Dazed: A Connections Novella

by Karr, Kim

  I laugh. It’s so true. I lift an eyebrow and cock my head toward River.

  He puts his hands up in surrender. “Takeout and the microwave, that’s my idea of cooking. You know that.”

  Fingers tap on the table as my head twists. My heart pounds steadily. Wavy hair, a sexy, slender frame, broad shoulders, and those dimples blaring full force, baring a grin that says it all are staring at me.

  “You made the spaghetti sauce?”

  “Yes I did,” Jagger proudly answers.

  I blink. “Tell me again where you came from?”

  “In my house you either learned to cook or ate PB&J every night.”

  During dinner I was brought up to speed on how River’s cousin came to stay at their house. Jagger Kennedy grew up in New York City with his father. His mother, Celeste, and River’s mother, Charlotte, are sisters. Celeste lives in Paris and works for Hermès. I knew the orange laces of his boots looked familiar. Celeste visited Jagger whenever she traveled to the city on business and he visited her, but he was never in France when River and his family visited. Jagger’s father works for Tom Ford and his parents met while his father was in Paris for fashion week many years ago. A short-lived affair led to an unexpected pregnancy and neither his mother nor his father wanted to give up their jobs. Celeste’s career was very demanding and so she was okay with allowing Jagger’s father to raise him in the states. He seems to not harbor any animosity about the situation.

  River and Dahlia met Jagger when they were on their honeymoon in Paris and he was visiting his mother. What brought him to LA we haven’t gotten to yet. But I have learned he is fluent in French, and since I took four years of it in high school, we conversed a little in the language of love. Well, to be honest, very little—my French is really rusty.

  Dahlia stands up. “I’m going to make some coffee, and Aerie I bought a new flavor of tea for you.”

  I smile and then look at her hand mitted in thick white bandages. “Let me do it.”

  River rises. “No, let me. This could be fun. I see a lot of trading in our future,” he says grinning at his wife.

  When she steps into him, she’s almost as tall as he is. She wraps her arm around his neck and whispers into his ear. The grin that slides across his face does not leave me wondering what was said. When she drops her hold, her voice takes on a seductive tone. “Come on, lover boy.”

  He nips at her lip and I swear he growls as he circles around her. “Your wish is my command.”

  Jagger lazily stretches back in his chair, throwing his arms behind his head in a way that places his long, lean body even more on display. He doesn’t comment on the abundance of cuteness shown by those two, so he must be immune to it, just like me.

  The dishes are scattered around the table in front of us and I start to gather them. His hand reaches for mine and a slight laugh escapes his mouth. “Sit down. Let’s have dessert and then we’ll clean up. Do you think you can do that?”

  I stare openmouthed at him. Then, raising a brow, I answer, “Yes, I can do that.”

  “Good,” he says.

  “So you’re a chef?”

  He laughs. “No. I can cook maybe three dishes well. All compliments of watching my grandmother in her kitchen.”

  “So what do you do?”

  He brings his arms to the table and leans his elbows on it. “I’ve been modeling.”

  My mouth falls open again. So I wasn’t wrong. Because he’s gorgeous, and of course a man with looks and a stance like his is a model. I can just tell he has to have a natural ease in front of the camera.

  “Have you always modeled? Since both of your parents worked in fashion?”

  “Fuck, no. I stayed as far away from their world as I could when I was growing up.”

  “So how did you become a model?”

  He slides his chair closer to mine and my pulse starts throbbing again. “The opportunity just kind of fell into my lap. I went to the New York School of Film thinking someday I’d move to California and work for a movie studio. Then after I graduated college I was waiting tables in the city trying to figure out what I should do—stay in New York or move to LA—when a woman I was serving asked me if I had ever thought about being a model. I laughed. But she was serious and asked if she could snap a few pictures of me. I figured what the hell. Why not? She left me her card. I glanced at it and tossed it away—I didn’t think I’d ever hear from her again.”

  “But you did I take it. Who was she?”

