by Natasha Boyd
Jack and I, despite his persuasive kisses this morning, had reached an impasse on the floors. There was still no furniture and book club was at my house. Consequently, our meeting would be happening outside on the porch.
I dropped Jack back at the beach house to read through a bunch of scripts Katie had sent him before heading to work myself. I wasn’t there two minutes before Hector broke out in an operatic voice with ‘O Mio Babino Caro’ in the kitchen. I guess the flush in my cheeks and the ridiculous need to smile while asking about saltshakers and mustard had given me away. I rolled my eyes at him and tried hard to pull myself together.
By the time book club rolled round, I was a little calmer. Although my stomach did clench as I walked past the living room where the blanket was folded neatly by the fireplace.
Mrs. Weaton came through my back door fifteen minutes early bearing a huge basket of lemon squares and asked me to help her with the ice tea she’d made. We trotted back across the yard.
“So dear, he’s a dreamy one, isn’t he? And so charming,” she sighed with a soft smile.
I laughed. “Yes he is, Mrs. Weaton, yes he is. Now you know you can’t tell anyone, right?”
“I know, dear. And far be it for me to offer opinions, I was quite the little go-er in my day, but you best guard your heart, honey. And you know ... that whole secrecy thing can make for a much more intense time than normal.”
Go-er? I shook my head. Did that mean popular or slutty? I focused on the heart stuff.
“I’m trying Mrs. Weaton. To guard my heart,” I clarified. “But, just in case I fail, can you make sure and stock up on the lemon squares and maybe that chocolate caramel pudding with the sea salt?”
“Sure will, honey.” She patted me on the arm. In the same moment, we heard the roar of a motorcycle going down the street on the other side of the house. She noticed my attention and raised her penciled-in eyebrows.
I shrugged. “He rides a bike, did he tell you that?”
She shook her head and sighed again. “As I said, dreamy. Let’s hope he doesn’t put on a tool belt. Then it’s all over.”
I sputtered. She just grinned.
I headed back up the steps, still laughing and held open the screen door for my aged companion. Jazz’s car pulled up and disgorged her, Faith, and Liz.
“Who’s minding the shop, Faith?” I asked with a smile, admiring, as I always did, the way she could pull off her elegant platinum hair and ruby red lips.
“I closed up early, there’s hardly anyone around at the moment. And anyway, I made a huge sale today.”
“You did? That’s great.”
Faith’s store was an eclectic, but super elegant mix of designer furnishings and one of a kind pieces—as well as jewelry she designed herself and accessories she saw here and there and couldn’t pass up. She always joked it was the ‘buy high’ addiction for her and it was a good thing she had a shop to resell stuff in, or she’d be on an episode of Hoarders. We would roll our eyes when she said this, as her home and her store were as far away from impulsive and chaotic as one could get. I loved to go hang out there with Jazz just to sit in the serene, awesome candle-smelling-chic-ness.
I looked back and forth between Jazz and Faith, who seemed to be having an entire silent conversation. “What?”
“Well,” said Jazz. “Please don’t kill me ... ” She affected a fake sheepish look that told me she really didn’t give a hoot if I liked what she was about to say or not.
“Oh, man. What Jazz?”
“Well, uh ... since you finished it last night, and Faith had been asking about your stuff, I decided to take the chandelier in to the store this morning.” Her cringe looked a little less fake as she reached the end of her confession. Probably because my face must have shown complete horror.
“You did what?” I barely got the words out as the blood drained from my head. I wasn’t ready. “It wasn’t ready!”
Dear God, I felt like I had just woken up naked at a fair.
“Jazz, you had no right to do that. I wasn’t finished, there was still so much, and the wiring ... the wiring hasn’t been tested, and I’m not sure I’m ready yet, what would I even charge for that piece of crap, and who the hell—”
Faith had said something, and her words finally penetrated. “It what?”
“It sold,” Faith repeated with a shrug of her shoulders and a huge smile.
“It did?” I whispered. “How much?”
Faith and Jazz beamed, and Jazz bounced up and down as we all looked on.
