by Mia Sheridan
By six, I'm showered, shaved, and moisturized to within an inch of my life. I am wearing my best jeans, a fitted, chocolate brown sweater, with a deep v-neck that is tasteful, yet still shows plenty of cleavage and my high heeled brown boots.
My hair is straightened and falling down my back, subtle makeup.
I've packed a small overnight bag with the essential bathroom items and a clean outfit to come home in tomorrow. But I had no idea what to pack to sleep in so I just threw in an extra pair of panties and the only decent nightie I own since I sleep mostly in t-shirts and zipped it closed before I lost my nerve and took off to help fight the Mexican drug war, which sounded a whole lot less scary than spending the night with Jake Madsen.
Before I completely start melting down, I call Landon and as soon as he answers with "Fancy Face!" I blurt out, "I'm spending the night with Jake."
There's a beat of silence and then, "Whoa. Back up. Last episode, he had Catty Barbie hanging on him and you were wiping down her foot."
"I didn't wipe down her foot," I snap, "Just her shoe. Anyway, you missed the episode where he picked me up after work, explained that she is the daughter of a business associate and they've messed around over the years and now she wants him but he has no interest in her and he had the event with her planned months ago and couldn't get out of it. Oh, and he likes me, like really likes me and wants to get to know me better. And by better, I mean, whether I like Dramas or Action flicks, but also, like, pack your bag, you're spending the night with me better."
"Wait," Landon says, "Was that last night's recap of Beverly Hills Housewives or what happened with Jake since Friday night?"
"Very funny," I say. "You're not helping here, Lan. I'm freaking out. This is not my life. This stuff doesn't happen to me. Last Saturday night I was at home on my couch curled up with a good book and seriously thinking about getting a cat because I was kinda lonely and maybe there was a really sweet kitty at the shelter who could use a good home, and could I afford to add possible vet bills to my budget? This was my thought process and my biggest concern of the moment last week, Landon."
"Okay, Fancy Face, slow down. You really are starting to concern me a little here. First off, you don't have to do anything that you're not ready for, okay?"
"Well, that's the thing, I think I do want this. That's the crazy part. I like him. He's sweet and thoughtful but he's also intense and kind of bossy and he kind of freaks me out, but he makes me feel good too and I, well, I think I want to give this a chance. Is that crazy?"
Landon is quiet for a second and then, "No, babe, not crazy at all. Holy shit, my baby girl is growing up. He's a lucky son of a bitch, you know that right, Fancy Face?"
"Thanks, Lan," I whisper.
"Okay, now let's get down to business. What panties are you wearing?"
"Um, red lace," I say, "Matching bra."
Nicole had given me two sets of sexy bra/panty combos on my twenty first birthday, telling me that that was my year and she had a feeling I was gonna need some amazing underwear. Turned out she was just a little off but now I couldn't be more relieved that I had something pretty to wear since there was a chance that Jake was gonna see my underwear tonight.
Oh God! Panic!
"Perfect. Where are you going?"
"He's cooking for me at his place."
"Cooking for you, huh? Sexy. Listen, Fancy, my best advice to you is to relax and let things play out. You feel comfortable, you go with that, you don't, you let him know and if he likes you like he says he does, he'll let you set the pace."
"Okay," I whisper, and "You know I love you, right, Landon Beck?"
"I know, Fancy Face. How could you not? I'm very lovable."
I laugh and the doorbell rings.
"He's here! Gotta go. I'll call you tomorrow," I whisper.
"K, babe, If you don't, I'll hunt you down. Love you, too!" He says back and I quickly hang up.
I open the door and Jake smiles huge when he sees the overnight bag in my hand. And God, will I ever get used to how good looking he is? He's just this big, strapping man and I want to do dirty things to him. And, holy smokes, it's like I don't even know myself anymore! Cool it, Evie!
He leads me out of my apartment and when I see movement against Maurice's keyhole, I knock and say "'Night Maurice!" As Jake leads me to the front building door, I hear Maurice from behind his door say, "'Night, Evie."
