by Emery Jacobs
“Come to the show, Jack, and wait for me afterward.” She giggles. He nods and jumps off the bottom step, and I immediately pull back, afraid he’ll see me.
It’s been over two weeks since I saw Jack at Overtime. Luckily, he missed my panic attack that day. Since then, I’ve been meeting with Dr. Birch, and my attacks have been less frequent. Maybe she’s right about some of the crap she yaps on about. All I care about is that I’m better, so she can carry on with the bullshit as long as I’m not freaking out every day.
I’ve seen Annie, Stone, and the big tattooed guy they call Fish a couple of times at the restaurant, but not Jack. Maybe he’s avoiding me. Naomi says he used to come in all the time. It has to be me. My mind tends to drift to that night when I first met him in the bathroom at Stone’s party. If I’m honest with myself, I actually think about him a lot. He’s definitely hot. And sexy. Yes, hot and sexy with a gorgeous smile. Those damn lips of his form a perfect lop-sided grin. Hmm… so freaking beautiful.
I turn to move back under the awning but forget about the small step leading to the sidewalk. My foot catches, and damn, it hurts when I hit the ground. Before I can stand, a strong grip around my waist pulls me up.
“You okay?” I would recognize that voice anywhere—Jack.
“Yeah, I’m good. Thanks.” He releases my waist, and I take two steps back until my body hits the brick wall.
“Jovie.”
“Yeah, that’s me,” I say, brushing off the knees of my pants. I’m thankful I decided on my skinny jeans and boots tonight and not a skirt.
“You shouldn’t be out here alone after dark. This place isn’t safe. Especially for a chick.”
“I’m not really alone. Layla should be here any minute. So you can go. I don’t need a babysitter.”
He takes a step back but doesn’t leave.
“There… What’s that?” I ask.
“What’s what?”
“Why are staring at me like that?”
Every time we’re together, he spends entirely too much time staring into my eyes. It’s like he is trying to look into my soul and figure me out. But why?
He takes a couple of steps closer and places one hand on the brick wall behind me. He leans in until I can feel his breath on my face. His eyes never leave mine.
“Are you an angel?”
“Am I a what? Jack, have you been drinking? Don’t lie because I can smell it on your breath.”
“I had a couple of drinks, but no, not really.” He takes his free hand and moves it through my hair gently. And then he nuzzles his nose into my neck and draws in a deep breath. “Your hair’s different and you don’t smell like her, but those eyes. Those fucking eyes… they belong to her.”
“No, Jack, these eyes are mine. And you’re really freaking me out. You realize you sound more crazy than drunk, right?”
He pushes off the wall and stands in front of me for a beat before walking toward Southern Stain. When he reaches the sidewalk, he looks over his shoulder, his eyes glaring and lips firm. “Seriously, Jovie, go inside the bar.” He continues toward the tattoo shop and walks inside without another word.
“Jovie, what are you doing?” I spin around to see Layla approaching in her little black dress and boots. She looks great. No wonder she snagged a guy in a rock band while I’m stuck being alone.
“Nothing, really. Just talking to Jack.”
“Who’s Jack?
“This guy I met at Stone’s party a couple of months ago.”
“Is he hot?”
“Yeah, I guess, but it doesn’t matter. It’s not like that.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. I met him at a party. Then I saw him out here, and we talked for about two minutes.”
“Where did he go?”
“He went back to Southern Stain. That’s where he works.” I point to the door next to the bar.
“Oh, my God. Don’t tell me. He’s one of those super-hot tattoo artists. No wonder you went there to have that tattoo done. You know the one you didn’t get.”
“He’s hot. I already told you that. And I got my belly button pierced instead. Remember, I wanted to wait a little while on the tattoo. He didn’t even do my piercing. Annie did.”
“Geez, why are you being so defensive? I was just curious. Sorry I even mentioned it,” she says.
“Look, I’m the one who snapped. So I’m sorry. Just a little stressed with mid-terms and, you know—life.”
“It’s all good. Now, come on. Let’s go inside. I’m so excited for you to hear the band.”