“Well,” Faith said. “I usually have a forty percent mark up on my home furnishings, and I wanted to make it worth your time, and mine, so I sold it for forty-one hundred dollars.”
I made some sort of weird squeaking sound as I reacted in shock. “You what? Four thousand and one hundred dollars? Who in their right mind would pay that much for a glued together bunch of washed up stuff?”
“It was beautiful, Keri Ann,” Faith pronounced, as Jazz nodded and murmured her agreement.
“You mean I made,” I quickly paused to calculate, “about two thousand four hundred dollars today?”
I was breathless and a little shaky. Mrs. Weaton steered me onto one of the rocking chairs, and I made to sit down, and then stopped cold.
“Who bought it?” I asked.
Oh hell, no. I glared at Jazz. “Who bought it, Jazz?” She furrowed her brows in confusion.
“What do you mean?” she asked, and then she got it. “Oh.” She looked at Faith. “I wasn’t there when the sale happened. Faith, who did you say bought it? Did someone come in to the store?”
I grabbed onto Jazz’s hand and she gripped me hard back. I didn’t even want to acknowledge the kinds of feelings I would be having if she told me a guy bought it, or someone from California called. And it would be the latter probably, at his behest, if the flooring debacle was any kind of indication.
“Oh,” said Faith, oblivious to the tension. “This lady is here with her husband on vacation from Ohio, some kind of second honeymoon, whatever. Anyway, she saw it and almost went into spasms of pleasure. She couldn’t stop touching it, absolutely adored it. If she hadn’t bought it, I was going to have to start charging her groping fees.” She laughed.
My hand relaxed infinitesimally. The fact that I had automatically assumed it wasn’t a legitimate sale wasn’t lost on Jazz, and she’d give me a hard time about it later. But for now we grinned at each other stupidly. At least, I was grinning stupidly. Jazz would cluck like a hen if she could, such was the proud bearing of her shoulders and I told you so eyebrows.
“And I’d like to commission three more, all slightly different of course. Do you have any other things I can put in the shop?”
“She sure does,” said Jazz. And the next half hour consisted of us bringing stuff down from the attic and Jazz showcasing all my various projects ... from an old mirror framed with driftwood to sea glass-bejeweled photo frames ... like she was hosting a promo special. I looked on in bashful wonder.
Finally, both Jazz’s mom and Brenda arrived and we all got comfortable on the porch to start the book discussion.
“So, who thinks the parallel dimension theme is symbolic of the unattainability of the perfect man?” Jazz asked loudly. And basically, for me, it went downhill from there.
Between the pointed observations from Mrs. Weaton and Jazz about the heroine having to learn to trust and suspend her disbelief, and the references by the oblivious members of the book club about how perfectly cast Jack Eversea was in the role, I decided to stay out of most of the discussion.
Instead I opted to refill ice tea and offer snacks. It was the longest hour and a half ever.
* * *
At about six o’clock we were wrapping it up, and I felt my phone buzz. I waved goodbye to Liz and Faith who were catching a ride with Brenda and slunk into the kitchen for some privacy. A bubble of nervous tension lodged in my throat.
Late Night Visitor: Do you ever watch sunsets?
<
br /> Me: Yes, we get those here, too. You missing California?
I wondered if my text responses came over snarky, or amusing.
Late Night Visitor: California, not especially. You, yes. I found a spot for a sunset—you want to come watch it with me?
I put the phone down and was banging my head against the kitchen wall when Jazz came back in. She cocked her head at me. I pointed at my phone. She picked it up and looked at the text.
“Late Night Visitor? Interesting ... Oh man, sunsets? Does he have a playbook?” She rolled her eyes. It would have seemed cheesy from anyone else but not from Jack for some reason.
“Jazz, I’m in so much trouble. I really, really, like him. And he has to go back to Audrey.”
I tried to explain Jack’s situation to her as best I could.
“But just because they are photographed together, doesn’t mean they actually have to be together? Right?”
“God, I hope not. But he hasn’t really said. Am I being totally played, Jazz?”
