by Jess Bentley
“That’s the first you’ve said about your mom,” I tell him. “Earlier, that she taught you how to make crepes. Are you two close?”
“We used to be,” Jake says, a ghost of old sadness in his voice. “She left a while back. Didn’t fight to take me with her—she never would have won. My father doesn’t like losing, you know? She didn’t get a dime. She’s on the other coast now. I think she remarried a few years ago. We… don’t really talk much.”
“What does she do?”
“She’s ah… probably a housewife again,” he says. “She didn’t really have any skills when she married Reginald, so…”
“That’s sad,” I say. “I mean… if it works for her it works, you know? But there’s nothing quite as freeing as being self-made. I think I only really started to live when I opened up Red Hall.”
“It would be nice,” he sighs. “Not to be so tied to Reginald. He’s threatened to disinherit me if I open a gym.”
“So?” I ask. “Don’t get me wrong, a billion dollars is probably good to have in your pocket but… it’s not your dream to just be rich forever, right? In the end, money’s only worth money. Dreams are worth the time and life it takes to make them come true.”
“You make it sound easy,” Jake laughs.
“It’s not,” I tell him. “It’s the hardest thing in the world. You have to keep innovating, keep coming up with the next thing. But it’s unbelievably satisfying in a way you just have to experience for yourself. Lately we’re planning this…” Maybe it’s not a good idea to go talking about the hot sauce line. But, maybe if he’s inspired, he might actually do something on his own. Why do I care about that?
“Lately…?” he wonders.
“Ah… well, I worked with my chef, Lacey Ming, to develop this hot sauce line. Six different sauces that we’re going to roll out over the next few weeks into the fall. I’m thinking we’ll develop a different line each year, and then maybe do some seasonal stuff. I’ve been wanting to do something that’ll really make us stand out, you know?” I squirm against him a little bit, and then move so that I can face him. “It’s a good feeling. Knowing that you’re taking risks, making choices… building something.”
He meets my eyes, smiling at me but… something is different. Guarded. Did I make a mistake? And if I did, which one was it?
I try to err on the side of optimism—maybe it’s just hard for Jake to really open up. With a father like his, it wouldn’t surprise me. We’re at the beach just a little longer before finally we return to the house.
“I’m gonna shower,” I tell him, loosening the sheet from around my body suggestively.
“Sounds good,” Jake says. He smiles, and then hands me a box. “I ah… made sure you had a change of clothes.”
“You just think of everything, don’t you?” I wonder as I take the box from him.
I ascend the stairs slowly, suggestively—or at least, I’m trying to. Jake doesn’t seem to take the hint, though, occupying himself instead with cleaning up his cooking mess in the kitchen. It’s disappointing, but I suppose I’m a little sore anyway. A break isn’t a bad idea, right?
But the seed of it festers, and by the time I come back downstairs wearing the gorgeous little strapless sundress he got me I can’t help wondering if maybe his interest just evaporated after we had sex. It’s not like he’d be the only guy who operated that way.
He kisses me when he sees me, and he’s dressed as well, having showered before I even got up. But it’s not the same kind of passionate kiss as before.
“I should probably get home,” I tell him softly. “Long day ahead and all.”
He nods. He does smile, but his eyes are shadowed. Something’s bothering him. I’m not sure I want to know, so when he picks up his keys and says he’d be happy to drop me off at work, I just follow him to the car.
All the way there, I remind myself: it was just a hookup. I’m not invested. So if we did this once and then never speak again, it’s no big deal.
Right?
Chapter 21
Jake
“Is it weird I can still smell you?” I text Janie a few days after our un-fucking-believable encounter.
I wanted to see her again the next day, but I’m trying to follow “the plan.” The whole method behind making a woman fall head over heels to the point that she craves my presence. I hate doing it to Janie; it makes me sick. Reginald expects me to reintroduce the idea of a PR relationship again, though, and he wants it soon.
