by Sara Whitney
“Uh, what’s up?” He rested his chin on the top of her head and shot Robbie a look that screamed Help! Robbie just shrugged. When Thea’s hands started to stroke down his back, Jake broke her hold and took a big step backward.
“Did you hear? Mabel coached me on how to run the boards, and we’ve got a yoga date on Saturday morning! This has been the best week I’ve had since I started here.”
Her smile was so broad that he had to return it. “That’s great. Pretty soon you and Robbie’ll be running this place.”
“Oh, I already am.” Robbie’s massive feet were propped up on the desk, one crossed over the other, and his hands were linked over his belly. He was every inch the master of the station.
Thea sounded a little more unsure. “Yeah, I don’t know about that. It’s a lot harder than I expected. But it’s fun to try.”
Jake lingered for a bit to chat about Thanksgiving plans before excusing himself to pack for his trip home. The emotional mess he was leaving in Beaucoeur would be here when he got back.
Twenty-Nine
In a few short years, the Moo Daddies’ Turkey Coma Concert on the day after Thanksgiving had become a bit of a local legend. It was a highlight of the long holiday weekend, and the crowd at the Elephant was either contented and well fed or desperate to escape the clutches of their loved ones. Either way, everybody in the audience that night would be excited to drink and listen to good music.
Everybody except Mabel.
She’d tried not to obsess over Jake while she’d been home for Thanksgiving, but it had been almost impossible not to. She’d been thinking about Dave’s advice to chase her own happiness, and then she’d looked up to see Jake watching her through the studio window. The mix of heat and affection in his gaze had caused her heart to leap and her thighs to clench. What woman wouldn’t give in to the long-simmering temptation to touch the man who looked at her as if she were the most important person in the universe? And then when she’d followed him into the hallway to reiterate that she wasn’t with Aiden, she’d found Jake with Thea. With her. Hugging her, pressing into her body, letting her hands smooth down the muscles of his back.
Proprietary. Comfortable. Coupled.
Her stomach churned every time she thought about it. In all their texting and in-person interactions, the one thing she and Jake didn’t talk about was how he was spending his free time in Beaucoeur. He’d apparently honored her request to keep it professional between them and started seeing someone else. And why wouldn’t he? He was a smart, attractive man with a good job and a sense of humor. And kindness and patience and a sense of style and an ass that wouldn’t quit.
God, she was an idiot. An idiot who’d forced Jake to dance with her. Great.
Worse, nothing had changed in their texting routine over the holiday, which drove home the fact that Jake was happy with their relationship the way it was. In fact, he sent her a selfie on Thanksgiving of him holding a ladle while wearing a pink gingham apron and a sheepish grin. It had been both the best and the worst part of the day for her, and she’d peeked at it countless times over the past twenty-four hours, disappointed with him for moving on and angry with herself for letting him.
So did she pick out clothes for the Moo Daddies show to please herself? Of course not. She pulled on a gauzy blouse, imagining the heat of Jake’s hand through the sheer material. She shimmied into a short red skirt because she knew damn well he liked her legs. And she went for broke with the spiky, knee-high boots that she never wore because they left her practically hobbled by the end of the night, hoping they’d make him crazy. Which made her crazy, because he was apparently dating someone else.
Unlike most shows, she was driving herself to the Elephant so she could make it an early night; she and Thea had an early-morning yoga date the next day, and boy, wasn’t she looking forward to that. She could’ve canceled, but it didn’t seem fair to punish Thea for having the good sense to scoop Jake up when he was available. Mabel was trying out the whole “personal growth” and “being the bigger person” thing with the perky woman. So far, she hated it.
At the Elephant, Ana spotted Mabel as soon as she entered and enthusiastically waved her over to their usual table. She squeezed between clustered groups and tightly packed tables to reach her friend up front, where she was seated with Skip’s boyfriend Chris.
“Well hey, Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman,” Ana said when Mabel finally reached her.
Chris gave a long, low whistle that made her flush.
“Oh God. Should I go home and change?”