  He shrugs with a hint of a smile. “She was an agent for Witham Modeling Agency. She submitted the test shots she took of me into their male search competition. And wouldn’t you know—I won. That year I appeared on the cover of E Magazine, shot by none other than Lourdes Madrid.”

  “Lourdes Madrid? Wow, she’s a legend.”

  “I know. I got really lucky. She saw something in me and for whatever reason took me under her wing. Everything just catapulted from there. One minute I was learning how to do quarter turns toward the camera, the next I was in a Calvin Klein ad, and then before I knew it I was walking the runway in Paris at Fashion Week.”

  “So you came to LA to model?”

  “Well, actually no. I decided family connections might not be so bad, so I asked my dad to see what he could do to get me in touch with Tom Ford himself. He pulled a few strings and before I knew it I had a small part in his film project A Single Man.”

  My mouth drops. “You’re in that movie? It was nominated for an Oscar.”

  He laughs. “They cut me before it hit the screen. But it paved my way to hopefully play some good parts in the future.”

  “Here we go,” Dahlia says, opening up the glass doors for River, who’s carrying a tray in his hands.

  Jagger bobs his chin toward River. “I don’t know if it’s cute that you’re so domestic, or if you look like the barista at Starbucks.”

  “Fuck you, man,” River responds instantly setting the tray down.

  “No fuck you, twice,” Jagger says.

  The two of them go at it and I look at Dahlia who just rolls her eyes. She places a teacup in front of me. “These two hit it off from the minute they were introduced. You would never know they just met a few months ago and that they haven’t been friends their whole lives.”

  “That’s kind of sweet,” I say.

  “Yes, it is,” she answers, pouring something in my cup from her cute clear teapot. “Chocolate Chai,” she announces, and the scent makes my stomach curl. Dahlia is definitely adventurous. She’ll try anything—new coffee creamer flavors, new drinks at Starbucks, new entrees at our favorite restaurant in Laguna. Me, I stick with what I know I like—chamomile teas and grilled salmon.

  “Oh, I almost forgot dessert,” I announce, rising from the table.

  “Oh, that’s right,” Dahlia says.

  Jagger stands and looks at me. “Yes, dessert. I think we both brought cupcakes.”

  “Yes, we did,” I respond curtly.

  The thought of my white cupcakes turned upside down causes my anger to bare its nasty little face.

  A sly grin appears on Jagger’s lips.

  I avert my eyes. “Stay put,” I tell Dahlia. “We’ll do it.”

  Jagger follows me. He reaches for the door first and slides it open. I tilt my head to look at the chaos in the kitchen. At least I’m comfortably dressed so I am ready to attack this mess the minute we are done. I changed my clothes before dinner since I felt disheveled after the fall. Luckily, I always keep an extra set of yoga clothes in my trunk in case I run late and can’t go home before class.

  “Alice? Did you hear me?”

  I turned. “No, I’m sorry. What?”

  “You turned red again.”

  I look at him. His lips are so close to mine. All I’d have to do is stand on my toes to kiss him. What? Why am I even thinking that? “Wh
y do you keep saying that? And please stop calling me Alice.”

  “You don’t like it? I find it endearing.”

  My hands go to my hips. “Well, I don’t.”

  “It’s happening again you know.”

  And it is. I turn away because I can feel the flush creeping up my body and I really want it to stop. I open a lower cupboard and pull out a dessert plate. The cupcakes I bought are still in the bag on the counter, but I don’t see his bag anywhere. Just as I’m about to ask where it is, Jagger opens the refrigerator and pulls out his beautiful pristine box of black and white cupcakes and hands it to me. “Here, put these on the plate. You should always keep cakes in the refrigerator. It keeps the icing set and makes the cake’s flavor come alive.”

  I look at him skeptically.

  “It does,” he says. “I promise.”

  “Sounds plausible,” I answer.

  He chuckles at me. “You’re so serious.”

  I shrug with a small, self-conscious laugh but agree. “Yes, I am.” I set the box down on the table.