We walk into Jake’s Bar and the place is packed. We pay our cover charge, and the bouncer puts the lovely orange bands around our wrists so the bartenders will know not to serve us. I look around the room for familiar faces but don’t see any. Maybe that’s a good thing. Layla leads me to a table in the back of the bar near the makeshift stage. “Sebastian told me to sit at the table near the back of the stage. He said it’s reserved for the band so it’s supposed to be empty.”
I take a seat at the end of the table next to Layla. “How much longer before they’re on?”
She looks at the time on her phone. “Any minute now. It’s eight o’clock.”
The lights dim, and I watch four extremely attractive people step onto the stage. The crowd goes crazy. The lead singer welcomes everybody, and then the music starts. They’re good. Really good. But since this is my first time to see a band play live, I don’t have much to compare them to. I look at Layla, and she is melting in her seat as she watches her man jump around the stage with his guitar.
Nocturnal Revolution is a local band that has gained popularity by performing at many bars near campus. Layla mentioned to me earlier that the group consists of four cousins. Drake, Sebastian, Ryker, and Ivy. Drake, the lead singer, is the oldest at twenty-seven. He’s married with two kids. Ryker and his twin sister, Ivy, are twenty-four. He plays drums and she plays the keyboard. Finally, Layla’s new boyfriend and the lead guitar player is Sebastian. He’s the baby of the group at twenty-one.
I’m lost in the sound of Drake’s smoky voice as my thoughts drift back to Jack. Something is going on with him. I just wish I knew what. Even though he was drunk earlier tonight, he was very adamant that I reminded him of someone. I know when people are drunk they are supposed to be more honest. So, apparently, I do look like either somebody he knows or somebody he used to know. It’s weird, but I’m sure it happens all the time. Just not to me.
I feel a hand on my shoulder, and then a slender female body slides into the chair next to mine. Naomi. “Hey, girlie, what’s up?” she asks, leaning in closer so I can hear her.
“Not much. Just glad to have my nose out of the books for one night.” I motion toward Layla, who is in a Sebastian-induced daze.
Naomi looks at her before she lets out a chuckle. “She’s got it bad.”
“I have to agree with that.”
Half an hour later, the music stops. The crowd cheers after Drake announces they will take a ten-minute break. Suddenly our table is surrounded by girls waiting to get close to the guys in the band. However, they are not too concerned because the three of them take their time getting drinks from the bar before making their way to the table. I focus my attention on Ivy, who is still at the bar. She laughs loudly at something the bartender says, and it’s then I realize that it’s the same laugh I heard coming from the alley earlier tonight. At that time, all of my attention was focused on Jack and not the female he was talking to—but that laugh. It was Ivy.
“Jovie, have you been introduced to the guys in the band?” Naomi asks.
“No. Do you know them?”
“Yeah. They used to come into the restaurant a lot, but since they’ve been playing more shows, they haven’t been in as much,” she says. First, she introduces me to Drake and then Ryker. Her eyes move to Sebastian’s empty chair.
“They went to the back,” Ryker says. Of course, they did.
“I gues
s Layla can introduce you two later—once she returns from whatever it is she’s doing in the back.”
I personally don’t want to think about or discuss what they are doing in the back. But I’m sure I’ll get an ear full when she gets home tonight. There’s nothing worse than hearing about somebody’s sex life when mine is nonexistent.
Naomi looks toward the bar and makes eye contact with the bartender. She nods twice. Like it’s some kind of secret code for her drink order. He grabs a glass and fills it with ice. Then smiles at her before grabbing a bottle of liquor off the top shelf.
“So, who’s the bartender?”
“That’s Jake. He’s getting my drink now. Do you want anything?”
I hold up my wrist sporting my lovely orange band. “Oh, yeah. I forgot. Sorry.”
“Naomi, I’m so glad you made it.” Ivy. Her voice sounds just like her laugh. Annoying. She’s leaning against our table sipping on a beer. She’s pretty. I have to give her that, but she doesn’t leave much to the imagination with the outfit she’s wearing. Her hair’s a dark red and is about the length of mine. She’s tall. Much taller than I am—about five-foot-nine. She has big round pale green eyes with high cheekbones. She’s wearing a form-fitting gray dress with thigh-boots that add about two inches to her height. The dress is off the shoulder—long sleeve and with not much room for those fake boobs.
