grin. “Would you like to come in? I have coffee.”
“Yes!”
“No.”
Both women speak at the same time, glance at each other.
I smile again. “Come on in. I ordered some cups and they arrived yesterday. It’ll give me a chance to use them.”
They follow me into the house. One significantly more enthusiastic than the other.
The coffee is fresh and I pour two more cups. I take the milk out of the fridge, and offer sugar, but both refuse.
Penelope stares at me over her coffee cup.
“You look like you want to ask me a question, Penelope.” I put my mug on the counter and gesture with my hand. “Go nuts.”
She nods, takes a sip and places her cup on the counter as well. “I have two questions, actually.”
Jane shoots a warning look at her friend.
“Ok. Shoot.” I lean forward, my forearms on the counter, and wink at Jane.
She crosses her arms and pins me with a pair of intimidatingly steely eyes. “In the first Saviors of Space film, your character ingests a super-serum that allows him to develop time-traveling properties.”
I nod.
“But in the second film, the quantum-time continuum that’s created by Dr. Oxblood seems to operate with the same multi-dimensional shifting capacity.”
I nod, more slowly this time. To be honest, most of the faux-science behind the films never made much sense to me.
“What are you asking?” Jane sips her coffee.
“My question is: According to the world-building of the Saviors of Space universe, and the scientific principles underpinning both time travel and quantum space-time theory…”
Jane and I glance at each other.
“…It would seem that multi-dimensional shifting and time-travel are the same phenomenon.”
I nod once, very slowly. She’s losing me quickly.
“But if that’s the case, why didn’t you destroy the quantum-time continuum using the super-serum? If
both are essentially the same, but one is designed to ruin mankind and the other to save it, wouldn’t it make sense to get rid of the bad one?”
Jane turns to me, eyebrows raised, and smiles. “It’s a fair question, David. Why didn’t you destroy the quantum-time continuum using the super-serum?”
I shake my head. “Well,” I turn to Penelope, “I didn’t write the script, so I was not in control of my character’s actions.”
Penelope frowns, “But-”
“And I think the real answer, to be honest,” I smile, “is that, what you’re suggesting would radically shrink the size of the narrative. And most of us had a ten film contract.”
“Hm.” Penelope takes another sip of coffee.
“But,” I offer, “I could reach out to our story boarders, and see what they have to say. They would probably have a solid explanation for you. Much more than I do.”
“Oh,” Penelope smiles, looking down into her cup. “Well, there’s no need to go to any trouble. I was just wondering.”
“Not a problem.” I take a sip of my coffee. “Frankly, I’ve often wondered that exact same question myself.”
Jane snorts lightly and refuses to meet my eye.
“You said you had a second question?”
“Yeah,” Penelope takes a swig and puts the cup on the counter. “How did you get Jane drunk? I’ve been trying for years.”
“Excuse me,” Jane pokes her friend in the arm.
I laugh. “Dory helped.”
“Dory who?” Penelope asks.
“Dory Dory,” Jane says.
“Our Dory?” Penelope looks between the two of us, eyes wide.
“Dory in the cafe,” I offer. “I think that’s your Dory.”
“Dory got you drunk?” Penelope asks, eyes still wide.
“She didn’t get us drunk,” Jane shakes her head. “She just had a nice bottle in stock, and we shared one.”
“Two,” I murmur into my cup.
Penelope nods slowly, still looking at me. “I guess Dory approved of you.”
“I guess she did.”
“You know, she never agrees to go out for a drink with me.” Penelope shakes her head. “I didn’t believe Dory when she let slip you had a favorite wine. When we all get together, it’s all iced tea-this or latte-that.”
“I’m just not a big drinker,” Jane shrugs.
“Well, something got into you last night.” I meet her eyes, and she looks back into mine. Something passes between us, warm and curious and newly born.
“You know what,” Penelope puts her cup down and straightens quickly. “I just forgot. I have somewhere I need to be.”
“Where?”
“A place. A very important place.” She looks between us. “And I need to leave right now.”
“Let me walk you out,” I offer.
“No, no.” She puts up her hands, “I can manage.”
“I also should-”Jane moves to stand but Penelope puts a firm hand on her shoulder.
She pats Jane on the arm, and sends her a meaningful look. “You stay.”
“Nice to meet you, Penelope.” I raise a hand as she walks out of the kitchen. “I’ll look into that quantum time question for you.”
“You do that!” She shouts, her footsteps sounding down the hallway. I hear the door shut behind her. A few minutes later, the sound of her car starting, reversing across the gravel, and driving down the driveway.
Jane and I are alone.
18
Jane
We’re alone.
In his house.
I mentally shake myself. We’ve been alone before. In the woods, when I was naked for crying out loud. And in his house, together several times. This time isn’t any different.
But the way he’s staring at me tells me I’m wrong.
“You ruined my plans, you know.” He’s looking at me, one large hand resting gently on the top of his coffee mug, tracing the lip with his thumb.
“What plans?”
He smiles, that liquid sex movement of his mouth, all smoldering eyes and dark stare. It’s impossible to resist.
“It occurred to me this morning that I now know where you live. So, I was going to pick up coffee and donuts and bring them to your house.”
