Drive

by Stephanie Fournet

  “You’re welcome,” he muttered, dropping his nose into her hair. He breathed her in. She smelled like lavender, wild orange, and woman. In the two seconds their bodies connected, the synapses in his brain lit with a billion imprints. He learned that holding her felt like singing. The way he could get lost holding a long note and forget for a moment that his breath would run out because belting out the words with his mouth wide open felt so right.

  And just like the long notes, it ended too soon. She pulled away and clutched the album to her chest. “I’m going to put this right where it belongs, and I’ll listen to it from start to finish tomorrow morning,” she said, walking backward toward her music armoire.

  “I like the sound of that,” he muttered. She’d have to think of him, wouldn’t she? He watched her flip through her collection and tuck the album between War and The Joshua Tree. Then she spun on her toes to face him.

  “Ready? I’m starved.”

  Jacques let her lead them out to the front porch, and he stood beside her as she locked the door. Rainey halted a few paces away from the Impala, and when he glanced at her expression, he saw hesitation.

  “You okay?” he asked, reaching forward and opening the passenger side door for her.

  She gave him a tight nod. “Mmm-hmm.”

  He watched her slip into the front seat, but instead of looking back at him, she kept her eyes hidden.

  Jacques shut her door, his head crowded with thoughts. He’d seen her look that way the first time she rode with him. Tense. Preoccupied. Afraid.

  He made his way to the driver’s side, slid in beside her, and fired up the engine. After he backed out and put the car into drive, Jacques braked, reached for her left hand, and clasped it in his.

  “You don’t like cars. They scare you.” He met her eyes when they shot to his, clearly stunned. She said nothing, but she looked wary. “I don’t know why they scare you, but I want to tell you I’m a really good driver. I’ve never had a ticket or an accident.”

  She blinked up at him, and he squeezed her hand.

  “You’re safe with me.”

  The wary look in her eyes changed. He watched her mouth work, but she didn’t say anything. Finally, she nodded and squeezed back. Whatever had happened to her, it wasn’t something she could discuss, and he didn’t want her to feel like he expected her to.

  “What should we listen to?” he asked.

  A tentative smile played on her lips. “Surprise me,” she said. “You’re good at that.”

  “Okay.” He thumbed through his library before making a selection and hitting the gas. As they rolled down her street, the opening guitar and synths built up the beat, welcoming the drums.

  “What’s this?” she asked, her hand tightening around his fingers.

  “Bad Suns’ ‘We Move Like the Ocean.’”

  “Oh, yeah,” she said with recognition. “I’ve heard ‘Cardiac Arrest’ on Spotify, but I don’t think I’ve ever listened to this one.”

  Jacques grinned, glad again he’d given her a song she’d never heard.

  “It’s good,” she added a moment later. She’d lost most of the tension that had stymied her when she approached his car, but Jacques could still see a contrast between the Rainey who sat next to him now and the one who’d hugged him in her home only minutes before. She’d told him earlier that she didn’t eat out often, but if Jacques’s guess was right, she didn’t go out much. Period. She was a little homebody who loved her music, books, and her dog.

  A beautiful, funny, brave homebody who’d agreed to go out with him.

  As he drove, Jacques was filled with the sudden need to prove himself to her. He’d told her she was safe with him, but he wanted to give her more than that. Yes, keeping her safe was paramount, but he wanted her to feel secure and enjoy herself too.

  After turning onto Jefferson Street, he found a spot across from Pho’tastic. The Vietnamese restaurant had only been open for about a year, and because it was small and located downtown, he knew they might have to wait for a table. But it was a Tuesday night, and when they stepped inside, Jacques was relieved to see the place wasn’t crowded.

  They chose a booth along the side wall, and since Rainey said she was hungry, Jacques placed an order for winter rolls that he knew would arrive in minutes.

  “What can I get you guys to drink?” their server asked, smiling at him. The wait staff at Pho’tastic was also a small group. He’d had the server with the septum half hoop before, and he’d seen her at a few of his shows.

  Jacques glanced at Rainey to see her eyeing the shelves on the bar lined with sake sets. She looked back at him.