“Y’all sound great. It’s been a while since I’ve seen the band, but I’m really impressed,” Naomi says.
“Thanks, I guess all of the hard work is finally paying off.” Ivy looks over at me before she asks, “Who’s this… a new groupie?” Before either of us can answer, she continues, “Sorry, chicka. All the guys in our band are taken. Except for my brother, Ryker, and he’s not interested. So you can move on. I heard that Reckless Fury’s lead singer just got dumped. Maybe you can check him out. They’re playing here next Tuesday night. I might even be so kind as to introduce you.” She laughs. That fucking laugh. I want to throat punch this fucking bitch. It has nothing to do with the fact that she’s most likely fucking Jack. Even if she is, it doesn’t matter because I’m sure she’s not the only one he’s screwing.
“Hmm… just curious. Ivy, right?” She gives me a half eye roll and sighs.
“Why are you such a—”
Naomi cuts me off. “Ivy, this is Jovie. She’s here with Layla—Sebastian’s date. To answer your question—no, she’s not a groupie. So you can stop being such a bitch.” Ivy looks down her nose at me and opens her mouth to speak just as Jack shows up at our table.
“Hey, baby, you miss me?” Jack stumbles up from behind and wraps his arms around Ivy’s waist. He kisses her neck and she twirls around.
“Of course, I did. We’re about to go back on, so wait for me after the show.” She pulls on his neck bringing his lips to hers. He smiles through the kiss and releases a loud moan.
Ivy ends the kiss before sauntering back to the stage. I turn toward Naomi to ask her why she cut me off—because I can take up for myself. I’m not helpless. But she’s no longer sitting beside me. Jack is. He’s turned the chair sideways—facing directly toward me.
What the hell?
I wish he would go away. I can’t take any more of him—at least not tonight.
“What do you want, Jack?”
“Nothing. Just hanging out. Gonna listen to the band for a bit.”
“The band is that way.” I point toward the stage. He looks at the band over his shoulder and then back at me.
“I don’t have to see them to hear them.”
“Fine. Do whatever you want. I’m leaving.”
Naomi and Layla are sitting at the bar with a couple of guys I don’t know. I’ll text Layla once I’m in my car to let her know I’m gone. I don’t want her to worry. As I push my chair back to stand, a strong hand wraps around my wrist.
“Please, let go of my arm. I’m leaving.”
“No, stay. I’m headed out.” I look back at him, and he immediately looks away. Great. Now he’s avoiding eye contact. There are things I want to say to him, but I don’t. Because being a bitch won’t make me feel any better. It will only complicate the awkward relationship we already have. He staggers to the exit door without another look.
Chapter 11
Jack
“Open up!” I holler as I kick the screen of the back door of Fish’s warehouse. I guess, technically, it’s an art gallery, not to mention his home. But it was originally a warehouse.
“Give me a damn minute. Don’t be so loud. I just put Gemma down for a nap,” he says as he pushes open the door. “You could’ve made two trips. There’s no reason to risk damaging the art by bringing everything in at once.”
“Oh, this isn’t everything. There’s plenty more in the Jeep.”
I walk inside, and Fish directs me toward a large oblong table to the right. He helps me free my arms by carefully placing each painting on the table. After two more trips to my Jeep, all my paintings are where they belong—in an art gallery.
He said only ten, but I couldn’t help myself. What he doesn’t display, I’ll pick up before the show. I’m such a fucking rookie, but that will change. Soon.
Fish drags over another table and begins sorting through my paintings, organizing them. He smiles. He nods. Sometimes he raises his eyebrows but never says a word. It’s killing me not knowing what he’s thinking.
“Hey, this one is good.”
“No, not that one.” Shit, I didn’t mean to bring it.
“That’s the chick from Overtime—the waitress that you aren’t into. Right?”
“Yeah, Jovie.”