“Look, Keri Ann. I don’t think so. I mean, I saw his face yesterday when you walked out, it didn’t look like it was easy for him. But what do I know? I don’t want to give you bad advice. Nana always said ‘love was taking a chance at life’... or was it ‘life was taking a chance at love’? Hmm, oh well. Or maybe it’s ‘go for it, you only live once.’”
“Fat lot of good you are.” I thumped her arm.
Nana always had a lot of wise nuggets and greeting card phrases tripping off her tongue. Most of the time we’d roll our eyes. Affectionately, of course. I probably should have paid more attention. I’d take a fortune cookie for help right now.
“Look,” Jazz swung an arm around my shoulder, “I’ve been telling you this forever, but it bears repeating. You is kind. You is smart. You is important.”
“Ha ha, Jazz. I‘m serious here.”
“So am I, K. Listen, you are gorgeous, you’re funny, you’re talented. I know deep down you believe in yourself. The facts speak for themselves, and I’m not just talking about the chandelier you sold today. There is no reason you wouldn’t attract any man you wanted. I think you need to trust your gut.”
A small kernel of quiet confidence deep inside made itself known as I heard, and really for the first time, started to believe the words, started to trust myself. And my gut said Jack had asked me to take a chance on him, and I should go for it.
Jazz grabbed her backpack and pulled out a bunch of files and papers, then headed to my fridge and pulled out a bottle of white wine and a block of cheese.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Packing a romantic picnic.” She grabbed grapes, a box of crackers, and a knife. I handed her the bottle opener, and she stuffed it all in the bag.
“Wow, thanks, I’d love to spend the evening with you, where shall we go?” I asked her.
“Idiot. Do you have any plastic wine glasses?”
“No.” I reached for two glass ones and wrapped each one in a dishcloth.
Was I really going to do this?
Yes. Yes, I was. I grabbed my phone and texted Jack to pick me up in twenty minutes, and then Jazz and I raced upstairs so I could get ready.
T W E N T Y – S I X
Fifteen minutes later, I flew down the front steps with the backpack as Jack stopped his bike and planted a leg on the ground. He didn’t take his helmet off but handed me a spare one he was cradling between his legs.
“I had Katie send it,” he answered my unspoken question.
At least I hadn’t done much to style my hair other than braid it loosely. I smiled, put the helmet on, and adjusted the pale pink cashmere scarf Joey had given me last Christmas.
“Nice bike.”
“Thanks, it’s a Ducati. I hope you aren’t nervous of speed.”
My heart was beating a mile a minute, but it had nothing to do with the bike.
If Jack thought I wasn’t dressed appropriately to ride a motorcycle, he didn’t say anything. I grabbed his arm and swung a cowboy-booted leg over his bike, causing my short brown jersey dress to hike up around my bare thighs.
I scooted forward as far as I could, making sure my skirt was safely tucked under my behind and molded myself to him, gripping his jean-clad legs with mine. I wrapped my arms around his middle, and then inside the soft leather jacket that was open. His body was hard and strong under his t-shirt.
He cleared his throat. “You ready?”
“Yeah.”
“Let’s go for a drive first, then we’ll stop. You up for that?”
“Sounds great.”
He brought a hand down to my thigh for a second, then he gave my leg a brief squeeze and slid his hand slowly off. He turned the bike on. My hands gripped his middle tighter and I held my breath as I heard and felt the deep roar, and then we took off.
I had never been on a motorcycle before. It was scary and exhilarating and sexy as all hell. My blood pounded through me in waves as I reveled in the feeling of being wrapped around Jack’s hard warm body, the deep throbbing reverberation of the bike beneath us, and the cold wind whipping over my skin.
The sun was low in the sky as we crossed the bridge to the mainland. I cast my eyes across to the yellow and silver streaks of the horizon. The reflection of the sky over the water of the Intracoastal Waterway created a gleaming sea of mercury. I would remember this moment forever.
When we reached the other side, Jack let out the throttle and leaned down, head into the wind. I gasped and pressed myself to him harder, laughing with exhilaration. My hands felt the rumble of Jack’s chest, and I knew he was laughing too.
