by B. M. Sandy
“Jake,” she said again, her voice not quite a whisper any longer. “I...I want you.”
It was the first time all evening he heard any vulnerability from her - but the sound of her voice and those words put together in such a fashion caused him to lean his head against his pillow, closing his eyes and swallowing. He felt his throat move and he felt his heart in his chest, that stead-fast, solid beat. He felt the pressure from her body against his, her warm weight constricting him. Without further thought, he reached out his hands and held them against the back of her head.
“Are you sure?” he asked, the one and only time he could bring himself to do so. Cassie was no longer drunk; she knew what she was asking for. He opened his eyes, meeting hers, hovering above him in the dark.
“Yes,” she replied, lowering her head. “I need this.”
With that, Jake pulled her home, lips crushing together in a frantic sort of beat; he felt her tongue, her breath. He also felt her hips rocking against him in a rhythm that he could only fixate on, paralyzed by its carnality - he gasped into her mouth, his eyes squeezed shut, gripping at her back, pushing.
He needed more. He fumbled at her shirt, the fabric giving way easily as he peeled it off, breaking the kiss only long enough to get it over her head and toss it aside. He felt her hands reach down between them as his own landed on her breasts, chuckling through the kiss as she let out a sound at the contact.
It wasn’t long at all before their clothes became a crumpled pile on the floor and Jake had dug out a condom from the nightstand, bringing it in front of him with a shaky hand. It had been a long time - far longer than he cared to think about - and Cassie watched him as he ripped the package open, the sound thunderous in the still room.
“Let me,” she said, taking it from him, and she rolled it on far quicker than he could have managed. She raised herself up, guiding him inside of her, and all he could do was grip the sheets, his breaths coming in shallow bursts.
It was indescribable - that feeling of completion, that feeling of warmth. Like a moth to light, he watched her, transfixed by her movements, that fire inside of him a remarkable inferno, untouchable, unstoppable. He met her movements, echoing her moans with his own, lowering his hand to touch her, circling there, his heart jumping into his throat as she cried out.
“Jake,” she gasped, and he pulled her down with his other hand, meeting her mouth, biting her lips. He lowered his mouth, kissing down her neck, landing on the hollow of her throat, his tongue making contact with the skin there; he could feel her heartbeat, a racing, rabid thing within her.
He felt his own pleasure mounting, and he quickened his touch on her - she gripped his shoulders, gritting her teeth, and he knew she was close. Her breath became quite ragged, and he watched her face transform as she came, a string of unintelligible half-words and moans escaping her mouth as she did so.
Cassie’s movements didn’t stop - and without much warning at all, he felt his own climax pass the point of no return; his hands reached to grip her hips, roughly, the action instinctual at its core. He was only fixated on that one thing, that one sensation - and as he came, he could only hold her closer, his breaths coming out in rapid bursts, his eyes squeezed shut so tightly he saw stars.
After an immeasurable amount of time, he felt his grip loosening around her. Her breathing had subsided, and she lifted her head up off of his shoulder, a shy smile on her face as she met his eye. He thought, in that moment, that perhaps he had never seen anything more beautiful - her hair was thoroughly mussed, her lips swollen from their kissing, her cheeks solid patches of red from the exertion. He could only cup her face at her jawline, bringing her face down to kiss her briefly.
Once they parted, Cassie slipped off of him, lying against the bed, her hand held fast over her heart. She had an even wider smile now, and she turned her head to look at him again, her expression softening so much it made him still.
“That was...wow.”
Jake laughed at that, low and soft, knowing exactly what she meant. He nodded into his pillow.
“Oh, yes.”
15.
“Did you have fun in Pittsburgh?”
At her mom’s sudden question, Cassie’s hand fumbled as she scooped coffee grounds into the coffee maker; some spilled over and onto the counter top. She slumped her shoulders and moved to clean it up, wetting a rag in the sink.
“Oh, yeah, it was fun,” she replied, attempting to keep her tone mild. She refused to think about Jake, knowing her face would heat up and her mom would be able to see it.