  “Do you like sake?” she asked. From the look in her eyes, it was clear she did.

  “Please bring us an order of sake and two waters,” he told their server, watching Rainey smile as he did.

  “Thank you,” she said when they were alone again. She pulled the menu toward her. “What do you usually get?”

  Before he could answer, a couple approached their table. Jacques looked up to see Casey North, the lead singer of Ripple Effect and a Grade-A asshole.

  “Damn you, Floyd,” Jacques muttered under his breath.

  “Heyyyy, J-man,” Casey said, coming at him with an extended hand. Clenching his teeth, Jacques had no choice but to offer his back or risk Casey clapping him into a man hug.

  “Hey,” he muttered, giving a nod of greeting to the woman on Casey’s arm.

  “Haven’t seen you around much, man,” Casey said, releasing his hand and pulling a fake look of concern.

  Jacques knew he was referring to the end of Epoch. Lafayette was a college town with a vibrant live-music scene, but there were still only so many venues. The places he’d headlined solo since the breakup had been on the small end, not the most coveted stages like Blue Moon or Warehouse 535 or The Grouse Room. And Casey was rubbing it in.

  “I’m playing at Artmosphere Thursday night,” he returned, ignoring the intended slight.

  Casey wrinkled his nose. “Ouch. Sorry, man.”

  At the words, Jacques witnessed Rainey’s spine stiffen. Her eyes locked with his across the table, and before she broke her gaze, she winked at him.

  “What do you mean by that?” she asked, aiming her question at Casey. She thrust her hand at him. “Hi, I’m Rainey. My aunt owns Artmosphere. What’d you say your name was?”

  Casey’s eyes flew open, and his mouth actually gaped. The guy was an idiot on top of being a Grade-A asshole, but he was smart enough to know better than to insult the proprietor of any live-music venue in town. Successful bar owners and restaurateurs generally owned two or three places that catered to different demographics. Jacques bit his lip to keep from laughing when Casey blanched.

  “Casey,” he muttered, shaking Rainey’s hand with obvious trepidation.

  “Oh, Casey what?” she asked, narrowing a piercing stare at him.

  “North?”

  Jacques watched Rainey’s mouth twitch at Casey’s feeble tone, and it was a thing of beauty.

  “Well, Casey North,” she repeated with confidence, “Jacques is laying down an album with his new band tomorrow at Dockside Studios, but if you and your friend don’t like Artmosphere, you can catch him Friday at Agave and Saturday at the Biergarten. We’d love to see you there. Wouldn’t we, honey?”

  It was the honey that nearly did him in. His smile threatened to do him harm, and he was trying so hard not to laugh, he risked breaking a rib. And not only was it hilarious to watch her put North in his place, but Jacques also knew he hadn’t told her where he’d be playing the rest of the week, and she’d nailed his schedule. Which could only mean she’d looked him up after he left her house that afternoon. That had to be a good sign, right?

  It sure as hell felt good. And so did hearing her call him honey.

  Casey seemed to choke for a minute before he stared back at Jacques. “You have a new band?”

  Before Jacques could answer, Rainey’s hands shot across the ta
ble and clasped his. “He does, and they’re awesome, but as you can imagine with a schedule as busy as his, this is the only chance we’ve had in forever to go out to dinner, so I’m sorry, but I’m pretty jealous about the time we get together. He can tell you about the band another time. I hope you understand.”

  In the face of that unmistakable dismissal, Casey North could only nod like the tool he was. “Yeah. Sure, I understand. Excuse us.” He gave them both a wave and grabbed his date’s elbow as though it were the last parachute in a flaming plane. “Y’all have a good night.”

  And then they were gone.

  Jacques watched the door close behind them before he turned back to Rainey, unable to mask the worship that lit his being from the inside. She still held his hands in hers, and Jacques clasped back so she couldn’t slip away.

  “I’ve been on a lot of stages, but that was the best performance I think I’ve ever seen.”

  Chapter 8

  Rainey’s face flamed as she met his eyes. He probably thought she was an absolute nut.