I had no idea how fast we were going, but I was pretty sure we were breaking about seventeen laws. There was hardly any traffic, and we were far away from Butler Cove in a matter of minutes. I couldn’t believe he was taking such a risk, if he was pulled over, his cover would be blown immediately.
I wished I could press my face to his back, but the helmet was a bit of a problem, although I was grateful for it. Instead, I pressed my chest against him and splayed my hands out on his abdomen, trying for as much contact as possible.
It was clear he was a skillful and confident rider, his motions completely fluid and in tune with the throbbing machine between our legs. Every time he took a curve and we leaned to the side, I hugged him to me tighter. I began to wish for every curve even though the proximity of my knee to the pavement was scary as shit.
It felt so good to have an excuse to hang onto Jack. I was amused at myself as I realized what a pick up gimmick this was. There were the classic three I could think of: inviting a girl over for a scary movie, playing guitar for her, and finally, giving her a ride on a motorcycle where she was obliged to hang onto you for dear life. But, strangely, I didn’t mind. In fact, I realized how much Jack was sharing with me. And I didn’t care that it was working.
I had a sudden memory of Jack’s face above me, breathing hard, his lips taut, cheeks flushed and eyes glazed as I lost myself to him last night. I gasped at the hot, piercing lust that instantly shot through me.
The bike slowed down as we approached the last break in the two-lane highway before the interstate.
Jack turned into the break in the median and came to an idling stop. He shifted and turned as far as he could to me. There was no one around, so he pulled his helmet off and flipped up my visor. We were both grinning stupidly, although he couldn’t see my mouth. His hair was sticking up all over the place. I was sure people paid fortunes to have their hair look like that. I couldn’t say the same for what mine was going to look like.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes, this is amazing.” I meant it.
His brow furrowed. “What happened back there? I felt you suddenly tense up on me. Did I scare you?”
My eyes flicked down for a second in embarrassment. I hadn’t realized I had had such a physical reaction to my memory of last night.
I took a deep breath and decided to come clean. “I was thinking about last night
in front of the fire,” I said, looking him straight in the eye. “Thinking about how you made me feel. I want to do that again.”
I literally saw him lose his breath. I knew what he looked like when he was aroused, and this had certainly done the trick. He wasn’t laughing anymore.
“Shit. Keri Ann,” he croaked, his mouth firming into a grim line. He mashed his helmet back on his head and turned back to the road. “Hang on,” he said and gunned the engine.
I hung on. I guessed I had gone too far. He looked seriously pissed off. We drove back toward the island at about the speed we had left it. But now that he was probably taking me home and putting an end to our evening plans, it wasn’t quite as fun for me. We should have put an end to the whole thing this morning, or last night before I knew what it was like to be touched by a god. Or maybe even before then so my heart hadn’t gotten tangled in the mix.
We didn’t head home. As soon as we hit the end of the bridge, Jack took the next turn down to Broad Landing. He circled down under the bridge and pulled the bike to a stop. The sun was really low in the sky casting an orange glow over everything.
Relieved, I climbed off the bike, my legs feeling like jelly and took off the heavy back pack and my helmet. “This is where I kayak from.”
Staying astride the bike, Jack flipped the kickstand down and took off his helmet, too.
I caught his eyes for a moment. I wanted to apologize for being so forward, but his arm suddenly shot out and hauled me against him.
His other hand smoothed the hair from my face, and then tunneled into the braid at my nape, pulling it loose. His fingers worked through the strands, separating them gently but insistently as I gazed into his eyes. When he was done, his hand massaged my neck and scalp slowly. It felt good.
I had no idea what Jack was seeing in my blue eyes, but I could see a thousand questions in his. Questions I felt I’d never have the answer to. I stared up into his beautiful face. I wanted to tell him how amazing he was, how talented. How he was so much more, and he didn’t ever have to doubt his worth or measure it against the adoration of his fans or the dictates of his handlers. Or ever be afraid of whatever had happened to him as a child. We were so close I could see small tiny freckles across his upper cheekbones and a small faint scar I had never noticed before in his eyebrow. An imperfection that made him all the more perfect.