by Nikki Chase
I reach my hand over to the other side of the bed. Maybe Jessica can continue that amazing blowjob in real life. There’s nothing like having my cock in a beautiful woman’s mouth the moment I wake up.
All I find on the other side of the bed is cold sheets. Jessica is gone and she’s probably been gone for a while now.
With my eyes still stubbornly shut, I randomly place my hand on the nightstand, slapping the wood surface with my palm until I hit my phone. I face away from the window and hold the phone in front of me. Squinting at the numbers on the screen, I realize it’s already past noon.
I may as well get up now if I’m not getting morning head in bed. I can compromise and get it in other locations in the house, or even outside.
As I prop myself up with my hands and blink to adjust my eyes to the brightness, a sharp pain penetrates my side.
Right. I almost forgot about that fucking stab wound in my abdomen.
Sure, I’m glad Christine didn’t succeed in her murder attempt, but it pisses me off that sex will be tricky for a while. Now that Jessica’s mine, my sex drive has gone through the roof. All I want to do is spread her legs and dive in, all day, every day.
The wooden floor of Jessica’s bedroom feels cool on my bare feet. What is she doing? I hear random bangs and crashes from the living room. I follow the noises down the hallway.
When I finally see what all the commotion is about, it just creates more questions in my head. Why is she throwing random things into cardboard boxes? The living room looks like a tornado has just ripped through it.
“It’s a little too early for spring cleaning,” I say as I lean on the doorframe leading into the living room.
“It’s not spring cleaning,” Jessica answers without looking at me. She’s sitting in the middle of a circle of cardboard boxes, paperback books, and stacks of files, like she’s a deity in a religion for paper products.
“Then what are you doing?”
“Packing.”
“Packing for what?” I frown. This is the first time I’m hearing about anything that requires such extreme packing behavior.
“I’m moving,” she says with her eyes glued on some bits of paper. Her hands are busy sorting the mountain of paper products into the cardboard boxes around her.
“What do you mean you’re moving?”
“It means I’m moving.” There’s a hint of annoyance in Jessica’s voice right now, like I’m supposed to already know about this, like we have discussed this before.
Only, we haven’t. I’d remember something like that.
“What, like, to my house?” I raise my eyebrow and smile at Jessica, hoping a little bit of humor would improve her mood and drag her out of whatever funk she’s in.
“No,” she says, as if there’s no explanation needed. I swear, as much as I enjoy Jessica’s sass, sometimes I wish she could be all sweet and submissive all the time, instead of just during sex.
“So…?” I prompt her to continue.
“What?”
“So where are you moving, then?”
“I don’t know. Somewhere else that’s not here.”
“As in, somewhere else that’s not Ashbourne?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“No, it really isn’t.” I step closer toward Jessica and stop at the edge of her circle of madness. “Christine has been apprehended, so she’s not a threat to you. You can stay here safely for as long as you want because Stan isn’t going to come after you. Why are you moving?”
“She’s going to tell everybody about how I’m a whore who used to work at a strip club. The next thing I know, I’ll be getting fired. I’d rather move before that happens.”
“You don’t know that’s what’s going to happen.”
“Yes, I do,” she insists. “Come on, haven’t you read the news? Ex-strippers don’t fare well in traditional professions, especially ones related to kids.”
“You’re not moving,” I say with finality.
“I am.” Jessica looks up at me from where she’s sitting on the floor, defiance glinting in her bright green eyes. “I’m leaving as soon as Max recovers.”
Jessica
“You’re being crazy,” Jacob says.
“No. I'm being the opposite of crazy. I'm being realistic.” I notice Jacob’s standing dangerously close to my favorite books, my teaching plans, and my important documents.
“You’re just going to run away, even though things may not turn out the way you’re afraid they would?”
“What makes you think I don’t know what’s going to happen?” I’m seriously getting annoyed here. Where does Jacob get off acting like he knows everything? What does he know about how girls like me survive anyway?
“Well, I don’t see a crystal ball anywhere,” he says.
“Ha-ha. I know what happens when people know I’m a stripper, okay? They treat me different.”
I’m glad I prepared a plan in case something like this happens. I’ve been hoarding cash and moving supplies, and now all that hard work is paying off. Moving is going to be a piece of cake.
“Were. You were a stripper. You're not one anymore.”
“You think that matters to the people I’m talking about? That shows just how much you know.” I roll my eyes. “You know that thing that happens when people learn you were in the military, and they thank you for your service and treat you extra nice? You were a Navy SEAL in the past, but people still do that, don't they?”
The lines on Jacob’s forehead deepen and his muscles become tense, but he says nothing. How dare he tell me how people are going to react when he obviously has no clue what he's talking about?
“You know I’m right. It doesn't matter if it's all in the past to you. People are still going to judge you for it.” I tear my gaze away from my books and cardboard boxes to look Jacob in the eyes.
I’m just being honest. I’m just being real. Surely, he can see that. I'm not trying to start an argument.
Jacob crouches down on the floor and starts moving my stuff out of the way.