He drives me to his condo downtown, telling me a little bit about his day, which sounds basically like meetings, meetings and more meetings.
As we're driving, I wonder about something and ask, "Speaking of work, how'd you know when I was getting off work today?"
"I called The Hilton and told them I was picking you up and forgot what time you told me to be there," he says.
"Hmmm, sneaky. I don't think they're actually supposed to give out that information."
"I'm very persuasive," he winks.
"Yeah, kinda getting that." I mutter.
We drive into an underground parking garage and he pulls into an assigned spot, then helps me out of the car, taking my small bag from me.
He uses a key card to open the door to a back stairway and then leads me to a beautiful wood paneled elevator, types in a simple code (I can't help noting that it's 1234 which doesn't seem like high security but it's not my business) and pushes the button for the top floor.
When we step out, there is only one door in front of the elevator which means his condo takes up the whole upper floor. Oh wow.
He unlocks his door and leads me in and I take in the huge open space in front of me. There are tall windows on every exposed wall, and I look out them at the beautiful city view. To our left is an obviously high end, modern kitchen with black cabinets, black granite countertops and stainless appliances. The furniture is contemporary, all straight lines and minimal embellishment. The color scheme is mostly black and gray, with accents of white. It's all stylish and sleek and obviously expensive and I completely hate it. It feels cold.
Jake is looking at me and says, "Corporate condo. You don't like it."
Am I that easy to read? "No, no!" I say, "It's really stylish. I was just thinking that it needs a little warmth. Maybe some colorful throw pillows or something." And oh my God, am I really giving him decorating advice? Shut up, Evie.
He smiles though. "I agree. I just don't know how long I'll be in this place. I'd like to buy something eventually."
He leads me further inside and takes my jacket as I go to the window and look out at the city under a twilight sky.
I feel Jake's warmth before his body actually touches mine as he comes up behind me and wraps his arms around me, pulling my back tight against his hard chest.
We stand like this for several minutes, silently, me inhaling his delicious woodsy scent. I really need to find out the name of his cologne so I can find the creator and nominate him for some sort of nobel prize.
He lowers his head and sweeps my hair to the side and I feel his lips on the back of my neck and shiver. "God, Evie," he whispers. "You feel so good. You smell so good. You undo me. And I haven't even had you yet. What will that do to me?"
I stiffen slightly. "Jake - " I start, turning and bringing my arms up around his neck. I tilt my head back until I'm looking into his deep brown eyes. "About that - " I whisper.
His eyes scan my face and he finally says, "You're nervous." It's not a question.
"Yes. No. I mean - " I shake my head and let out a shaky laugh.
"How about I make you dinner, we talk, hang out, and then if you want to sleep in the guest room, I'm okay with that tonight, alright? I'd like you in my bed. But I want it to be your call and if you're not ready, then you sleep in the guest room. I just want you here tonight, okay?"
Wow, he's really nice.
"Okay," I whisper.
"Good," he says as his eyes move to my mouth just a second before he lowers his to mine. I feel him smiling as he takes my bottom lip gently between his teeth, slowly teasing
me as he licks and sucks at my lips. My stomach dips, my legs weaken and my body automatically melts into him.
He continues teasing me like this for several more seconds. He's driving me crazy and he knows it and finally, it's me who slides my tongue into his mouth and he moans deep in his throat which completely ignites me. I slide one hand down his back and up his shirt. He's all hard muscle and smooth, warm skin and God, he feels so good.
Our kiss becomes rougher, our tongues tangling, mine intuitively dancing with his. I tilt my head and the kiss goes deeper, shooting sparks straight down my throat, into my belly and ending between my legs.
I run my other hand up the back of his neck, cupping his head and sifting my fingers in his thick, silky hair.
I come back to reality as I feel the upraised, puckered skin of a scar underneath the softness of his hair, at the base of his skull. My fingers just start to trace it from behind his left ear to the middle of the back of his head when he tears his lips off mine, the heat from our kiss still in his eyes.