Her mom leaned against the counter, her expression amused as she watched Cassie continue to prepare the coffee. Trying to ignore that unnerving stare, Cassie reached into the cupboard and pulled out a mug at random as the coffee began to brew.
“What time did you get back?”
“I, er...” Stumbling over her response, she turned to look at her mom fully, knowing she couldn’t avoid the question. “Around six.”
“Hmm...forgive me if I’m wrong, but I wouldn’t think that Sam and Madison dragged themselves up so early in the morning to come back to Kittanning.”
Cassie bit the inside of her cheek, hard. Her mom knew - somehow, obnoxiously, she knew - and it was no use to lie.
“Yeah,” she let out. “Yeah, uh, Jake picked me up from the bar last night. I stayed with him.”
Why was this so embarrassing for her? She was 25 - not 16, not a child. But the look on her mother’s face, that impish grin laced with a slight sense of disappointment, somehow regressed her back to her teenage years. Her mom had urged her to talk to Jake about their relationship, and upon hearing that they had decided to call it quits at the end of filming, she became quite concerned; she could feel that concern now, easing out of her mother, filling the space between them, thick and uncomfortable. Cassie felt the heat rising from her neck, creeping into her cheeks.
“Were you drinking?” her mom asked finally, and Cassie busied herself in the fridge, looking for the creamer. She hesitated before answering, digging into the back behind the ketchup and pickles, finding what she was looking for.
“Uh - yeah. I drank a bit. But Jake, he was a gentleman.”
Was it possible for her face to flame any more? Unable to keep her face in the fridge, she stood and closed the door, setting the carton down on the counter next to her mug, wiping a spec of coffee ground away that she had missed.
“He does seem like quite the gentleman.”
Her mom’s response was so noncommittal that Cassie shot her a look.
“Why aren’t you at work?” she asked suddenly in hopes of changing the subject.
“I switched with Lisa. Are you falling for him?”
That abrupt switch in cadence, that question, burned her; it was obvious her mom wasn’t to be deterred from talking about Jake. Cassie set her hands on the counter, fingers digging, the scent of coffee infiltrating her senses as she turned to look at her mom. That question exactly mimicked Sam’s from yesterday; if Cassie didn’t know any better than she would have thought the two of them were plotting about this behind her back.
But, the rational part of her knew her mom only meant the best - she knew that she was concerned. She tried to tell herself that it was in her mother’s nature to worry, to wonder. Cassie forced a sharp, inauthentic smile onto her face.
“No, mom.” She turned her head back to the coffee, which had finished. She heard her mom shuffling in the cabinets beside her, pulling out a box of cereal and finding a bowl, its clatter completely ear-splitting in the still room.
“You’re sure?”
Cassie shook her head, pouring the coffee into her mug, stirring in creamer and sugar. She wished she wasn’t so tired, but knew she had only herself to blame for it. But if she weren’t, then maybe she’d be able to answer these questions with more grace.
Jake would know what to say, she thought to herself.
“I’m sure.”
“Hmm. Well, I’m glad you made up wit
h Sam, in any case. And Madison sounds lovely, to have gone out of her way to help you two.”
Relieved to be talking about anything else, Cassie nodded, turning to look at her mom, taking a sip of her coffee. It was too hot; it burned her tongue.
“Yeah...it was unexpected, but I’m glad she showed up. If it weren’t for her, Sam and I would still be fighting.” Grabbing her sketchbook that she had rested on the counter when she first came into the kitchen, she said, “I’m going outside for awhile.”
“I’m glad to see you drawing again,” her mom said as Cassie headed toward the back door.
Her only response was a quick smile in her mom’s direction before she closed the door behind her.
Her flip flops clapped against the patio as she made her way to a chair, sitting down and placing her coffee on the patio table in front of her. It was a blissfully beautiful day, the sky full of bright, puffy clouds that stretched lazily across the horizon. Her eyes fixated on that rich space where the trees met the sky, leaves waving back and forth in the light breeze.
