by S. L. Scott
The questions are seen in his eyes when he asks, “You’d leave with me, right?”
“Any day. Anything to leave this hell behind.”
“What if we never make it to heaven?”
“We’ll always have each other.”
“I love you, Jaymes.”
Though the air is heavy with our circumstance, I manage to smile. “Why do you always call me Jaymes?”
“Because everyone else calls you Jamie.”
“But I’ll always be your baby.” I spin away from him.
“That you will.” I’m promptly pulled back in, dipped, and kissed like in the movies. Deep. Real. Raw. Passion. Love. Forever. He says it all without saying a word.
. . . He asks, “What are you sorry for?”
“Brunch and how abruptly it ended.” Looking down, I whisper, “Us and how abruptly we ended.”
“So, you do have a lunch break?
Glancing over my shoulder, I see David leaving out the side door. He’ll be gone to lunch at least an hour if not more. “No, but I’m taking one anyway.” My eyes meet his again.
“Look, we don’t have to dwell on the past, not right now. How about we just enjoy your lunch break?”
“I’d like that.” As we walk back in, I don’t tell him I don’t have an official lunch break today because I have to leave early for class. I also don’t tell him that I’ve missed him so much that my heart still aches for him. Or that when I dream, I dream of him holding me again. We sit across from each other and I do tell him what I should have told him years earlier. “I’m sorry for embarrassing you in front of the guys when you got the Rebel tattoo.”
“Why did you cry?”
“I think I was crying for our lost youth. Sounds silly to say that at twenty-three, but I feel much older than my years these days. Anyway, at the time, I thought I lost you to Reggie and the . . . guys.”
“Call it what it is—a gang. But to be clear on one thing, you never lost me, Jaymes. I was across town, not across the country. I should’ve checked on you. I should have done more, but I was hurt. That’s silly, not that you mourned for youth. I get it. I sucked it up that day because I had to. There was no more stalling and I wasn’t ready to leave you. At eighteen, I knew you wouldn’t come.”
“I couldn’t. I wish I would have though.”
“You’re doing so good, Jaymes. You really are. You don’t have much school left either. You’ll have a degree, something I never got. My smart girl. Always so damn smart.”
Hearing him call me his girl is like an arrow to my heart. I take a deep breath, inhaling his words deep into my soul where only he’s allowed to visit.
“You’re making me blush, Derrick.”
“I like you blushing. If you’re blushing, you’ve lowered those walls that you carry like a fortress around you.”
“I know you so well, but sometimes I forget that someone out there knows me just as well.” Leaning in, I whisper, “Don’t tell anyone I let you in or they’ll all want in.” I laugh.
“Your secret’s safe with me.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“You just did.”
“Ha!”
“Ask away.”
“You’re not seeing anyone, are you?”
“No.”
“Is that why you started coming around?”
“No.” A playful smirk appears.
I take a sip of the shake when he seems to be intent on keeping his secret. “This is delish. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Are you going to eat?”
Unwrapping the sandwich, he laughs. “Sure.” It’s a carefree laugh, and one I remember from years ago. He was always easy to be with, and if the tension weren’t here because of our past, or he wasn’t a rock star and loved by the world, I know I’d feel just as comfortable now.
But things have changed.
Reggie.
His threat from last night comes racing back. Derrick takes his first bite, and I say what I have to say, “It’s been good seeing you again—”
“It’s been good seeing you again, too.”
“Please. Stop being so nice.”
That makes him gut chuckle. “Now I’m too nice? That might be a first, Jaymes.”
“No,” I say, sighing. “Just let me get this out.”
His sandwich is discarded and I get his full attention. “It’s good to see you again, but I can’t keep seeing you.”
“You said that the other day. Something about no time for any relationships.”
“Unfortunately, that’s where I am in life. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to hurt you.”
“I think that’s like your fourth sorry in less than fifteen minutes.”
Setting my sandwich down, I say, “I am though. So sorry for so many things.”
“I don’t want you to be sorry. I want to know what’s going on.”
“Life, Derrick.”
“Life? Like I’m not living one?”
“You’re living a big one and I’m just trying to survive while raising my son.”
“It’s not bigger than yours. You’re a mother. God, Jaymes. You’re a mother. That’s amazing. You are amazing.”
I turn away from him. His pride feels unwarranted. I’ve failed in so many ways. If only I could change the past. “I’m not. I’m barely getting by.” My life feels so little compared to his.
“Don’t believe the lies in your head. What you’re doing, raising Ace, is the most important job ever.”
Peeking back up at the attractive, passionate man across from me, I say, “It’s not glamorous like yours.”
“I can’t lie. I love performing live. The energy. The excitement.”
“You were born to be on that stage.”
“You always believed in me, even when I didn’t. I just want you to know that all the success you see, it’s yin and yang. Life balances itself. With the good, you get the bad. I like recording in the studio. I dig the travel. But it’s wearing me down. It’s hard sometimes . . . or maybe it’s just lonely.”
“Why are you lonely? You’re surrounded by thousands of people who adore you every day.”
