Complicated Creatures: Part One

by Alexi Lawless

  They strolled around the waterfront, walking off the beer buzz and enjoying the fall weather. Jack tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, and Sam felt warm from more than just the alcohol.

  After a visit to Captain Frederick’s Pabst Mansion, the beer baron’s restored showcase home, they ended up at the Hinterland Erie Street Gastropub, sitting outside of the renovated Third Ward Warehouse, munching on cheeses and charcuteries, sampling succulent duck rillettes and pan-seared sable fish.

  “I gotta get Mitch up here,” Jack groaned as he leaned back in his chair and patted his belly. “He would love this place. Forget the James Beard nominations.”

  “We should get all the guys up here. Beer tours and great food—they’d have died and gone to heaven,” Sam suggested while she sipped a saison, savoring the lemony taste.

  “That’s a really good idea. We should do it before it gets snowy,” Jack remarked. “What do you drive when it gets bad out?” he asked.

  “I have an old Land Cruiser and an all-wheel Jag if you can’t stand the sight of a banged-up old beater sitting next to your pretty little Aston,” Sam teased. “What about you? Does that sexy-ass car ever see the snow?”

  Jack shook his head. “I drive a Range Rover in the winter,” he answered. “I’m a British car nut. What kind of Jag is it?”

  “An XJ,” she said. “My dad collected cars, so I’ve always enjoyed them.” She laughed suddenly, remembering something. “My granddaddy used to say to Dad, ‘Son, what you need with all these cars? You ain’t got but one ass,’” she said in a thick Texan drawl.

  Jack chuckled, sipping his beer. “Did you keep his collection?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Sitting in a converted barn on the ranch in Texas. I have a guy who keeps them in working order. He worked for my dad. I think it’s more a labor of love for him than anything.”

  “Christ, I bet that’s worth a fortune. What all did your dad have?”

  She rattled off some of the models and vintages that came to mind, noting Jack’s appreciative noises.

  “Why did you keep the ’vette with you out of all of them?” he asked after a time.

  She thumbed the condensation off her glass, looking away. “Sentimental, I guess,” she admitted. “We worked on that one together,” she explained after a moment. “I’m no mechanic, but I’ve got the basics down pat. Dad was always worried I’d be one of those damsel-in-distress types and didn’t want me to get taken advantage of.”

  “You’d kick someone in the pants before you let anyone take advantage of you,” Jack murmured, shaking his head. “I pity the asshole who tries to pull one over on you.”

  Sam smiled at the gruff compliment, glancing across the table at him. Jack looked utterly relaxed, legs crossed casually, his arm hooked over the back of a chair as he watched passersby strolling and window-shopping.

  “What?” he asked, catching her watching him.

  “Just thinking how much I’m enjoying this,” she told him honestly.

  And how you just may be the perfectly proportioned antidote to my particular brand of loneliness.

  Her business, more than any other, proved how much vulnerability could cost you. And she’d paid for every good thing she had, again and again, until the pain of exposure had made her choose her vulnerabilities sparingly. Pleasure, tenderness, intimacy…these were all luxuries Sam stole where she could find them, cutting off attachment before the potential became too painful to hold onto, knowing separation was an inevitability. She understood that involvement was a weakness she couldn’t afford to indulge; she had come to terms with that years ago.

  But Jack might be all right. They didn’t need each other, after all. An affair would roll seamlessly past him—a pleasant experience in a long line of many. He was so confident, so self-aware and ambitious. He was a man who knew exactly his place in the world; he could control and steer his own destiny. Perhaps they could enjoy each other, wile away a few careless hours, coming together briefly before bouncing back to their respective positions, separate and whole. Sam suspected that they suited each other far more than either realized.

  “Why did you join the Navy?” he asked, interrupting her reverie.

  Surprised at the question, she took a moment to answer. “Family tradition. My father and granddaddy were both in the Navy. I grew up on their stories, their patriotism. And they didn’t really treat me any differently growing up,” she reflected. “Maybe because they didn’t know any better, but I never felt like I couldn’t do something I wanted to if I worked hard and wanted it badly enough.”