"What happened to you, Jake?" I ask. That felt like one hell of a scar.
He looks at me for a minute as if he's thinking about whether he's going to answer me or not . But then he says, "Remember the stupid shit I told you I did to earn my father's contempt?"
I nod, frowning.
The heat in his eyes has faded and now he's watching me closely as he says, "Some of that resulted in me tearing the back of my head open. Someday I'll tell you all about it, Evie, I promise. But how about right now I get dinner started?"
I frown and reach my hand up to his hair again and trace the scar. His eyes close and he exhales before he reaches up and removes my hand and brings it to his lips to kiss it. "So damn sweet," he mutters.
Then he takes my hand and leads me to the kitchen and sits me down on a barstool.
"Can I pour you a glass of wine and take a few minutes to change out of this suit?" he asks.
"How about you go change and I'll open the wine and do the pouring," I suggest.
"Perfect. The wine fridge is beneath the counter by the big fridge and the opener is in the drawer above it. Glasses are in that cabinet," he points to an upper cabinet made of glass and full of wine and champagne glasses.
"Got it."
He heads down a hallway between the front door and the kitchen and I get to work on choosing a wine.
Ten minutes later when he re-enters the kitchen, he's in a pair of well worn looking jeans and a black t-shirt. His feet are bare and his hair is damp. He must have taken a quick shower.
He grins at me and I hand him his glass of wine. "Red," I say. "Hope that's ok. Goes with red meat and all."
This is the first time I've seen him in a t-shirt and I can see even more clearly how broad his shoulders are, how wide and muscled his chest is and how his biceps flex when he takes his wine glass from me and extends it towards mine saying, "To beginnings."
I smile and clink my glass gently on his and take a sip, even though I've already been sipping mine as I waited at the bar.
He strides over to the fridge and removes a package of butcher paper and as he's opening it over the counter, he says, "Can I ask you a question? You told me the other night that you didn’t date in high school. Why not?"
I'm sitting in Jake's kitchen, sipping wine while he cooks dinner for me. I feel protected and I feel relaxed and so I answer Jake honestly, even though I have never talked about my high school years to anyone, ever.
"When I was 15, my foster mom, Jodi, was diagnosed with cancer and she and her husband decided they couldn't foster anymore. I wasn't close to either of them, they were mostly disinterested in us girls who lived with them. They weren't unkind, just sort of indifferent and checked out. They watched a lot of t.v. and didn't take a big interest in getting to know who any of us were. We co-existed and they mostly gave us what we needed physically, but emotionally, they were not parents to us, at least not in the way I define parenthood. But I was comfortable where I was, I liked the house, I liked the girls I lived with and I thought life was as okay for me as it was gonna be in that situation.
"Anyway, when I was moved, I moved in with another couple and they made no bones about the fact that me and the other girls living there were drains on them, even though, as far as I could tell, the main reason we were there was for the checks we brought in. Me and Genevieve and Abby, the other girls who lived there, were mostly their slaves. We cooked, we cleaned, and we took care of their six year old twin boys who, it must be said, were good birth control for us girls if that was what they were trying to teach us. Our foster parents sat on their butts and if they wanted something, they hollered at us to run and fetch it for them. My foster mom, Carol, constantly made remarks about me, my body, my hair, my lack of personality, just being nasty. She was specifically mean to me, but she had an equal opportunity policy when it came to our care. She didn't spend one more cent than she had to on our needs, which meant that our clothes were constantly old and too small. At school, girls made fun of me because they thought I wore my clothes overly tight to get the boys to notice me. They called me a slut and worse and the boys treated me like one and so I steered clear of everyone as much as possible.