“But I’m only looking for one.” He pauses and I think it’s the first time I see him a little unsteady. I know I am from the turn this conversation has taken. He fills the seconds, breaking my heart a little more by saying, “Despite the house I own, I feel lost, homeless at times. My north star has moved and I can’t seem to find it.”
“You have a home—”
“No, I have a house.” Leaning in, he glances to the door, then back to me. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”
I lean back, away from him. “You shouldn’t think about me at all.”
“I shouldn’t?”
Standing up, I grab my sandwich, my appetite gone anyway, and toss it. “I have to get back to work.”
“What are you doing?”
“I have to go before I get in trouble by my boss.”
He meets me by the door, throwing his uneaten food away. “No. What. Are. You. Doing?”
I know what he means, but with last night’s encounter too fresh in my mind, I know what I need to do. My heart be damned. “You’ve got to stop this. No more coming around. No more meet-ups with the moms.” I look away from him, not wanting for him to see how hard this is for me. “No, nothing. Whatever this is between us can’t turn into more.” My eyes go wide and I point at his mouth. “No. No. Whatever you’re thinking, stop. Whatever that smirky smirk thing you’re doing, don’t.”
“What am I thinking?” His body presses to mine and my back hits the wall, knocking the light switch. The room is dark, but the light from the showroom reveals his every bad intention. Tempting my body, his lips entice when he leans down and whispers, “What am I doing?”
I know I shouldn’t. Everything that matters is now at risk, but my soul misses him in ways that I can’t let go. My fight weakens. I can almost remember the life I once share
d with him. The beat of my heart quickens. “We shouldn’t.”
“We should.”
“This is bad.” My breath comes short.
“I’ll make you feel so good.” His counteroffer is so tempting.
My arms wrap around his neck. “Derrick?”
He takes me in his arms. “Jaymes?”
“One kiss and that’s it.”
“Or two or three,” he replies, cutting a deal. His nose slides along the bridge of mine. “Then I’ll go. I promise.”
“Swear?”
Our lips come together and my body gives in, molding to his as if we were never apart. He speaks of performing on stage in the same way I feel about this kiss—the energy, the excitement. I was born to kiss this man and I wish I could spend my life doing it.
Large hands rub along my middle and soft moans escape him. I inhale him and his sweet sounds, loving this . . . loving him too much.
14
Derrick
“Damn you and your seductive kisses,” she says, pushing her hands against me to put distance between us. “We can’t do this.”
“We just did.” Moving in again, I whisper, “Now let’s do it again.”
“No, Derrick.”
But I see the smile that belies her words. She liked that kiss. I loved it. I lo—nope. Not going there. I steal another quick kiss and leave before she gets in trouble. The gasp is heard as I walk away. “Damn you,” she whisper yells.
I can only imagine she’s shaking her little fists me. Turning back, I have to see her. She was always incredibly sexy when she was mad. If she was mad at me that meant one thing—make-up sex. Fuck. She was a vixen in the sheets.
“You’re impossible,” she adds, full volume.
“See you around, babe.”
I pass Leah, and cock a smirk with my nod. She says, “Byyye.”
The salesman opens the door and says, “If you’re ever in the market for a quality used car, Mr. Masters, let me know. My name’s Jose.”
“Thanks. I’ll let you know.”
My alarm chirps and I open the driver’s door. Slipping into the sleek leather seat, I start the car, and back out before that ball of fucking sexy fire makes its way outside. I like her feisty. That means she won’t give up. It also means I’ll get another shot at wooing that woman. Yep, I said woo. Now that I know what I’m missing, I don’t want to miss anymore. It’s as if just from my lips touching hers, that I can forgive how quickly she was with Reggie. How quickly she moved on. How much I want her still.
This car dealership is a long way from the Hollywood Hills, but I don’t even make it five minutes before I get a call. I don’t recognize the number, but I’m glad I don’t send it to voicemail once I hear Jayme’s voice ring out through the speakers. “You’re a bastard, you know that, Derrick?”
“I do. I also remember how much you loved it.”
“Your rebel ways. You still got that tattoo?” She sounds mighty pleased with that zinger. Bringing up sore subjects is used like ammo for her defensiveness.
“Come over and find out.”
She laughs, annoyance in every note. “Like I said, impossible.”
“Let’s make possible together.”
“Do you ever give up?”
“You know me, right?”
“Right. Stupid me. I almost forgot who I was talking to.”
“Speaking of me, come over.”
A loud sigh punctuates the debate I know she’s having, probably sitting at that messy desk of hers with the ancient computer sputtering shit she doesn’t even care about in front of her. But the fun we were having seems to dissipate and her voice goes quieter, “I can’t. I’m sorry.”
“Again with the sorrys. When did our conversations just become a bunch of apologies? No, don’t answer that. I have a feeling I don’t want to know the truth.”
“There’s lots you don’t want to know, so we need to make this goodbye for good.”
“So a goodbye versus a bad bye. That’s progress, I think.”
“No, they both end the same with bye.”