So for three days, all we have is an ongoing text exchange to remind us both of what we had together at the beach house.
“Maybe you’re marked,” Janie sends back. “Good luck washing that off.”
I laugh. “Is that why the ladies keep sniffing me and moving on?”
“Definitely. Part of a secret code we all know about. Can’t say more than that.”
“Maybe I should mark you, then.”
“No need. The only other men in my life are either gay or related to me.” There’s a winking smiley face emoji attached to the end.
“Chester?” I send her.
“Yes, Chester.”
“Can’t believe anyone can stay gay with you wearing those dresses to work every day,” I send. “He must be really committed.”
“His boyfriend is way hotter than I am in a dress,” she replies. “Miss Layla Fine. Drag queen at Mercury’s. Stunning. She even has better tits than me, the bitch.”
“Maybe I should drop by…”
“Good luck with that.” A laughing face emoji, followed quickly by a banana. I can almost hear her laughing.
“Am I distracting you?” I send.
There’s a long pause, and I wonder what she’s doing. It was hard, when we left the beach house. Opening up like that about my mother made me suddenly terrified, and made everything about our interlude seem somehow too real and at the same time cheapened. But keeping myself closed off from Janie is next to impossible. Every time we talk, it’s like there are hooks inside me, catching long-buried emotions and memories and dragging them up by force. It hurts, but at the same time there’s something cathartic about it.
I wish I could tell her everything—tell her about why I’m really pursuing her so hard, and what Reginald wants and what I’m risking if I don’t do what he wants, and what I’m risking if I do. The truth will come out eventually, I know that. When it does, who will I be at that point?
A man is defined by his actions. It doesn’t matter who you want to be, if you do the things that a person you don’t want to be would do. I don’t want to be my father, but what the hell am I doing? A damn good impression of him, that’s what.
“I don’t mind being a little distracted for once,” she finally replies. “You make me nervous.”
Good instincts. Somehow, I can’t believe she doesn’t see right through me. It would almost be easier if she did. Pushing Reginald’s agenda is going to cost me in the end, whether I succeed or not. But if she could just get her head on straight and see me for what I am… she could come out on top. She could win, and I could go back to Reginald in disgrace, but only because I fought and lost instead of refusing to follow his orders. I’m honestly not sure which would be worse in his eyes.
At least if I lost fair and square, I could point out that he’s lost before as well. Not often, and less as he’s gotten older and more experienced; more ruthless. But it’s not unheard of. Surely he couldn’t fault me for failing to seduce an intelligent woman who doesn’t fit his theory that women are inferior. No one who’s spent any time with Janie could think that.
“I’m nervous, too,” I text. It’s true, but that’s not all it is. Vulnerable—that’s the key. As much as it hurts, I have to open myself up to her if she’s ever going to sympathize with my position, and that’s what I need.
The next text comes quickly, and it’s the one I’ve been dreading. “When can I see you again?”
The question hurts me, physically, even though it’s exactly the on
e I need to see. “Soon,” I send her back. “Got things going on. Get that sauce line going; you’re gonna need some free time.”
She sends back a winking emoji and some chili peppers.
There’s a part of me that wishes we could just stay here, at this step, forever. Not that I don’t want to see her again—it’s like I’m having withdrawals at this point, and she’s the only thing I can think about—but once that happens, it means we’re that much closer to the end, whichever end we get.
Still, I can’t just stall her forever. We made memories at the beach house already, so I make sure the place is free for the next few weeks, just in case. Another one of Reginald’s nuggets of tainted wisdom—find a place and make it special, make it positive. People are more susceptible to suggestions they might otherwise reject when they’re in a place like that. Christ, he’s done it to me plenty of times.
Yeah. It’s a damn fine impression. How far do you have to take it before it’s not just an act anymore?
I’ll probably find out.
