Jahleel

by S. Ann Cole

  When the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and my skin prickled with a million sharp stings, I knew he was standing in the archway, watching me.

  Refusing to acknowledge his presence—outwardly, of course—I kept my back turned, forking too much cake into my suddenly dry mouth. The silence was so loud and unnerving, I wished he’d just say something and stop boring holes into my back.

  Then I heard his footsteps moving across the tiles again, until he was next to me, easing down on a stool.

  “I was expectin’ a warmer welcome than this,” he commented in a quiet voice.

  “Maybe if you hadn’t already stole in last night, you would’ve gotten one—a tour even.”

  Okay, so indifference was a major failure, and out came irritation, annoyance and anger.

  “Fair enough.”

  From the corner of my eye, I could see his gaze transfixed on my face, while my attention was transfixed on the cake sitting on the counter. Searing heat crawled up my neck and settled into my cheeks, burning, and I knew without a doubt they were crimson red.

  Did he enjoy flustering women with his intensity? Sheesh.

  After a minute of ignoring while he stared me down, he stood up. I breathed a relieved sigh in anticipation of his imminent departure. A mere minute of him, and here I was, a weak mess.

  But then I heard cabinets opening and closing, and soon he was back beside me with a plate, a cake knife and a fork. Reaching over, he sliced a chunk of my cake and scooped it onto his plate. Casual as you please: Oh, never mind me, I do this all the time. Enter celebrities’ houses, locate their utensils with easy grace, and help myself to huge chunks of their chocolate cakes.

  With a cocked brow, I watched as he took out a small box of Sun-Maid Raisins from his pocket and sprinkled a couple onto his cake, then proceeded to shove a forkful into his mouth.

  So far, I’ve concluded two things about Jahleel: he was addicted to raisins, and his favourite colour was red.

  “Do you just walk around with a box of raisins in your pocket all the time?” I inquired.

  “Yep.” He forked more cake in. “You baked this?”

  “Pfft,” I scoffed. “I’m crap at baking. I love to cook, though. Give me any recipe and I’ll cook it to perfection, but baking pastries is always a cock up for me.”

  “It’s not that hard.”

  “Says who?”

  Smirking at me, he shrugged.

  “You cook?” I asked doubtfully, disinclined to believe him.

  “Krissy and the kitchen are vicious enemies…So, yeah.”

  Why the hell did he have to bring her name up? Gah! I wanted to scream. Hating that he ruined the moment with her pestilence of a name, I said nothing else.

  He must’ve sensed the change in my mood, because he cleared his throat and made an effort in changing the subject. “We spoke briefly about your parents once, but you’re usually evasive with conversations about your life before now in your interviews. Why’s that?”

  Feeling full and little queasy from eating too much cake, I set my fork down and pushed the cake in Jahleel’s direction.

  It was true, I never speak of my parents or my life back home to anyone. The only reason I released that bit to Jahleel about my parents being drunks was because I was blinded by lust and rat arsed with alcohol.

  “You watch my interviews?”

  Expressionless, he watched me for a beat, then took up the cake cover and lowered it over the half-eaten chocolate pastry on the cake dish, before he stood and walked to the refrigerator. My eyes followed him as he scanned the contents in the fridge and came back with two bottles of Perrier water, handing me one as he sat back down.

  “So, you gonna let me in or what?” he prodded.

  He did all of that moving to the refrigerator and back to avoid answering my question. To evade admitting he watched my interviews.

  “My life before now was nothing beautiful, JK. Now is beautiful. Even this very moment. Right here. That’s why I live in the now and forget the past.”

  Jahleel swiveled around on his stool so his back is against the counter. He stretched out his feet, crossing them at the ankles as he drank his water. Waiting.

  Simplistic as usual, he wore seriously faded jeans and a plain white tee. Hair perfect, eyes a mesmerizing shade of gold. His facial hair trimmed, but not shaved off. Maybe he was trying a new look?

  Shaved or unshaved, he was devastatingly hot.