  He puts his hand over mine and again I shiver. “Hey, I didn’t know when I bought those that you were upset, but I know now. So, Alice, please forgive me for stealing your cupcakes.”

  Oh my God. The things his touch does to me. I don’t know if I should melt away out of embarrassment or jump for joy out of elation.

  ***

  By the end of the evening, I’ve almost chewed my thumb raw out of nervousness, my jaw aches from laughter, and I think I’ve spent more time socializing in this one evening than I have in months—and I’ve actually enjoyed myself. Jagger makes me nervous and makes me laugh at the same time. I have to say he’s unlike any guy I’ve ever met—witty, smart, and so good looking. I can’t get over how he can look like he does and still come across as all guy.

  It’s just the two of us sitting outside now. I’m sipping on the chocolate chai tea and I’m rather enjoying it. Xander called River and he and Dahlia stepped inside to take the call. River decided to quit the band just before they got married and Xander is on the road without him. I’m sure it must be strange. The two of them worked together for a long time. From what I overheard, the tour has kicked off with a bang and things are going well. I raise my head and breathe in the cool winter nighttime air.

  “The weather is gorgeous in California. I don’t know how anyone could move away after living here,” he says.

  “I agree. Did you always live in New York City?”

  “Yes. I grew up in Manhattan with my father and once I was on my own I lived in a shithole and then a place that felt more like a frat house,” he says.

  I raise an eyebrow and wonder why he chose to live that way.

  “It wasn’t that bad, but let’s just say living on my own wasn’t as easy as I thought. And moving home wasn’t an option.”

  “Did your dad move away? My parents retired to Florida once I left for college and moving there wasn’t as appealing as staying in California.”

  “No, he didn’t. Once I left, I didn’t want to ask my parents for money and I couldn’t afford to get my own place, so I lived with roommates.”

  He pours a small amount of tea in his coffee cup. “Smells like chocolate.”

  “It is. Chocolate Chai.”

  His lips tilt up as he sets the cup down.

  “You’re not going to try it?” I ask.

  His gaze brightens as he picks up one of the cupcakes that we were all too full to eat. “I think I’ll stick to this kind of chocolate.” He cuts it in half, then edges his chair closer to mine. “I picked these because the menu said it was made with Madagascar Bourbon vanilla.”

  I take from his comment that it’s the alcohol, not the actual vanilla, that persuaded him to make his purchase and that makes me laugh.

  “Try it.” He lifts half of it and hands it to me.

  “Oh, I love those cupcakes. But, really, I’m just too full right now.”

  I watch as he eats his piece and feel my breathing pick up speed. I swear I can almost taste the creamy center as he swallows.

  He smiles at me as he takes his next bite.

  I feel an ache that centers itself right between my legs and I need to focus on something else. “So, tell me, what was so bad about where you lived?”

  He leans back in his chair. “Like I said, after college I didn’t have a lot of money. So I lived in a huge old Brooklyn warehouse with five other guys for $2,400 a month. The place was cheap with six of us splitting the rent, but it always felt like six families lived there and quickly had to evacuate—clothes were all over the floor, pizza boxes and Chinese takeout containers littered the counters, and empty beer cans were arranged in a triangle on the kitchen table.”

  “Why is that?” I ask, trying not to focus on his body.

  “It was our pool table,” he shrugs.

  I laugh. “That’s innovative. Where did you move after that?”

  “Once I took the modeling contract, I moved into the Windham Modeling Agency’s apartment. It was much nicer—a high-rise just outside of Chinatown. It was much cleaner and had maid service, but dudes were floating in and out constantly. It was six bedrooms and a central room with a large kitchen and living room. We had to bunk together, usually only two of us, sometimes three, to a room. A model signed by the agency years before was the super—but he was really our house manager. He was a little over the top with keeping the apartment in order. That place was the complete opposite of my apartment in Brooklyn. But it worked at the time.”