“Are you kidding? It’s criminal that I haven’t those boots before.” Chris eyed her ensemble as he took a long sip from his gin and tonic.
“Or it means that I’m trying too hard,” she said nervously, forcing herself not to look around the bar to see who was or wasn’t there.
“It might also mean you don’t try hard enough on a regular basis,” Ana said brightly. She paused to let Mabel gasp in fake outrage before gesturing to Chris. “Then again, none of us ever looks as sharp as this guy.”
The older man adjusted his bow tie, which was as crisp as always, and tugged his striped sweater vest over his round belly. “Well, I certainly didn’t dress up for you hussies,” he said primly. “Speaking of, I should go wish my fella good luck and get back to my table.”
He gave them each a peck on the cheek and disappeared into the crowd.
“Sit,” Ana said, tugging Mabel into the just-vacated seat. “You really do look fantastic.”
“Thanks. But more importantly, so do you. I’m so glad to see you out. How are you feeling?” She peered at her friend, looking for any signs of fatigue in Ana’s brown eyes.
“Better. I think I’m over that early rough patch. But it’s been hard on Dave.”
Mabel squeezed her hand. “I know. Hey, I love that scarf.”
“It’s my fiery Mexican heritage emerging,” Ana said dryly, adjusting the beige-and-cream chevron print scarf around her neck. “How was Thanksgiving?”
Mabel tried to covertly scan the room as she and Ana chatted about their respective feasts. Unfortunately, Ana was too observant.
“He’s here with Brandon and a handful of Brick Babes, so keep your eye on that quadrant.” She pointed to a large table on the opposite side of the room.
“Brandon’s here?” Mabel was surprised he cared enough to show up.
Ana shrugged. “Maybe he’s supporting his deejays?”
“Sure. That’s one explanation. The other is the hot-pants brigade he’s with.” Mabel rattled the ice in her Diet Coke in agitation. Following the aftermath of the last show, she was avoiding alcohol tonight.
Just before the show started, she gave in to the temptation to peek at the Brick Babe table, and there was Jake, sitting right next to Thea. The last thing she saw before the lights dimmed was Thea tugging him down to whisper in his ear. Stung, she whipped her head back to the stage, and as the Moo Daddies launched into Filter’s “Hey Man, Nice Shot,” she tried to squash the bolt of betrayal that raced through her. Jake hadn’t done a single thing she could reasonably be jealous about, and she needed to push it all aside so she’d be ready when her set rolled around.
It didn’t work, of course, and she perched, tense and unhappy, on the edge of her chair for the first hour of the show, refusing to turn her head toward the other side of the room again. Thank God she was used to being her brightest self in public even when she was sick, sleep-deprived, or heartbroken, because when Dave called her up onstage, she was able to bound out of her seat with a big smile and a high five for Skip.
“Helloooo, Beaucoeur!” she caroled into the mic, and okay, she had to admit it: she loved the cheers from the audience. The radio booth could feel so isolated, especially on a solo show, and this immediate, enthusiastic feedback was like a drug.
The band launched into the opening strains of Blondie’s “One Way or Another,” and she lost herself to the music and the emotion and the crowd. They pulled out some
of her old favorites—“Dragula,” “Stray Cat Strut,” “Polyester Bride.” Oh, she was aware that she wasn’t the best singer in the world, but she loved letting her mind fill with the throb of Dave’s guitar, the pulse of Aiden’s drums, the strum of Skip’s bass. The stage lights were hot on her face, and she forced herself not to wonder if Jake was even watching or if he’d slipped away with Thea.
Before she knew it, her set was wrapping up. She finished their slowed-down version of Robyn’s “Dancing on My Own,” and after the cheers died down and she caught her breath, she addressed the crowd.
“Okay, guys, before I go, Dave and I worked up a little song that we hope you enjoy. Aiden, Skip, you guys wanna take five?”
She and Dave settled themselves on the two stools positioned downstage, her with a microphone and him with an acoustic guitar, and Dave picked out the opening strains of Billy Joel’s “And So It Goes.” When they’d run through the song last week, she hadn’t realized what a gut punch the lyrics were.