Chapter 22
Janie
Mama finally gets to go home, and when I get the call I take a break to go see her. Not a long visit, but I feel bad that I wasn’t able to pick her up. At least George managed to come through in this particular instance. That’s probably the extent of his utility for the next several months. Spend it wisely, right?
“I wish you all hadn’t gone to the trouble,” Mama says about the bill, which the hospital kindly sent her home with. “I didn’t know it would be so expensive.”
“Don’t worry about that right now, Mama,” I tell her. George looks uncomfortable. Good. He should be. I just hope he can manage not to treat Mama poorly for long enough that she can get used to being home again. The new meds seem like they’re working well, but there’s no telling when she’ll stop taking them, or whether George will re-fill the prescription when it runs out.
All of that, though, just has to be carefully monitored. Trying to predict and plan for it is pointless.
My phone chimes, and I take a quick peek in case it’s trouble at the restaurant, but instead it’s Jake.
“Want to get a drink?”
In the mix of emotions that well up, the more carnal ones are the loudest, and my cheeks heat up. A smile pulls the corner of my mouth up before I can suppress it, and when I put my phone away I see George watching me curiously. He drops his eyes when he meets mine, though. It’s refreshing that he hasn’t quite gotten back into full asshole mode just yet. Probably hard to do that when we both know he wasn’t able to take care of his own wife.
I’m sure it will pass, though. It always does.
A few minutes later, I can’t bring myself to wait anymore. So I kiss Mama on the forehead. “I have to get back,” I tell her. It’s a lie, but a small one, and she seems tired anyway. I look up at George. “Make sure she gets plenty of rest.”
George looks momentarily offended, but it gets smothered quickly before Mama can see it. “Of course I will,” he says quietly.
Mama’s watching us both, and she looks concerned. So I force myself to give George a brief hug—it isn’t pleasant for either of us, I can tell—and mutter a goodbye.
“Yes,” he says stiffly. “Have a… good afternoon.” It’s somewhere between a well-wish and an order, but maybe that’s as good as it’ll ever get.
On my way to the car, I text Jake back. “I’d love to. Can’t stay all day. One drink. Busy busy.”
I get back a winking smiley face from him, and can’t help but wonder if there’s some part of this plan I don’t know about. I kind of hope there is, and can’t help smiling the whole way back downtown.
I manage to make it almost a full fifteen minutes in the bar. At that point, Jake springs the surprise.
“So… I realize you’re busy but… the beach house is free for the next month or so.”
I level my eyes at him over the drink that I realize, after it arrives, I’m not terribly in the mood for. What I am in the mood for, the moment I lay eyes on Jake again, is to be back where we were a few days ago. Whatever distance he had before seems to be gone now, and just the suggestion of going back makes me blush.
But I have to do the responsible thing, right?
“We’re in the middle of preparations for the big launch party,” I tell him.
Not convincingly enough, though, to either of us. Already I’m mapping out the problem in my head. Lacey doesn’t really need more of my input on the dishes. We have them planned and all that’s left is to order, which is something I can do from anywhere. Chester has some plans for cocktails to pair with each dish, but there’s nothing in his playbook that we don’t already have behind the counter. Gloria isn’t causing any trouble lately—probably for fear of losing her job, and rightfully so. The bottles and labels have been designed, approved, and ordered. Do I really need to be there?
“You’ve done a lot of work on this hot sauce launch,” Jake says in that urging, cajoling way he has. “Surely you can take a little time off. Just today.”
I want to put up more of a fight, but he leans over and kisses my earlobe, and then my neck, and whatever defenses I have melt away like the rest of me.
“I… can probably send a few texts…” I struggle to say as he slides a hand up my thigh beneath the white tablecloth that covers our laps. “Jake…”
“Let’s go, baby,” he mutters quietly, as his fingers graze my clit through my panties.