  “Well, let me explain first,” she began, but Jacques just burst out laughing.

  “Did you see his face?” he asked through his laughter. “I thought his eyes were going to jump out his skull when you said your aunt owned Artmosphere.”

  Rainey bit her lip, not sure if she should be relieved or ashamed. Jacques’s laughter halted on an inhale. “Wait, is she your aunt?” he asked wide-eyed.

  She blew out a breath and leaned forward to whisper. “No, the only aunt I have is married to my mom’s brother Bill, and they live in Denver,” she said, shaking her head. “But I do know the owner. She’s a friend of my dad’s. Besides, Artmosphere is a cool place, and Casey North is an assaholic.”

  Jacques’s laughter boomed through the tiny restaurant, and he squeezed her hands. “Do you know him?” he asked, letting go with his right hand to wipe his tearing eyes. As soon as he had, he claimed her left hand again.

  Rainey shrugged. “Sort of. He chased after Holi for a while in high school, but he clearly doesn’t remember me. He never did, which was only one of the reasons she’d never go out with him,” she unloaded. “But primarily it was because he was always trashing people he found threatening — which was practically everybody.”

  Chuckling, Jacques nodded. “That doesn’t surprise me. Where did you go to high school?”

  “St. Thomas More. You?”

  “Lafayette High.” He squinted at her. “So North went to STM?”

  Rainey shook her head. “I’m pretty sure he was at Acadiana. But because of our dad, a lot of high school musicians found their way to Holi, hoping to get an inside track or some advice for making it big.” She made herself look at him then even though she didn’t want to. Rainey hadn’t let herself think about it, but she prayed to God that wasn’t why Jacques Gilchrist was interested in her. That would utterly suck.

  Their bejeweled server came back to the table and set down a plate of winter rolls — which looked to Rainey exactly like spring rolls. Jacques thanked the server before releasing Rainey’s hands and pushing the plate toward her.

  “Here. Try one. The peanut hoisin is really good,” he said, indicating to the dish of sauce. As if on cue, her stomach growled, and Jacques gave her a pointed look. “Eat.”

  Red in the face, she picked up one of the rolls and dipped it into the sauce. It tasted just like a spring roll, fresh, not fried, but the sauce was crazy good.

  “Mmm,” she moaned. “Thank you.”

  Their server returned with the hot sake and poured them each a cupful. After she left, Rainey picked up her cup, and Jacques slid his across the table to her. “You can have mine,” he said.

  Rainey frowned. “Why? You don’t like sake?” If he didn’t like sake, why had he ordered it?

  He shook his head. “I only drink when I’m not driving.”

  A gasp escaped her throat. His father.

  “Oh my God,” she squeaked, setting down the white porcelain. “Your dad. I’m so stupid. I shouldn’t have—”

  Jacques eyebrows climbed, and he waved out a hand. “No,” he said firmly. “I drink, and I like sake. But tonight, I’m driving you, and after I drive you home, I’ll drive three or four other people home.” He picked up her cup and pushed it back into her hand. “But even if my father hadn’t killed two people fourteen years ago, I still wouldn’t drink on nights I work. Strangers are entrusting their lives to me, and most of the time, they’re doing it because they’re trying to be responsible. That means I have to be responsible.”

  She blinked at him. Jacques Gilchrist was a good man. He was a principled, trustworthy, and thoughtful man. He put the straw from his water glass between his lips and took a long sip, and Rainey thought it was the sexiest damn thing she’d ever seen.

  “I think I’ll send it back—”

  “Don’t you dare.” His dark eyes were completely no-nonsense. He held her with his gaze for three long seconds before his lopsided grin emerged. “I had the best jam session of my life today, and somebody ought to toast that.”

  “It was that good?” It had to have been that good. Happiness seemed to radiate from him.

  “It was frickin’ amazing,” he said, his voice hushed. “I can’t wait for tomorrow. And when we get the tracks nailed down, I want to share them with you.”

  She tried to inhale, but her lungs wouldn’t work. She swallowed once. Twice. And then she could breathe. “I’ll drink to that,” she managed on a hoarse whisper.