“There’s no need for that. Really.” I grip my cup in both hands, holding it in front me like a defensive shield. I’m not afraid of him. In fact, I notice a curious relaxation steal over me whenever we’re in the same room together, as if my body recognizes something my mind does not.
“My plan was to knock on your door, under the pretense of checking up on you.” He continues to run his thumb over the rim of his mug. “And then, once I was inside,” he lifts the mug to his lips, “seduce you.”
He takes a long, slow sip, his eyes never leaving mine.
I clear my throat. “Seduce me?”
He nods. Lips still pressed to the coffee mug.
“With coffee and donuts?”
“Those were the distraction, not the seduction. Like your friend, Penelope. You brought her here to distract me, right?”
“Well,” I look down, hoping to disappear inside my mug. “I figured, last night was an anomaly, and I didn’t want you to be embarrassed-”
“I’m not embarrassed.”
“-And I know Penelope would have plenty to say to you, so-”
“So you hoped I’d be too busy talking about fake science to notice when you grabbed your car and snuck away?” He takes another sip. “Is that what you thought?”
I clear my throat again, staring into the depths of my mug.
To hell with it. He’s onto me.
I look up, meet his gaze squarely.
“Yes. That is exactly what I thought.”
He nods. “I’m glad you failed.”
I put the mug on the counter, plastering a smile to my face. “Thank you for the coffee, but I-”
“Jane.” His voice is soft, those silver eyes looking at me, looking into me. My body, traitorous as always, remains still, soft and pliant in front of him. My heart beats wildly in my chest, pressing so hard against my rib cage I wonder if it might fly out and smack him in his perfect face. My mind, the only rational, sensible part of me, is screaming to run away, save myself, get out before it’s too late.
But I already know.
It is too late.
“I had a wonderful time last night.” He puts down his mug and walks slowly around the kitchen island, coming towards me. “Talking with you, laughing with you.” He leaves one hand on the counter, trailing it and maintaining eye contact. I get the distinct impression he’s treating me like a wild animal, approaching me cautiously, gently, as if aware I’m ready to bolt.
My body is mellow and relaxed. I stand here, waiting for him to reach me, while the sensible part of myself says I should be leaving, thanking him for the coffee, grabbing my bag, and walking out the door.
“Stay with me today.” He’s standing next to me now. Those grey eyes peering into mine. I tilt my head back to meet his gaze and have to fight the impulse to throw myself at him.
“David,” I look down, take a breath, and swallow. “David, I don’t think-”
“Good,” he leans closer, his lips a whisper above my own, “don’t think, sweetheart.”
His lips against mine, his breath warm on my face, I can’t help myself. My body overrides my mind. My heart flies up and out of my chest and I am in his arms.
His arms are thick around me, scooping me against his body so I melt into his strength. I am half leaning into him, half carried by him as he bends over me, his lips firm and unyielding.
“Open your mouth,” I hear him whisper and I obey, helpless. His kiss is hot, wet, and all consuming. I hear a soft, deep-throated moan from somewhere and I realize it’s me, my sound, a deep guttural part of me calling to him, my siren song bringing him into shore.
I taste coffee and man and early morning sunshine on his mouth. His hands travel along my back, one finger traili
ng inside the waist of my jeans, pressing me gently forward until my breasts are tight against the expanse of his chest and the thick line of his cock presses against belly.
“God, Jane,” I hear him whisper, murmuring shocking, delicious things against my lips as his hands travel across my body, moving forward to gently lift my shirt, its faded, tired cotton no protection against the heat of his touch. Hooking both thumbs under the hem, he slides his fingers up my torso towards my breasts, running his fingers softly against the cups of my bra.
I realize he has pivoted me so that I am supported by the edge of the kitchen island, my back arched against him as he plunders my mouth, fingers slipping torturously slowly under my breasts. My thighs fall open and he is standing inside them, cradled against me, the thick length of him pressing against my core as he scoops me up, grinding against my pelvis.
I hear the sound again, that deep, soft sound, organic and earthy in nature, nothing that has ever left my lips before. As if the very core of me is responding to the very core of him, our most primitive parts calling to each other, recognizing kinship and belonging. It’s matched by him, a deep rumble I feel in my mouth, across my belly and down between my thighs. He’s rubbing against me, and my body matches his, the ancient rhythm of the tides caught between us, as natural and unstoppable as moonlight.
His fingers move higher, slipping beneath my bra completely and I feel his palms against me, the coarse texture of his fingertips lightly catching on my nipples. They instantly contract, standing upright and painfully tight, desperate for his touch, his mouth. He moves one hand down my back, cupping my ass to hold me closer to his pelvis, pressing so close against me I can feel the heat of him through my jeans. The other hand dances on my skin, rubbing and teasing my nipple, pinching gently as I moan and writhe beneath him.
His mouth leaves mine and I feel him pull my shirt up, jerking my bra down, before his mouth is on me, hot tongue and lips suckle me as I moan, loudly this time without his kiss to absorb the sound. My thighs spread wider all on their own, enveloping him as much as humanly possible with clothes still on and I feel wetness between my thighs, my body opening, aching for him. My eyes are closed and behind my lids I see him sliding into me, thick and hard and deep, pressing inside and pulsing, thrusting until I shatter around him.
Jane Air Page 12