  “What was your mother like?”

  Sam sipped her beer, watching a young couple walk by, heads close together as they laughed and smiled at each other.

  Young love, she thought. Nothing ages you faster.

  “From what I remember, she was lovely,” Sam finally answered. “She was quiet, artistic. She painted, spoke to me in Japanese. Haikus, I think,” she paused, trying to remember. Every year, it became more difficult to recall the details.

  “You’re half Japanese?” Jack asked, clearly surprised.

  “My mother was Japanese. My father was half-Cherokee, half-white. My granddaddy was full Cherokee,” she explained.

  “Now I get it,” Jack said, looking at her intently. “You’re so unique. It’s difficult to put a finger on it. Your eyes look Asian, but not completely. Your cheekbones remind me of paintings of beautiful Native American women you find in museums, but all the pieces convert into something entirely different when it’s pulled together.” He continued to gaze at her, seeming to catalog her features individually, as if fitting together the jigsaws of a puzzle.

  Sam felt her face heat a little with the beer and the scrutiny. “I do well slipping into most environments,” she told him with a shrug. “Tan enough and I can pass for South American. Enough eye kohl and the right garb and I can pass for Turkish or Persian. In Asia, most people assume I’m Southeast Asian. In the States, I guess that just makes me as mixed as ninety-eight percent of the nation.”

  “How did your parents meet?” Jack asked, fascinated.

  “My dad was stationed in Japan toward the end of his enlistment. He met my mother in Kyushu and spent the rest of his time convincing her to marry him, as the story goes. She didn’t have much family, so moving to the US seemed exciting to her at the time.” Sam paused, taking a sip of her saison. “She didn’t realize she was signing up for a cattle ranch in Texas. I don’t know that she would have agreed, hindsight twenty-twenty,” she admitted, feeling the tinge of sadness she always felt considering how little she recalled of her mother. Her recollections were of a shy, beautiful woman who had a certain melancholia about her. Sam remembered watching her mother painting, looking out the window for hours. If she hadn’t had children, Sam wasn’t certain she would have stayed. Her dad never mentioned it, but she knew, like all children know, when they’re the reason their parents made sacrifices.

  Jack seemed to sense the darkening of her thoughts and redirected the conversation. “Is that how you picked up Judo?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” she nodded. “Dad learned in Japan. Became obsessed with it, and he got really good. He taught us when we were kids, though to be honest, I think he wanted to me to use it against the boys who asked me out in school,” Sam chuckled. “He used to say he never wanted to have to take a shotgun out when I finally went on a date. That he wanted the boy to be too scared of me to try any fast moves,” she grinned. “Guess he got what he wanted.”

  Jack barked out a laugh, eyes glinting. “I’ll just bet. I think that’s actually a really great strategy, if not a little lazy,” he remarked. “God help Maddie when she tries to date. Between me and Jaime, any attempt will be doomed.”

  They were briefly interrupted by the waiter, and they debated whether to order another round.

  “No way are you driving,” Sam told Jack. Her brow knit. “And I don’t think I’m in any condition to drive either,” she admitted. “I think I’
ve been in a state of perpetual buzz since the Lakefront Brewery.”

  He shrugged. “So we stay the night in Milwaukee. You got any other place to be?”

  Sam paused, recognizing this was make or break time.

  Jack leaned forward, putting his hand on hers. “Nothing happens that you don’t want. I’m just suggesting we not end a good time to rush back if neither of us need to.”

  She considered it for a moment before shrugging. “Sure, why not? I can’t remember the last time I drove out of town for the sole purpose of drinking.”

  They ordered another round, listening to a street musician in the distance.

  “Do you speak Japanese?” Jack asked after a while.

  “Don’t you?” Sam teased.

  “Italian,” Jack told her. “And so-so at that. Enough to get into trouble. Both my parents grew up speaking Italian, but they only speak to each other in the mother tongue when they’re fighting or they don’t want me and Jaime to know what they’re up to,” he laughed. “How many languages do you know?” he asked, tucking his hand under his chin as he leaned on the table.