  Rainey tipped back the contents of her sake cup and swallowed the warm rice wine — so light it was almost ethereal. As she did, she watched him watch her with a satisfied smile that sent warmth pooling in her lap. And Rainey had to revise her scale because that was now the sexiest damn thing she’d ever seen.

  Their server came back to the table, and, heated and flustered, Rainey hurried to choose an entree, asking Jacques what he liked. Because she was clueless, they wound up ordering his two favorites, the Pho Chicken and the Egg Noodle Soup and sharing both.

  As soon as their server left, Jacques reached across the table and claimed her hands again, and a thrill swept up her arms, setting off her pulse. She remembered how he’d touched her almost the same way that morning. It felt just as intimate now, and Rainey knew she could get used to holding hands across a table with Jacques.

  The thought terrified her as much as it left her exhilarated.

  “So, I have a question,” he said, his deep voice now a low caress.

  “Yeah?” Her own voice was just short of a squeak.

  “You told North exactly where I’d be playing the rest of this week, but I only told you about the Artmosphere show.”

  Rainey froze in horror, realizing her slip. His face lit with intrigue, and Jacques seemed to attempt to keep his smile in check.

  “Did you look me up?”

  Rainey scrunched her eyes shut as though she could hide from the sting of embarrassment. And she tried to cover her face with her hands, but Jacques’s grip tightened around them. The low rumble of his laugh sounded so happy she chanced opening one eye. When she did, he squeezed her hands and leaned across the table, dropping his voice just above a whisper.

  “You. Are. Adorable.”

  She shut the treacherous eye with a groan. Rainey felt one of his hands release hers a moment before it settled on her left cheek.

  “Open your eyes,” he whispered, stroking her cheek with his thumb. Rainey slowly obeyed. He was staring straight into her. “I’ve had the best day today, and it just got better. Thank you.”

  Rainey sighed. She hadn’t at all planned to let him know she’d Googled him. A website and a Facebook page had told her where he’d be playing for the next week, and the gallery of pictures had kept her mesmerized for the better part of thirty minutes. She’d planned to keep that little search to herself, but when Casey North started giving Jacques crap about the loss of his band, Rainey had snapped.

  Well, a little humiliation was worth i
t. Jacques, at least, seemed pretty thrilled about the whole thing.

  He ran his thumb along her cheek again. Maybe he was weaving some kind of spell over her because she no longer felt all that humiliated.

  “So if I looked you up, what would I find?” he asked.

  The magic spell broke like a bubble. Rainey pulled back just a little, and Jacques dropped his hand.

  “Not much,” she said flatly.

  What’s the point of posting to social media if you don’t have a social life?

  He tilted his chin up just a fraction, narrowing his gaze at her. “No book blog? Or music blog?” His brow arched at this possibility. “It would probably take you two years to cover everything in that collection.”

  Well, that was true. And Rainey liked how much he was clearly paying attention.

  “I used to post a lot of reviews on Goodreads,” she said absently.

  “Why did you stop?”

  His question pulled her up short. Rainey hadn’t consciously examined why, but the underlying sense she had was that putting her thoughts down for others to read didn’t really matter all that much. But admitting that aloud would sound pathetic, so she just shrugged.

  And she thanked God an instant later when their server set down two soup tureens and two bowls. She took the interruption as a chance to shift the focus from her.

  Rainey grabbed the ladle from the pot of Pho Chicken and began filling their bowls. “Tell me about your new band.”

  It was nearing ten o’clock when Jacques walked her up the drive to her house. Not a late night, but he said he still had to work and would probably be driving for a few hours. Rainey couldn’t imagine that. Years of living as a hermit meant that she almost never stayed up late.

  For a twenty-three-year-old, it was kind of sad.

  Rainey studied Jacques out of the corner of her eye, wondering if he’d guessed how small her life was. And if he had, what did he think? Did he feel sorry for her? Did he assume she was desperate? Or did he see her as a challenge?

  Before she could look away, he glanced down and caught her staring. He stopped at the foot of her steps. “What are you thinking?”