“Wait,” the word rushes out. She doesn’t hang up. Thank God. Her breath remains light as it dances through the line. “I leave in four days. Please. Come over. I just want to see you again. I won’t even ask how you got my number . . . though I’m curious.” She hmms. So I continue, “You said whatever this is between us can’t turn into more. You, yourself, admitted not only is there something here, but it could be more. Come explore that more, baby.”
“You shouldn’t call me that.”
“I know, but I can’t seem to stop myself. I’m not giving up. One date.”
“Now it’s a date you want?”
“I want more,” I say, chuckling. “But how about we start with a date.”
“Your honesty is almost endearing.”
I laugh. “The girls got jokes.”
“Not many these days. Look—”
Taking a left, I’m already onto her emotional tides that change her mind. “I know what you’re going to say. I’m asking you, Jaymes, for your time. Just a little. One-on-one without interruption. We’ll walk away putting this, whatever it is between us, to bed, or maybe it will turn into seeing each other again. I don’t know. I just know it feels good being around you again.”
“It does,” she admits, which feels like a victory of epic proportions.
“One meal. One date. One hour of your time?”
“Okay. But will you promise not to tell anyone?”
“Are you that ashamed of me?” I tease.
Finally a laugh, and it’s the sweetest music to my ears. I’m tempted to record it and listen to it on replay or drop it into a song. “Not at all. It’s complicated, like I said. I don’t want anything affecting Ace in anyway.”
“My lips are sealed unless you want to make out and then I’ll totally give it up for ya.”
“Like I said, you’re impossible. I’ve got to get back to work before I’m fired.”
“How’s tomorrow night at seven?”
“You’re not going to give up, are you?”
“You know it.”
“So if I hang up now, you’re gonna bug me about this, aren’t you?”
“I’ll text you my address and see you at seven.”
The silence starts to extend. I can imagine her face, pursed lips, brows pushed toward the middle. Then resolve. “Eight works better.”
Gotcha! “Eight it is.”
“Fine. Oh, and my mother gave me the number. She programmed it into my phone after spending time with Diane. I think the moms are conspiring to get us together.”
“There could be worse things.”
“I’m not so sure about that.”
It’s probably best to hang up before she changes her mind. “See you tomorrow, baby.”
“Stop calling me that, Derrick.”
“Habit, baby.” Not sorry. I know how she used to love when I called her that.
I don’t have to see her to know she’s rolling her eyes. “Tomorrow, Romeo.”
* * *
What constitutes overboard? When it comes to ordering food, I don’t know what Jaymes likes anymore. She used to love Mexican food. What if she loves Chinese or Japanese or Italian? Thai? Mongolian? Fuck. American?
“It’s too much,” my mom says looking at the delivery bags.
“Help me,” I reply.
A smile tickles her lips. “You like her.”
“I used to love her. Of course I like her.” I push the Chinese food down the kitchen counter. “I think we’ll eliminate this one. Your turn.”
She grabs the Italian. “I’ll take this one with me.”
“Dude. Not the Italian. I ordered the spinach manicotti. Do you know how amazing their manicotti is?”
“No,” she says, shaking her head, “but I look forward to finding out.”
“Take it. Take the Japanese too. I have a feeling the woman is similar to the girl. I’m going with the cheese enchiladas, r
ice, and beans.”
“You can’t go wrong with that.”
“Fingers crossed. So, wine or beer?”
“Wine. I brought two bottles of white. Perfect for Mexican.”
“I was thinking tequila.”
Her glare hits hard. “No tequila.”
“I reach for the bottle of Patron. “What’s one shot?”
“Trouble, that’s what. No tequila, Derrick. I want you on your best behavior.”
“No one ever complains about my behavior when it comes to dating.”
“I’m your mother. I don’t want to hear about your so-called dating. And this is Jaymes. Remember that.”
She puts the Chinese and Japanese food in the fridge and takes the Italian. “I’m going. You be good.” Her finger goes up. “Don’t reply to that.”
I laugh. “Be safe driving home.”
“I want some details tomorrow.”
She knows me too well. Hearing about sex when it comes to her son’s activities is not something she wants the gory details on, so I always edit, edit, edit for her. In the last two years though, nothing . . . or should I say no one has even been worth mentioning much less edit-worthy.
Maybe tonight will change all that.
* * *
She’s late, but it’s LA, so instead of giving her a hard time, I give her a pass. I also receive two texts when she enters the neighborhood that went a little like: You’re kidding me, right? And then another that said, Really?
Hope she likes the house.
The doorbell chimes and I wipe my hands on a dishtowel and run to answer it while tucking the edge of the towel into my jeans. When I swing the door open, I about choke on the comment I had prepared to welcome her with, but I manage. “You take this hot for the teacher thing to a whole new level.”
A quick roll of her eyes and she says, “I went from work to class. I didn’t have time to go home and change.”
“Glad you didn’t. Come on in.”
“Nice towel by the way.”
“Thanks. My mom gave it to me as a housewarming present.”
She’s scanning the entryway and beyond into the living room. “This house is the most amazing house I’ve ever been in.”
“It’s not all that fancy, but I like it.”