  I raise a brow. “That’s an awful lot of roommates.” The thought of that many people living together horrifies me.

  He nods. “It was. Do you have a roommate?”

  I laugh. “No, I’m not exactly the easiest person to live with.”

  “No?”

  I laugh again. “Just ask Dahlia about me.”

  An almost sneaky smile forms on his lips. “I think I might just have to do that.”

  Wrapping my yoga jacket around me, I reluctantly stand. “Well, I really need to get going. It’s late and I still have to drive back.”

  Jagger looks at the watch on his right wrist. It has a battered large black rubber band with all kinds of buttons and displays. He raises a brow. “It’s almost midnight. You’re not going to turn into a pumpkin are you?”

  I smirk and having caught a rhythm with his humor, I give it right back. “Wrong fairy tale. That’s Cinderella, not Alice in Wonderland.”

  “Shit, you’re right.” He brings his palm to his forehead. “What am I thinking? What about you? Where do you live? Not the rabbit’s hole and not a carriage, I assume.”

  I giggle. Yes, Aerie Daniels, the girl who doesn’t have a funny bone in her body, giggles. What’s wrong with me? “No, I don’t live in a hole or a carriage, but I live in Laguna Beach and it’s like wonderland.”

  “So do you recommend the beach over LA? I need to start looking for a place.”

  “Well not so much the beach, just the town.”

  “You don’t like the beach?”

  “No, not really.”

  “Hmmm . . .” He’s quiet and it seems as if he’s trying to process what I just said.

  “The town is just so full of life. It’s quaint with so many art galleries and boutiques. The bars and restaurants are nice too. The hills have great views and the homes on the bluffs over the ocean on the south side are incredible. I live near town and it’s a short drive to work. Sometimes the traffic is bad, but nothing like if I had to drive to LA. And Laguna is just a really artsy and very liberal place to live.”

  “So it’s your l’endroit que vous aimez?”

  I pause for a moment, lost in his eyes. “Yes, I never thought of it that way, but I guess it is.”

  He sips a beer, having moved on from coffee, and I watch the way the cool liquid flow
s down his throat. I’ve never noticed how sexy a man can look lifting a Heineken to his lips. “I’ll have to check Laguna out,” he says lowering his bottle.

  “Yes, you should. I just can’t stand it here. It’s too crazy.”

  “That makes sense.”

  “What does?”

  “That you wouldn’t like hectic city living.”

  I push my chair in. “I’ll have you know, I grew up in Chicago.”

  He scratches his head. “Now, that surprises me.”

  “You know what surprises me?”

  He rises from his chair and steps toward me, twirling a piece of hair that has fallen lose from my braid around his finger before tucking it behind my ear. His mouth quirks up into an insanely smoldering grin. “No. Please tell me though.”

  My stomach flutters and I don’t know why. I try to ignore it, but it won’t stop. “That you drive Orange Julius.”

  He laughs, tilting his head back and forth—only making him all the sexier. And in this moment, right here, watching this beautiful man, I can tell that he’s a free spirit, very much like my best friend. I can see why River, Dahlia, and Jagger, get along so well. They are all so much alike. I’m definitely the odd man out.

  “Orange Julius?” he questions.

  “That was what they named the car like yours in The Fast and the Furious once it got a makeover.”

  “How do you know that?” he asks still laughing.

  “I have a thing for those movies and happened to read a number of articles about the cars.”

  “I’m sorry. But that is the funniest thing I’ve heard in a while. I love that name. Do the other cars have names?”

  “What’s so funny?” River calls from the door.

  Jagger holds his stomach. “My need for speed.” He guffaws.

  River raises a brow.

  “Nothing, nothing,” he says. “What are you two up to in there?”

  “Dahlia’s hand is throbbing so I gave her some Tylenol and she’s sitting at the counter willing the pills to be absorbed through osmosis.”

  “I was just going in to say goodbye. I’ll see what I can do.” I hurry past Jagger as I feel the heat rising up my throat, but this time it’s not from anger.