“Hey! Don't do that!” I swat Jacob's hands away. “I know it doesn't look like it, but I have a system, okay?”
Jacob rests his elbows on his thighs and sighs.”You're being rash. You're in shock. Give it a couple of days, a couple of weeks. You’ll see.”
“You still don't get it, do you? I’ve given this a lot of thought. I started building my whole life here in Ashbourne under the assumption that I’d have to move sooner or later--probably sooner. I thought about what I’d do if something like this was to happen.”
“Really?” Jacob cocks his head and raises his eyebrow.
He levels his piercing gaze at me, making my heart jump in my chest. The corners of his lips curl up to form a cocky smirk. Jesus, I wish I could tell him to stop looking at me like that. It'll only make it hard for me to stick to my original plan and leave him behind.
“You're telling me,” Jacob says, “you're telling me that you've thought about what you’d do if your neighbor turned out to be crazy and tried to peel off your face just because you used to be a stripper? Somehow I doubt that.”
“Don't be such a smart-ass. You know what I mean. I’ve always had a plan for when people would inevitably find out about my past.” My voice is soft, but that's only because I'm trying to suppress the anger that's threatening to boil over.
“I just think you're being rash,” he says. “You weren't talking like that this morning.”
“I was also drugged out of my mind this morning.”
Again, Jacob sweeps my things away to make space for himself right in front of me.
“I said don't do that!” I shout. I can't keep my anger at a simmer anymore. Jacob's pushed me far enough.
“It doesn't matter because you're not moving,” he says calmly, his voice deep and decisive. He really thinks he can order me around about something this important. We're not in the middle of one of our be
droom games right now.
“Do you think it's about you? Is that it?” I almost can't recognize the voice that comes out of my mouth. It's shaky, high-pitched, and uncontrollably rushed.
A little voice warns me I’m about to say something I’d regret, but it's too late. I'm past the point of no return.I'm not going to mince my words. This is going to get ugly.
“It's not you, it's me. Is that what you need to hear? This is not about you. This is about me. My life, my career,” I say.
“It's not that I want to ghost you again. Oh yeah. I know how much of a big deal it still is to you that I left without saying goodbye three fucking years ago, because my mom had a terminal illness.
“Well, Jacob, I’m sorry for hurting your delicate feelings. That wasn't my intention. I had no idea it was going to cause anything like that, because what I did was totally normal for one-night stands. You're the abnormal one for getting so obsessed with it.
“Maybe that's why you're such a manly man during sex. Not because you're actually into that kind of stuff, but because you need to regain some kind of control to balance things out, to make yourself feel like the man again.”
I’m almost panting from the effort of getting all those words out. I feel sick immediately. My hands turn cold.
What have I done? Jacob has been nothing but a reliable rock to me. All he did was disagree with my decision to leave town.
Jacob stares at me like he can see right into my soul. He's frowning and gritting his teeth. He takes a deep breath, then another, keeping his gaze firmly locked on mine.
It feels almost physically painful. I continue to hold Jacob's gaze out of sheer stubbornness, but I wince for a split second and I know he sees it. The moment feels like it lasts forever, but it's probably just a few seconds in reality.
“You know, I say fucking ugly things too sometimes when I’m pissed off. And then I’m too proud to admit it once I’ve gotten all that anger out of my system,” Jacob says.
“If you think you know me—”
“Listen to me,” Jacob cuts me off, his tone telling me he means business. “I let you speak before, so now it's my turn.”
I raise my eyebrows and stare at him in open defiance. Sure, I’ll be quiet and listen, but I don't have to like it.
“We're both stressed out—you more than me, understandably. I'm going to forget you ever said any of those things. If you still feel that way tomorrow, you can tell me again what you really think about me. You’ll still be here tomorrow at least, right?”
“Yeah.”
“When are you leaving?”
“As soon as Max recovers. I'm still waiting to hear from the vet.”
“Okay, so I have at least one day and one night to make you stay. I know I can fix this. I found out about Steve and Caine all on my own, remember? I have my ways.”
“Stop trying to change—”
“That's assuming you prefer to stay here. I just think you may miss Tony and Bertha and your students if you were to leave.”
I give Jacob an annoyed look for cutting me off again, but he's right.
I’ve been struggling with the fact that I keep having to reinvent my life, building my social circle from scratch each time. It gets lonely. So lonely it makes my chest hurt sometimes.
To be honest, I was just starting to forget what that crippling loneliness feels like, now that I have a busy life here in Ashbourne. Having Jacob with me helps big time, although I don't feel like admitting that to him.
What's the point, when I'm probably never going to see him again?
“If you prefer to leave Ashbourne, then I’m coming with you,” Jacob says.
I glare at him. “What game are you playing? I thought you had some business in town.”
“Yeah, well, the business may be moving elsewhere.” Jacob smiles and gives me a meaningful look. He reaches for my fingers, pulls them close, and kisses the back of my hand. He says, “I love you. I’ll talk to you tomorrow when I’m done working on things.”