  Fighting to understand what was going on here between us, I watched him wordlessly for a moment. What was his game? What did he want? He was willing to give none of himself, but he wanted me to give him more of me, on top of all he’d already stolen. Could he not see how unfair this was?

  Fool that I was—for him—I gave him more. “I grew up on a small farm…”

  We talked for close to two hours as I told him all about my hard-knock life before now. He had a crap ton of questions, like he was a fucking reporter or something, and I answered them all, because even if he was an undercover reporter, I didn’t mind if it was him putting my laundry out there.

  Besides, talking to him felt good. And there he was, in my house, genuinely listening with his ears wide open. He was interested in me. In my life. In who I was. What I came from.

  He wanted to know it all. He wanted more. And I gave him all he wanted, praying he’d ask for more than…details.

  Feeling drained and exhausted, I stood up and stretched, “I better get to bed.”

  I watched him as his gaze stayed locked on my bosom as I stretched. His eyes finally swept down my body and settled on my red socks. He couldn’t stop a smile as he brought his eyes back up to my face and found me watching him.

  “Not ready to go yet,” he declared. “Why don’t we watch a movie or something?”

  Bloody frustrated at this point, I planted a hand to my hip and used the other to gesture between us. “What the hell is this, JK? Tell me. Are you still trying to figure out if I’m what you’re craving?”

  Recognizing I was on to his game, he looked away, his jaw working back and forth. He looked back to me and answered honestly, “Yes.”

  Getting up from the barstool, he approached me and reached out his arms as if to hug me or something, but he abruptly drew back and shoved his hands in his pockets, restraining himself I assumed.

  “Look, I’m leavin’ tomorrow for a couple of days,” he sounded frustrated with himself. “Concert in Vancouver, video shoot in Chicago. And I just… I just don’t want the same thing that happened in New York to happen again. Need to stay focused on my work, if you understand.”

  “Oh, so you’re just here to get your platonic Saskia fix, then, yeah?” I caustically bit out. “Because God forbid your mind should stray and think about me while you’re working.”

  His lips compressed, trying to conceal a smile, while I glowered at him, daring him to laugh, because if he did, I would be sorely tempted to knock him upside the head. That’s how intolerable it all was at the moment.

  “It doesn’t make sense to you, Sassy,” he explicated, “but it does to me.”

  With a resigning sigh, I dropped my eyes down to our feet, red socks to Timberlands. “You’re selfish, JK. You want and you want, but you don’t want to give.”

  “I know I am.” He moved in closer, but didn’t touch me. “You’re not, though.”

  You’re hurting me, I wanted to say. But I didn’t, of course, because I was a coward. Afraid to lose something I didn’t even have.

  “You fancy a fuck?”

  He took a surprised breath. “Sassy, I told you—”

  “I know, I know,” I responded through a loud laugh as I turned and started out of the kitchen. “I guess we can hang in the movie room, then.”

  We jaunted down to the movie room in silence. How long could this platonic thing go on before I lost my blasted mind, I wasn’t sure. How on God’s good earth could he expect a woman to be alright with no intimacy when he looked like…that? He had cockiness
abound, so I was sure he knew the effect he had on women. Downright ridiculous and a tease, that’s what he was being.

  My movie room was in dark grey with blood-red carpeting and five rows of extremely large semi-circular black couches. We opted for the middle row and I began scrolling through pay-per-views while Jahleel toed off his boots.

  “How about Ratatouille?”

  Jahleel paused his doings to shoot me a look. “Fuck no.”

  Shrugging, I resumed scrolling until his boots were off and he was on the couch.

  “Stop. That one. The Green Hornet.”

  I scrunched up my face. “Nuh uh. I tried watching that crap once and couldn’t even make it to the end. Those two are idiots.”

  He laughed and I resumed scrolling.

  “This!” I chirped. “Alice in Wonderland with Johnny Depp.”

  It was now his turn to make a face. “Seriously?”

  With a roll of my eyes, I continued scrolling and whispered under my breath, “Off with your head”.

  Jahleel chuckled. “Heard that.”

  As I scrolled past the movie 300, he stopped me again, “Never got around to seeing that one.”