  “Japanese, Mandarin, Spanish, Portuguese, Farsi and Arabic, and enough French and Russian to get the job done. Which basically means all the bad words and how to order people around,” Sam laughed. “Oh, and a little Cherokee from my Granddaddy.”

  “Jesus,” he muttered. “I’m an idiot.”

  She shrugged. “Gift of gab.”

  “How did you learn all that?” Jack asked, reaching across the table to toy with the bracelets on her arm.

  “You know the Japanese and Cherokee. Spanish in high school and Portuguese from spending so much time in Brazil for one reason or the other. Mandarin in college and also on the job. Farsi and Arabic through the military. Russian and French through varied and nefarious means,” she grinned, her eyes twinkling.

  “I think you’re the smartest woman I know,” Jack murmured, admiring.

  “Don’t tell your mom that,” Sam smiled, unaccountably pleased at the compliment.

  “Our secret then,” Jack complied. He reached out to touch a finger to a small charm on one of her bracelets. “Does this mean anything? Or is it something pretty?”

  She glanced down at the small ‘R’ he was holding. She sucked in a tight little breath. “My brother, Ryland.”

  “Of course,” Jack murmured. “The picture over your mantle. Is he younger or older?”

  “He was younger.”

  “Was,” Jack repeated, letting go of the charm to stroke his thumb along the back of her hand. “You’ve survived a lot,” he observed.

  “Haven’t we all?” she replied with careless little shrug.

  His gaze sharpened and he squeezed her hand gently. Sam flipped her hand over, letting his fingers run over her palm. The waiter arrived with their drinks.

  “Some more than others,” he murmured, sitting back but not releasing her hand. “I’ve been lucky. I know it. I grew up with a big extended family. Lots of cousins, uncles, aunties. My Uncle Gianni passing away from cancer was the most awful thing I could imagine until Cassie died, as insane as that sounds. It was such a shock. Such a glaring, unexpected, and unwarranted misfortune.” Jack paused a beat. “We almost couldn’t understand it. Couldn’t metabolize or accept it.”

  “There’s not a lot of preparation for something like that.”

  He turned to her again after a moment. “You know the worst? I’m Jaime’s fratellone.6 I’ve always taken care of him, and it’s a responsibility I never took lightly. There was nothing I could do for him. Nothing I could do or say to change it. There’s no making it right again,” he paused to take a shaky breath, running his hand through his hair. “It’s strange, you know? Being a grown goddamn man and not knowing how to grieve, much less how to help your brother work through it.”

  “That’s why you kept the penthouse vacant for so long,” Sam observed.

  Jack nodded, a tight, short movement as he looked up at the moon hanging low over a clear night sky. “I stayed with Jaime for the first month, helping with Maddie, but he eventually kicked me out. Afterward, my parents stayed in Chicago for a year. Dad flew back and forth to D.C. I asked Jaime to move in so many times, but he refused.” He looked back down. “It’s the right thing, though. Maddie should grow in a neighborhood, like we did. The house we grew up in is only a few streets over. It’s taken some time, but Jaime’s all right.”

  “Yes, he is,” Sam agreed. “And you?” she asked, squeezing his hand back. “Are you alright?”

  Jack nodded, looking at her. “It’s foolish. Such a spoilt thing to say, but I realized how lucky I was. You grow up with so much, it becomes rote. You assume you’ll always have it—the privileges, the little luxuries. It becomes inconceivable to imagine otherwise.” He took a breath. “It was a wake-up call,” he conceded.

  “You’re a good uncle, Jack. A good brother.” She smiled gently, remembering what she’d said to him in the car. “And a good man.”

  He watched her for a moment, searching the sincerity in her expression. “Thank you,” he told her quietly, threading their fingers together, his thumb stroking hers.

  They sat together for a little while longer, not speaking, enjoying their drinks and the clear, starlit sky. She could hear the distant refrain of a familiar song playing in the distance. Her body felt warm, the tingle of awareness passing through her like a steady current of electricity. Sam wondered again if they could be good for each other. Even if it was just for a night.

  “Jack?”

  “Yeah?” he asked, turning to look at her.