As Jacob stands up to leave, I stay still as a statue. I sit on the floor with my mouth agape, my things scattered all around me. I rack my brain for something to say, but nothing comes up.
My first thought is to tell him he doesn't have to say that just because he feels bad for me, but that feels like the wrong thing to say.
My second thought is his bare back looks damn hot. I can see the swell of his shoulder blades, the vertical line of his spine, the two little depression in his lower back. I have to stop myself from going after him and tracing the lines of his body with my fingers.
Then I remind myself of the wound on the other side of his torso. I’ve already caused Jacob enough trouble. People are always going to figure out who I really am, so trouble is always going to follow me. Jacob doesn't have to deal with that.
I’m not going to lie and say that Jacob's just wasting his feelings on me. When he said those three little words, I felt it right in my heart, a mixture of so many different emotions I couldn't even begin to sort them out.
Damn it. I’ve caught feelings, haven't I?
Jacob
“Dude, you really need to start telling me what you're up to. I’ve been running around doing all this stuff for you. I’ll admit it's more exciting than my usual work. But if I’m not getting any money out of it, you need to pay me with stories.” The little image of Matt on the video call window is grumbling, but I can hear him typing and clicking around, already working on the task I just gave him.
“I would if I had the time, but I don't. Right now is the time to be doing things. I’ll tell you everything as soon as I can,” I say. “Thanks a lot, man. You're like the brother I never had.”
“I hate you. But your case is like ten times more interesting than my other stuff, so it's useful for procrastination purposes.”
“As long as you keep working on it.” I take another big gulp of coffee. I’ll need the extra fuel if I’m going to finish this by tomorrow.
“Okay, some good news. I can't find anything with the name Jessica Lake on it that links her to the Pussy Cat. It seems she used her stage name exclusively. That was smart of her,” Matt says.
Pride spreads through my chest. That's my girl. She's a genius. I ask, “Really? No personnel file or something like that?”
“No.”
“Payroll?”
Matt shoots me a look. Obviously, I’ve just said something stupid, although I have no idea what.
“Strippers don't get paid by the club, Jacob,” he says, as if that's just common sense. “They pay the club a fee to perform there and make money from tips. In cash.”
“Oh.” I guess that makes sense. Having been a stripper obviously carries a lot of stigma and, like Jessica, the average stripper probably doesn't want that following her around her whole life.
“Your girlfriend used to be a stripper and you don't know this? What do you even talk about?”
“Like you said, we have exciting lives.”
“So you’re admitting she's a girlfriend then?” Matt grins into the camera with victory.
“Sure.” I shrug.
After everything I’ve gone through with Jessica, calling her a girlfriend doesn't seem like a big deal.
If anything, the word ‘girlfriend’ doesn't seem adequate to convey the way I feel about her. It feels juvenile. High school. What I feel for Jessica is deeper, stronger, more grown-up.
“Jacob has a girlfriend,” Matt sings. “I honestly think this is a rare occasion worth celebrating. And to think it's the stripper you were obsessed with for years. Seriously, what's the story here?”
“I told you I don't have time for that right now.” I blink a few times. My eyes are getting tired from staring at the laptop screen, but I need to keep going.
I know Jessica would much rather stay here than leave.
Sure, there’s nothing anchoring her to Ashbourne anymore now that Bertha is safe. I know that must've been the only wrench in her escape plan, before her me
eting with Caine.
Jessica has worked so hard to get her dream job and surround herself with new friends. I just know that wherever the next town is, she won't be as motivated to make it her home. She'd be too afraid of having it all snatched away again.
It pisses me off that she's resigned to the life of a fugitive, when she has done nothing wrong. The police have failed her big time.
There’s nothing I want more than to walk over to Jessica’s house, hold her tight, and tell her she doesn’t have to worry anymore. But I know I can do more for her from here.
I could bring my laptop next door and work there, but I have all my stuff here so I’ll get everything done quicker. We don’t have much time after all.
Besides, I don’t want to alarm her with the knowledge that Matt, who’s a stranger to her, knows things about her that she wants hidden from everyone.
“The news articles about the stripper who died don't mention Jessica's name either,” Matt says, pulling me away from my thoughts. “There are two with her pictures, though. She's just in the background, but I can tell it's her. She can probably argue that it's just someone who looks like her, but I can get rid of the pictures if you want.”
“Yeah, that would be best.”
“Okay, just give me some time.”
“One thing I’m worried about is if someone were to call the Pussy Cat and ask about her. Even without a real name, they can probably ID her just by her pictures, or even just a physical description of her.”
“Yeah, that's always possible. The hardest details to tamper with are the ones that don't depend on technology. It's just like how talking face to face is safer than a phone conversation. Or a video call like the one we’re having,” Matt says. Sensing my alarm, he adds, “Just for the record, I’m sure nobody's listening to this conversation. I'm overly careful about my privacy. You would be too if you knew what people could do with your information.”
“Okay, enough with the PSA on Internet security. Anything we can do about people who’d call the Pussy Cat?”