  “They are mortal punks in briefs and capes. What’s the point of having a cape if you have no super powers and can’t fly?” I murmured without even bothering to stop. “Despicable Me 2,” I said, selecting the cartoon. “I’ve never seen part 2.”

  “Okay, this isn’t workin’ out. At all,” Jahleel griped. He leaned over and snagged the remote from me. “You go for mediocre shit, aka cartoons, and I’m into action movies. So, let’s find somethin’ in between. Deal?”

  As if I could ever disagree with anything he says, I nodded.

  We ended up agreeing on Transformers 3. We both had seen 1 and 2, but never got around to seeing 3. So it was perfect.

  Drawing my knees up to my chest, I clasped my hands and stuffed them between my thighs to focus on the screen and keep from attacking Jahleel.

  The night before, when I’d touched his face, he’d pulled my hand away and let me know that was considered intimate touching. So without being sure what exactly was allowed with him, I thought it better to keep my hands to myself. But it was oh so frustrating, because all I wanted was to jump him and kiss his lips off his face.

  I could feel him staring at me, but I pretended to be engrossed in the movie.

  “Come here,” he said after a while.

  Slowly turning my head, I looked at him with a blank expression. Bringing his feet up on the couch, he shifted so his back was against the handle and stretched out his arms to me.

  He wanted me to crawl between his thighs, lie on his chest, and cuddle…

  Don’t go, the sensible part of me warned. But the stupid part of me went, laying my head on his hard, but warm and cozy chest.

  Loosely circling his arms around me, a clear sign he was making no commitments or promises, he whispered, “Comfortable now?”

  “Quite.”

  But what was shocking to my ears, was the warhorse speed at which his heartbeat galloped, contending with the wild, erratic beats of mine. This man, who was supposed to be the master of calm, composed and casual.

  “Why’s your heart beating so fast?”

  I felt his shoulders move in a shrug, as if it was nothing. “Dunno. It always beat like that when I’m around you.”

  And with those words, my heartbeat out-ran his, hurling my breathing into the frenetic zone.

  Seizing a fistful of my hair, he gently tipped back my head so he could peer down at my face. “Breathe, Sassy, breathe.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “You can’t say things like that to me and expect me to be all calm, cool and collected like you.”

  Tilting his head to the side, his expression became one of sincere confusion. “What? You asked me a question and all I did was answer.”

  “You could’ve lied!”—He either didn’t get it, or he was purposely playing dumb.—”You could’ve said it was the side effects of drinking too much energy drink or…something. Anything but that!”

  Jahleel bit his lip and studied me for a beat, no doubt thinking I was loony. “Sassy, you don’t wanna hear the truth, don’t ask me. ‘Cause I will give it to you straight.”

  Expelling a huff, I resignedly dropped my head back down to his chest.

  As he sighed and curved his right leg over my left leg, I glanced down at our tangled legs and noticed for the first time that he was wearing red socks.

  “You’re wearing red socks too,” I pointed out the obvious.

  “The only colour socks I wear.”

  Extraneously, I stated, “Red’s your favourite colour.”

  “You’re observant.” I heard the smile in his voice. “What’s yours?”

  “Black.”

  “Black’s a shade.”

  “Thanks for the bloody correction, Professor Stinking Kingston,” I snapped. There was nothing I hated more than being corrected.

  “You know,” he opined, humour lacing his tone, “you can be a real bitch sometimes.”

  “Says the biggest arsehole I’ve ever met in my entire life.”

  “Hey now,” he dragged out with a lazy laugh, “No one’s ever seen me do the WWE Suck It slam in public.”

  I punched his arm. “Put a sock in it.”

  “That was epic.”

  I pinched his steel-muscled bicep this time. “I said, shut up.”

  “Ow,” he groaned, rubbing the aggravated area. “Now you’re being abusive.”

  Feeling too relaxed and snugly to argue, I gave him the last say, and we both turned our attention back to the movie. But I wasn’t really watching, because I found listening to the tattoo of Jahleel’s heartbeat far more entertaining than giant robots on the big screen.