  He really was a beautiful man, with that fall of dark hair and those iridescent silver eyes of his. Sam smiled at him, her heart skipping a little at the prospect of what she wanted to happen.

  “Want to try that luck out?” she asked with a little smile.

  Jack’s answering look was a slow burn up her nerve endings, his eyes darkening to a smolder as he lifted her hand to his mouth.

  “More than anything,” he replied, pressing hot lips to the racing pulse at her wrist.

  The waiter passed.

  “Check, please,” she called.

  *

  October—That night

  Milwaukee, Wisconsin

  J A C K

  Jack walked them to the historic Pfister Hotel, praying they’d have something good available. The lobby was warmly lit with antique crystal chandeliers, the grand old space inviting as jazz drifted in from the hotel bar, giving the atmosphere a hazy, decadent feel.

  “They’re playing ‘Stella by Starlight,’” Samantha noticed, her husky voice a little dreamy.

  Jack couldn’t resist pulling her into an impromptu twirl, holding her close to his body. She felt extraordinary in his arms. He pressed his hand into the small of her back, tucking his jaw against her temple. She smelled like fall air and citrus from the saison, and as he swayed with her gently in that quiet, golden lobby, she turned her head to press a sweet kiss to the skin of his neck.

  “I’m going to run to the ladies room,” she told him. “And you’re going to find us somewhere we can enjoy the rest of this evening, Jack. You’re are going to appreciate your insomnia tonight,” she teased, her voice low and velvet. She stepped back and cast him an utterly sexy smile as she turned away.

  Jack checked them into the last suite they had available, thanking his luck. He held out his hand to her as she stepped back into the lobby. They moved toward the elevator silently, and he couldn’t resist pulling her into him again once inside, winding his arms under her shoulders, his hands tangling in the silkiness of her midnight hair.

  “Samantha,” he breathed, brushing a butterfly’s kiss over her lips before settling over them with a gentle, delicious pressure. He was going to take his time with her, enjoy every sound and movement and curvature of this gorgeous, vital woman. Jack coaxed her mouth open, finding that perfect alignment, shifting her closer while her hand gripped his back, her nails pressing crescents into
his shoulder blades. Their kiss became wild and succulent quickly, the tangle of tongues decadent and heady. Jack felt like he’d downed several glasses of champagne in rapid succession, the delirious buzz and the effervescent high of Samantha making him light-headed and punchy.

  The elevator dinged, doors sliding open. They pulled apart, blinking at the open floor as if they didn’t quite know where they were. Jack stepped out first, pulling her with him as he glanced at the room key for their room number. He turned left, stopped, and then turned right, muttering, “You’ve got me so damn twisted up I don’t know where the hell I’m going.”

  Samantha laughed softly, squeezing his hand as she followed him to the corner suite he’d secured. He slid the key into the door, turning and backing into the room, unable to wait any longer to gather her back into his arms. Samantha felt good to him. Scary good. He groaned, fitting his mouth over hers again, suckling her silky tongue in a languid, articulate swirl. They shared exquisite, erotic kisses for long, drawn out minutes in the darkness of the hotel room, fingers exploring the planes of each other’s faces. Jack outlined the gentle curves of her body, caressing the lines of her rib cage, squeezing the contour of her breasts, loving the weight and feel of them. He felt awash in sensation, thrilling with each discovery as he pulled clothes from her, until she was just in jeans, boots, and the jewelry that glinted at her ears, neck, and wrists.

  “You’re a dream I’ve been playing in my mind for weeks now,” he told her, pulling away to place a fervent line of kisses along her jaw to the delicate skin of her ear. “A dream within a dream,” he whispered, biting the lobe and the diamond in it, his hands sliding over the swell of her hips to the dense, lush curve of her ass. Jack tilted her hips up high and tight, pressing her to his pelvis, making her feel him, urging her against the ardent pressure of his erection until she was the one straining, rocking rhythmically against his grind, her breaths a soft pant along his cheek. He turned back to her mouth, absorbing each sound, each catch as her breath tripped. Jack pulled away from her mouth again, breathing in deeply as he rubbed against her in a taunting, delicious circle.