"I wasn't exactly brimming with self confidence as it was, but Carol made it her job to make me feel even worse about myself. This didn't exactly make me eager to put myself out there as far as making friends or dating. I ate my lunch in the library every day, and I went home after school and cleaned Carol and Billy's house. The day I turned 18, I got a job at The Hilton, and moved out with the intention of sleeping on Genevieve's couch for three months (she had moved out of our foster home and in with her boyfriend six months earlier), until I had enough money saved up for a security deposit on an apartment. Two months in to my stay there, her boyfriend made a pass at me, Gen threw me out and I had nowhere to go and so I worked during the day, went to the library after work and slept at a table in the corner for three hours until they closed and then wandered to several different coffee shops nursing coffees until it was time to go back to work, where thankfully, they have a shower in the employee restroom that they don't mind us using.
"I slept at a shelter downtown one night but an old man tried to crawl into my cot with me in the middle of the night and someone stole the pair of shoes I had left at the end of my bed before I went to sleep. I couldn't risk someone stealing the money I had saved for an apartment, which I was carrying all in cash. I would have been right back where I started and that was unthinkable."
I glance at Jake and there is a hard look on his face, his jaw clenching. I go on anyway. I don't feel like I can stop myself now.
"At the end of that month, I had enough money for a security deposit at any one of the apartments I had looked at. I called around and found the one that I could move into that day. I slept on the floor using my backpack as a pillow and a ratty, pink blanket I had had since I was a kid, until I could afford some used furniture. I got my GED that next year since I had moved out and started working before I graduated."
He is still listening intently to me and he takes my hand and squeezes it, giving me a small reassuring smile, although his face remains tense under it and there's something behind his eyes that looks like heartbreak.
I take a huge sip of wine. While I've been talking, Jake has slowly been working and now two seasoned steaks are in a pan on the stove and he's cutting several red potatoes into quarters that he's just rinsed in the sink on the counter in front of him.
"Want me to do that?" I ask nodding towards the potatoes.
"No, I want you to sit there and relax and sip your wine and talk to me," he smiles now, his face relaxing.
"You've been through so much, Evie," he says, glancing up at me with sad eyes.
"Yeah, but the thing is, in some ways I'm lucky for it."
He frowns, "How so?"
"Well, how many people do you think walk into their apartment at the end of the day, small and simple as it may be, and look around
and feel like one of the luckiest people in the world? How many people truly appreciate what they have because they know what it feels like to have absolutely nothing? I went through a lot to get where I am and I don't take anything I have for granted, ever. That's my reward."
He's looking at me intensely, a fire in his eyes that almost looks like pride. I don't exactly understand it, but I appreciate it. Finally, he says quietly, "I never would have thought to look at it that way."
We're both silent for several minutes as he puts the potatoes in a bowl and pours in some olive oil and then opens a drawer and starts pulling out spices and tossing those in the bowl as well. Then he mixes it all with a spoon and pours the mixture on a baking sheet.
He turns to the stove and as he's turning the dials and putting the baking sheet in the oven, I watch his back muscles flex under his t-shirt and check out his amazing ass and wonder what it is about a man in jeans and bare feet that is just so damned sexy.
I take another huge gulp of wine.
He takes a bagged Caesar salad out of the fridge and brings it back to the counter, winking and saying, "Not everything home made. Don't hold it against me."
I laugh. "Please. I'm already completely impressed."
"Reserve that until you've tasted everything," he grins and the mood seems to have lightened.
He turns the steaks over and as he's mixing the salad in a bowl, he says, "Evie, the eulogy you gave for your friend, Willow. Tell me about that." He looks up at me and his eyes are sharp, focused.
"I'm talking too much about myself, again. How does that happen every time I'm with you?"
"Indulge me, you're fascinating to me."
I roll my eyes. That's me - fascinating. But I answer him anyway. "I used to tell Willow stories when we were kids and lived together in foster care. She loved them and even after we were adults and I would go over and clean her up from whatever mess she had gotten herself into; drug hangover, shit kicked out of her by a boyfriend, whatever." I wave my hand, trying to banish the images that immediately assault my brain. "Even as an adult she would ask me to tell her one of her stories. She would ask for them by name, even in a completely inebriated state sometimes."