And I’m beat. “Okay… yeah…”
He chuckles, a low, rumbling sound of approval as he tugs the edge of my panties down and gives me a gentle pinch and a few slow circles. No one’s staring, but I have this feeling like everyone here knows what’s happening to me. Somehow, I can’t bring myself to care.
Just before I make a real scene, Jake withdraws, and lays a hundred-dollar bill on the table. He doesn’t bother to ask for the check. Some waiter just had a lucky day. We make our way hastily out of the place and to Jake’s car, and then we’re off to paradise again.
It’s everything the last trip was and more. This time, I get my mouth on him first, kneeling between his knees while he reclines on the plush couch. Every time I feel his cock swell and begin to trickle, I give his heavy balls a tug, and grin at the sound of him gasping. I manage to keep him on the edge until he’s groaning my name and begging.
He tries to stop me when I’m ready for him to come. “I’m close, Janie. You gotta stop, babe,” he moans. He’s careful not to pull my hair, but there’s a tug. “Fuck… you’re gonna make me come…”
Which is the point. And the moment I swallow down the last spurt of it, I climb up and settle onto his lap.
The look on his face is priceless, his eyes wide and his mouth open. His body twitches as I envelop him, giving him a taste of his own medicine—he almost tries to wrestle me off him, he’s so sensitive now, but I have him pinned by the arms. Even though he could probably push me off if he really wanted to, he suffers through it while I ride him.
Normally I need a little stimulation to get off like this, but something about having the power right now is so hot, and the angle of his cock is just right, and in a few minutes of watching his sweating face contort with alternating amazement and lust, I’m clenching and sweating as my own orgasm breaks. We spend the next twenty minutes teasing one another before we finally rest.
During that time, he pours me a glass of wine and hands it to me, raising his own glass. “To the best fucking orgasms we’ve ever had,” he says confidently.
I laugh and start to take a sip, but maybe it’s gone bad because the smell of it nearly turns my stomach. It’s insane to me that he can tip his glass up and drink this swill at all, but maybe being rich doesn’t mean you have a palate. Still, I don’t want to be entirely rude, so I take a tiny sip and then put the glass down. “The best orgasms we’ve ever had?” I ask, one eyebrow up. “That’s bold.”
“You’re saying it isn’t?” he asks me, sinking onto the couch with that feral,
hungry grin of his, eyes sparkling at the thought of a challenge.
“I decline to comment,” I tell him, but I’m already having a hard time suppressing a delighted giggle as he nuzzles around my thighs with the promise that if it’s not the best yet, it soon will be.
“You know, I think we fit together pretty well,” Jake says, his lips grazing my bare thigh.
“We’re not a bad pair, I suppose.” I stroke his hair. What’s he saying, exactly?
“We look good together, too,” he says.
It sounds like a familiar line.
“Is that so?” The humor is out of my voice, and Jake can hear it. He sits up, looking sheepish as hell, and I can tell it’s to cover up something else.
He sighs, and looks me over. We’re both naked, so I do the same. Why can’t he just be pretty and fuck my brains out and let that be enough?
“What would be wrong with people knowing we’re… you know, involved?” he asks softly.
“We’re having sex,” I tell him. “Which is a degree of being involved, but not the sort of thing I care to air out in public.”
“Sure, yeah,” he says, as if it’s a given; so obvious it doesn’t need to be said. Apparently. I can tell he’s either guilty or hurt, one or the other.
As always, I look for the good. “I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I didn’t mean it like that, I mean… I’m just not really sure what we have…”
“That’s fair… just…” It’s odd to see Jake Ferry squirming, but that’s definitely what he’s doing.
“Spit it out, Jake,” I tell him.
“Look, if… if it seemed like we were a couple—like a real couple—and we let people think whatever they want, you have to admit it wouldn’t be bad for Red Hall. For that matter I might have a shot at—”
“Stop,” I tell him. Whatever heat was in me is gone now. Ice courses through my veins and now I think I really may be sick. “Just stop.”
“Janie, I didn’t—”