Opening up her sketchbook, she turned to a blank page and began to draw that tree line, her hand moving furiously as she did so. She wished she could really capture the way it made her feel - as if there were no limits, no boundaries, nothing to stop her from reaching out and touching that silky blue and velvet green. Not for the first time, she wished she had some skill in colors; she would have very much liked to finish her drawing off with a flourish of color to bring it closer to life. Then, perhaps, her picture would exhibit that feeling of weightlessness she had.
Up until that point, she hadn’t thought of the previous night, but her mind wandered in that direction as her drawing died down. Her heart began to quicken its pace at the memory of Jake’s face as he touched her, the sound of his breath and those strangled sounds as she moved above him. She was never that bold - she never initiated. But with Jake, she felt she could be whoever she wanted, and she recognized how rare that actually was.
Cassie sat back, taking a break from looking at the picture she was sketching. She grabbed her mug and drank some more, the liquid now settled to a lukewarm temperature; it soothed her burnt tongue.
Are you falling for him?
She bristled at the thought. She was not falling for Jake. Jake had been a lot of things for Cassie; he’d been a shoulder to cry on, a helping hand, a companion, and now, apparently, a lover. But...
She looked back down at her sketchbook, a renewed feeling of warmth spreading through her at that last thought. Yes, Jake had been a lot of things for Cassie, but falling in love with him would just not do.
“Jake, my man. Glad you finally called me back.”
Drew Fulton, Jake’s agent, sounded incredibly pleased to hear from him. Jake turned away from the house, walking away, leaving the set behind for their short ten minute break. It had been at least a week since he’d spoken to Drew; he’d been calling almost daily, most likely looking for a verbal confirmation that Jake would sign on for the three-film deal when he got back to London.
“Ah - yeah. Sorry, but you always call when I’m filming, and by the time I’m done, it’s the middle of the night over there.”
Drew laughed, the sound false and robust. “A call from my biggest star is worth waking up for.”
At one time, Jake had loved Drew. Drew had picked him up as a budding actor and found him his big break. He protected Jake from duds, and filtered through screenplay after screenplay to find those perfect fits. But, as the years wore on, Jake began to realize that there was a little bit of hatred laced into that love, creating a complicated relationship that, at times, felt forced.
Drew represented a lifestyle that Jake was just no longer interested in. This summer, Jake had gotten a taste of what freedom actually felt like; in between filming, he had never felt so unrestrained, so untethered. He knew, logically, that Cassie was the reason for this. He also knew with no small amount of bitterness that he would say goodbye to her, returning to a life he wasn’t sure he wanted anymore.
“Listen, Jake,” Drew said, cutting into his thoughts. “I’ve given you a month to think about the Rage trilogy. It’s hot right now; it’s already rumored you’re being considered and the fans are going bloody apeshit over it. Just give me something to pass on to the producers - you can’t keep stringing them along, or they’ll move on to Wes Timber. They already hinted that Wes has shown some interest.”
Wes Timber might actually want the role, Jake thought acidly. He leaned against a car parked in the driveway; its body was hot and he could feel the curl of heat through his clothes from where the sun had baked it.
Agreeing to this would mean another three or four years locked in and caged. Paraded on red carpets, cameras capturing the most mundane moments of his life, fans stopping him in bookshops and cafes. It’s hardly about the acting anymore.
You could go back to the stage, Cassie had said. See if that’s where you really belong.
He ignored those thoughts - he had circled round and round with those words a lot lately; doing so now on the phone with Drew was futile. But, unfortunately for him, even though he had initially brushed them off, Cassie’s words began to make more and more sense the more he thought about them, and the more he thought about them, the crazier he felt. He cleared his throat, stepping away from the car, looking back to the house. Crew members loitered around, flicking cigarettes into a paint bucket.
“Filming is rumored to start in December, in Melbourne. I mean, talk about dodging another sodding British winter.”
Drew sounded, at this point, desperate to get a response from Jake. Perhaps, at one time, Jake would have been excited about the prospect of filming in Australia, especially a city as prestigious as Melbourne. But now, he could only think about how far he’d be from Cassie - how unreachable, how distant.