Tonight though, she felt every word she sang, and almost against her will, she looked for Jake in the crowd. She dredged up every bit of longing, every bit of regret, every bit of wistful hope that refused to budge from her heart, and she sang it all to him, Dave a solid presence by her side. The lights were bright enough that she couldn’t make out Jake’s expression from the back of the room, but she could see his silhouette, and she could sense the extreme stillness that enveloped him as she stood on that stage and offered him her heart, even though she might be too late.
The song ended on a sad, sustained note that drifted into a few seconds of silence before a shrill whistle opened the floodgates for the cheers and applause that followed. Mabel stood and turned her back to the crowd to shift her stool over, using the action as an excuse to dash away the tears trembling along her eyelashes. Dave shot her a concerned glance, but she gave a minuscule shake of her head.
When she turned back around, her big public smile was in place, and she waved her thanks. “Okay, last song of the night for me, and I’m going out on an upbeat note. Aiden and Skip, you’re back on. Let’s do some Kelly Clarkson, okay?”
Mabel’s set did, indeed, finish strong, and she smiled and laughed and blew kisses at the end of it. But she didn’t walk over to Aiden for their traditional spin-and-dip following her set, and when she hopped off the stage, she knew she wasn’t up for any chitchat with fans. Ignoring Ana’s excited jazz hands, she muttered, “Bathroom” and took off. In the hallway, instead of turning toward the ladies’ room, she headed in the opposite direction and ducked into the first open door she saw. The manager’s office was illuminated by the meager light from the floor lamp in the corner, and she leaned forward and braced her hands on the front of the desk, letting her head drop and sucking in a shaky breath. The noise of the crowd snaked down the hallway, the chatter ramping up since the band was taking a break.
“Why are you with that fucking underwear model and not me?”
She jumped at the sound of Jake’s voice and spun to face him. The easygoing guy she knew was gone. In his place was six feet, three inches of aggressive, worked-up male. This was a new Jake for her, one who was closer to losing control than she’d ever seen him. His expression was dark, his hands clenched at his sides.
Fine. She could get mad too. She narrowed her eyes and injected as much ice into her voice as she could. “God, I’ve tried to say this to everybody who’ll listen: Aiden and I are just friends.” Jake’s jaw tensed, but she wasn’t done. “And I’m sorry, but did I not see you and Thea mauling each other at reception on Tuesday? You must love getting women up on desks, Jakey. Am I right?”
Jealousy seeped from her pores; he could probably smell it on her.
“What?” He advanced on her, eyes blazing. “I’m not seeing Thea. I’m not seeing anybody. And do you know why?”
She shook her head, unable to find a single word in response.
“Because the only person I think about is you. Every morning, you. Every night, you.”
His gaze was so intense she considered diving over the desk just to put more space between her and the heated expression in his brown eyes.
“I’ve tried to stay away,” she whispered, both thrilled and horrified that they were apparently having this conversation here, in the manager’s office at a bar where basically all her coworkers were drinking and mingling twenty feet away. “Tried so hard. But it’s not working. I want…”
She stopped speaking when he put his hands around her waist and lifted her to sit on the desk behind her. Then he turned, took three short steps to the door, and shut and locked it. The noise from the crowd became muffled, and she could hear his slow, steady breathing as he took one deliberate step forward, then another and another, stopping when his thighs brushed her knees.
“Was that song for me?”
She closed her eyes. “No.” The word was barely audible, and he leaned down as if to scoop it from her mouth.
“Liar,” he murmured, his lips against hers. And then he wrapped her loose hair around his fist, using it to pull her head back so she met his eyes. “You feel the way I do. You started to say so at the station on Tuesday: you’re tired of fighting it. And so am I.”
He bypassed her lips and moved his mouth along the line of her neck, alternating kisses and soft bites. Then the bites turned more forceful, and he nipped sharply at the side of her neck, sucking on the skin there until she trembled.