“She’s beautiful. So, what’s the story, and, this time, I want the truth.”
“No story, she just reminded me of someone. So, I sketched her from memory and then put on a coat of paint. It’s mostly her eyes,” I say as Fish pulls the canvas in a little closer to get a better look.
“Piper,” he whispers.
“Exactly.” I feel better now that somebody else sees it too, and I know it’s not all in my head. Sometimes it’s hard for me to remember what Piper really looked like. When I can’t remember, the guilt consumes me, and I’m taken back to that night. Every. Damn. Time.
And now, this chick has stirred up feelings inside of me I had forgotten even existed. I’m not sure what it is. But I do know it’s not something I want to explore. Because judging from my past… that shit never ends well. Just thinking about what happened the other night outside of Jake’s makes me cringe. I know I made her uncomfortable… I was drunk, and she was too damn sexy. I lost it for a minute, and that’s not something I’m willing to accept. I don’t like feeling out of control. And Jovie definitely makes me feel out of control.
“You said to only bring ten, but as you can see, I brought more. I’m kind of indecisive and figured you could choose the ones you thought had the most potential,” I say while taking Jovie’s portrait from him.
“You have a lot of good pieces. But I think I’m gonna go with the figurative art. These are great. Linen canvas—nice. Single faceless bodies dressed in clothes that portray their personalities.”
“Yeah. These are my favorites, too,” I say.
“So, what’s the theme? Loneliness?”
He looks at me over one of my paintings. I know what he’s insinuating. No, I’m not fucking lonely!
“Don’t go there, man. I appreciate everything you’re doing, but I’m not like you. Loneliness is my friend. It gives me room to breathe.”
The truth about my art may not be relevant to anybody else, but it means so much to me. It’s about loneliness to a certain extent. But mostly, it’s about all the men and women I share my art with on a daily basis. Those people come into the shop with a story to tell. A story that is so important to them that they want it told on their skin. Helping my customers search for the right design is one reason my job is so cool. Everyone has a story to tell. Whether they know it or are searching for it doesn’t matter. What’s importan
t is that they’re expressing it through art. This is true with my paintings, too. The faceless figures on the canvas appear to be lonely, but they aren’t sad. They are searching for their story—at the beach, in the mountains, on a highway, in the sky, or just sitting in a chair. Their life. Their story. It’s important to me.
“Hey, man, if the loneliness thing works for you. Then, that’s your business. But what’s important now is getting everything lined up for the showing.”
“I know. I just want to make a good impression.”
“You will. Just remember to wear a suit and bring a date. It’s all about the presentation.”
“I’ll bring Annie.” She’s not only my best friend but also my go to date.
“No, you won’t. She has a date.”
“The showing is almost a month away. How does she have a date?”
“She met one of my clients a couple of weeks ago when she was watching Gemma. He asked her, and she said yes. That simple.”
“I guess I’ll bring Ivy.”
“You’re still fucking her, aren’t you?”
I nod slightly and look away. He doesn’t approve of Ivy and my non-relationship fucking. Her twin brother, Ryker is a friend of ours and Fish knows, one day everything with Ivy is going to blow up and cost me my friendship with her brother. But I can’t worry about what might be because the here and now is so much more important.
“What am I supposed to do? She can’t keep her hands out of my pants.”
“You’re supposed to say no and walk away.”
“Have you seen her? Tell me you could say no and walk away.”
“You don’t have a problem walking away from Jovie. Didn’t we just recently have this conversation?”
“Look. That’s different. Ivy doesn’t bring back memories of my past. She doesn’t take my breath away every time I look in her eyes. Ivy rides my dick and then walks away. Until the next time. No strings, no questions, or even random texts. She’s fucking perfect.”
We load my remaining paintings into the Jeep without saying another word. I need to apologize to Fish. For my behavior today as well as for the other day at Overtime. I’ve been a real ass lately. And it all started after the night I met Jovie in Stone’s bathroom. Reason enough to stay away from her. I climb in my Jeep and start the engine. Fish taps on my window, so I roll it down. Before he has a chance to say anything, I spill my guts all over his driveway.