“I’ll - ah, I’ll think about it, Drew,” he said finally, knowing how flimsy his voice felt.
“You’ll think about it?”
The exasperation in his voice was easy to hear. Jake nodded, knowing Drew couldn’t see it.
“I can’t make a decision yet.”
“Why the bloody hell not?”
The exasperation had turned into frustration, and Jake was at a loss for words. Drew was confused by this - and rightfully so, Jake realized. He’d never in the history of their working relationship declined one of his leads, he’d never complained, he’d never shown apprehension for a project. Jake was, up until this point, every agent’s dream. He was Drew’s pride and joy, and Jake made him a lot of money.
“Because,” Jake said. “I’m...toying with the possibility of just...taking a break for a while.”
There was an uncharacteristically stark silence on the other end of the line, and Jake waited for Drew to say something, anything.
“You want to take a break,” Drew said finally, his tone laced with tart skepticism. “Instead of signing on to one of the most anticipated book-to-film productions since Harry sodding Potter, you want to take a break.”
Jake didn’t know how to respond to this. He knew that Drew wouldn’t take it well; that’s why he’d avoided this call. He just wanted to take a few months off, to lay low until post-production for his current film, to just...relax.
“I’ve been working nonstop for five years, Drew. Don’t you think I’ve earned a bit of a holiday?”
Drew laughed, then, more of a bark than a sound of joy. “I think you should take the roles that are being handed to you. Don’t you remember what it was like before? Getting paid next to nothing to get up on stage, not even having your name mentioned in credits because your extra role was too small?”
Jake remembered. The memories Drew sought to use to hurt Jake only made him feel a slight sense of remorse - in that he couldn’t be that blissful, naive person anymore.
“I do, yeah. To be honest, I sort of miss those days.”
There was a muffled sort of sound on the other end - Drew had made a sound of disgust, and Jake cr
inged, waiting for what was next.
“Alright, here’s the deal,” Drew said finally, his voice choppy and harsh. “You have three days to figure this out - I need a definitive yes or no, Mason. If you don’t have an answer, then I’ll tell the studio you’re out, and you can find another agent.”
Jake could only stare in silence into the distance, watching the wind brush over the trees, causing them to sway. He could barely believe what he’d heard - his blood began to rush in a fiery rhythm in his veins, and he gripped the phone tighter.
“Wait - you’d fire me as a client because of this?” he asked finally, incredulous.
“Yes. I can’t have lazy actors, Jake. When we agreed to work together, you understood my terms. No breaks, no questions. I make stars, not has-beens.”
Jake began to feel real anger lace through him now, hot-white and vicious. “What the fuck is the matter with you, Drew?”
“I could ask you the same question. Three days, alright? I hope to hear from you soon.”
The sound of the line going dead was the next thing he heard, and Jake shoved his phone in his pocket, looking bitterly toward the house. The ten minute break was up; he could see the crew members going back inside.
He kicked a rock across the driveway, watching it bounce against the tire of one of the parked cars. He wished he could punch the window in instead. He wanted to feel the glass shattering against his hand, he wanted to see it break through his skin. He wanted to feel something other than this incredible, potent anger he felt.
Drew had always pushed him. Do this, do that. Listen to your publicist. Listen to your stylist - and Jake always had. The last couple years he’d listened more begrudgingly than not, but he still did. He wore that suit with this tie. He went to parties he’d rather wished he hadn’t. He smiled for photo after photo and signed autographs until his fingers felt broken.
He wished he could talk to Cassie; he wished he’d spent his break on the phone with her instead of Drew. It was incredible to Jake then that in this small town, during this shoot, he had managed to find someone like her - she may have been the only person in his life, aside from perhaps his dad, who didn’t count anyway, that didn’t care about his acting. That didn’t want to know what project he was going to do next, which magazine he’d be posing for. Even his mum, whom he respected and admired, asked often about his career. She always wanted to know about his next project, his next interview.