“I think if you didn’t feel the same way, you’d be telling me to stop right now,” he said against her skin, his voice raspy. “Am I right?”
She shuddered at the feel of his breath on her neck. His big hand landed on her solar plexus, and he pushed her gently back until she was flat on the desk. She stared at the ceiling and tried to steady her breathing, and then there were his hands, shoving up her skirt. Her boots came up almost to her knees, and the cool air against the newly exposed flesh above them made her shiver.
“If you want me to stop, you need to tell me, Mabel.” His voice was thick as he dropped to his knees in front of her. “Tell me right now.”
“Don’t stop. Please,” she whispered, looking down her body to where his dark head bent in front of her. With a growl and a tug, Jake pulled her toward him and ripped away the fragile lace of her underwear, then nudged her legs apart. She held her breath, anticipation mounting as she waited for the press of his mouth. But he surprised her by kissing a line down her inner thigh, almost to the top of her boot, sucking on her skin there before moving to her other leg and kissing his way back up in a pattern of licks and bites that quickened her breath. His blunt fingers slid underneath her knees to spread her open farther, and she squirmed as he took his time familiarizing himself with the softness of her stomach below her belly button and the crease where her leg met her hip.
“Jake, I…” She whimpered and shifted restlessly, pleasure and frustration mingling as his soft laughter brushed her skin.
“Is this what you need?” He ran a finger up and down her hot, slick flesh, and then she forgot to breathe as he finally, finally lowered his mouth to her and caressed her with long, flat strokes of his tongue, his hands curling possessively around her hips. Her back arched off the desk as he laved and sucked, pulling away only to growl, “Tell me you love the way I make you feel.”
“Love it. Yes,” she gasped, eyes fluttering open to catch the look of pure male satisfaction on his face. “God, I love it.”
She moved against him, reaching down to slide one hand into his thick hair, savoring the feel of it against her fingers, the hot wetness of his tongue making the pleasure build and build until her breath sawed in and out of her chest and every muscle was tense and on edge. Release danced just out of reach, and she writhed against his mouth until he eased one finger inside her, then another, and blew a gentle stream of air over her hot skin before sucking her clit into his mouth. And with that she shattered, throwing her head back with a hoarse cry. Wave after hot, liquid wave crushed through he
r, and she rode out his steady pressure until her body was limp and satiated. Then he stood and leaned over her prone body, kissing her with salty lips.
“You are delicious,” he said, stroking a hand through her hair. “And I’m leaving now so I can go be polite to women I have no interest in dating. If you finally make up your mind about what you want, you know where to find me.”
He turned to leave, and before he reached the door, Mabel pushed herself up on her elbows and called out weakly, “See? I knew you had a thing for doing it on top of desks.”
Jake smiled a wicked smile at her. “You have no idea. Those boots, by the way? So fucking hot.”
Then he left, easing the door shut behind him. Mabel collapsed backward, not sure her legs could support her yet. After a minute or two, she sat up and pushed her skirt down, yanking off her ruined underwear and dropping them into the trash can next to the desk. Let the office’s owner wonder what had happened in here. Actually, no. It was pretty obvious what had happened. Let the owner be jealous instead.
Mabel moved to the door on watery knees and stuck her head out into the corridor, looking left and then right like some kind of cartoon villain making sure the coast was clear. She aimed for her best “nothing to see here!” vibe as she walked out to rejoin Ana at their table, although she imagined her tousled hair told a completely different story.
“Hey.” Ana handed Mabel a drink when she was seated. “The guys just got onstage for their last set.”
She nodded and drained her glass, barely tasting the contents. It could’ve been soda or alcohol or diesel fuel for as much as she tasted. Her friend watched in amusement.
“Nice hickey.” Ana unwound the scarf from around her neck. “Want to borrow this for the rest of the night?”
Mabel touched the tender spot above her collarbone and shivered at the memory of Jake’s tongue and teeth loving the mark onto her skin. Then she wrapped the gauzy fabric around her neck and leaned to press her cheek against the wood table, letting out a long sigh.