  Before I knew it, I was fast asleep.

  Chapter Eleven

  The weekend found me in the back of a limo with my team, giggly sluts included. We were headed to the grand opening of ‘Nth’, Chad’s new club.

  Chad booked me through Lion to make an appearance at the opening, even though he could’ve simply asked me to be there. I guess he was approaching things from a professional angle, as I was merely one of numerous celebrities scheduled to attend.

  The intent for ‘Nth’ was to make it the next best celebrity hot spot in San Francisco. Lion divulged to me all of who was on the guest list, so there was no doubt ‘Nth’ would succeed in its objective.

  At first, I wondered how it was possible for a man with no status to have such a tall celebrity guest list for a simple club opening. Surely, it couldn’t just be because he was a fine specimen.

  Well, I later learned Chad does have a status, one I hadn’t been aware of. The chap was wealthier than a lot of the celebrities who would be there.

  When I posed said question to Lion, he looked at me as if I were a numbskull, then gave me a quick bio of Chad.

  Age twenty-nine, the name was Chadrick Ivanovich Niiveux, as in the car brand Niiveux.

  You know how you almost never see a TV commercial for some vehicles—like, let’s say, Rolls Royce—but when you do see a commercial, it’s more like an intense mini movie rather than a commercial, which is usually aired during the Super Bowl or one of those grand events when the whole world is watching?

  Well, Niiveux falls under that category: the type of car where its worth was known and therefore didn’t need commercials and marketing—’whenever you can afford one of these bad boys, just come and get one.’

  Niiveux was governed by three brothers, one being Chad’s father, the other two his uncles. Stemming from Niiveux were two other brands: Velocity, which was a line of sports cars, and Prominent, a variety of affordable models.

  Niiveux originated from Russia, so yes, Chad’s part-Russian, his mother’s American. Being the only son, Chad was heir to his father’s shares and also a trust-fund baby. He had two sisters, Sveta, who’s a world-class runway model, and Tashenka, a normal trophy wife to some oil tycoon.


  He and his famous model sister were the only two Niiveuxs residing in the U.S. Sveta, because of her career, and Chad, because of some older woman he was infatuated with in his new adult years and followed her to the States. He never bothered moving back home when she left him. He now remained because of his new friend JK, and because of his preference for the low key lifestyle in SF, compared to his previous high profile status as the most eligible bachelor sensation in Russia.

  Here, in SF, he was a quiet investor, sticking all ten fingers in untold organisations, and also co-owner—with his ‘ride-or-die’ Jahleel—of a chain of high-end strip clubs spanning from here to L.A.

  Although he aimed for a low key, nondescript life as much as possible, people who mattered still knew who he was, enough that his celebrity guest-list for his club opening was extensive.

  That was as much as Lion told me, but I had the feeling he was holding back a lot more. There wasn’t anything or anyone Lion didn’t have the dish on.

  Speaking of, I hadn’t heard from Jahleel since our movie night on Tuesday. I woke up the next morning in the movie room, curled up on the couch alone. Jahleel was gone, no word, nothing.

  Now it was Friday, and not even a text message from him. Guess he figured out I wasn’t his craving. I didn’t sweat it, though, as I was getting a little stronger and learning to focus on work instead of him. If he could do it, state point blank that he wanted to focus on his work and not me, then fine, I could do it, too. With him being out of state working, he wouldn’t be at the opening tonight, and for me, that was a good thing.

  As the car pulled up at the venue, my mind came back to earth and I heard Ferbie talking like an unintelligible arse again to Twana, “…been workin’ with ‘em for a while now. Not far from doin’ shows with ‘em soon.”

  Ever since I’d yelled at him, he’d been speaking in that manner, and it was starting to grate on my nerves.

  “Why the hell are you eating all of your pronouns and ‘ings?” I snapped. I couldn’t take it anymore.

  Ferbie looked at me, confused, as the giggly sluts burst into a fit of giggles. “You told me to stop speaking the way I did, Ma.”

  Oh dear God. “But I never said you were to speak like that. It makes you sound illiterate!”