Maia directs me through the city and out to Cedar Beach, to a quiet seafood place on the wharf. I try to put on a brave face against the pain, but my hand hurts like a motherfucker, and I’m quite sure that at the very least I fractured something. Maia keeps glancing over at me hesitantly, as if she’s waiting for me to ask her about what happened today. I gather that the worthless bastard was her kind-of father, and I presume that the greasy looking fool on the street was her ex and his new, um, pet. She’s not overly close to her mother, but has a lot of respect for her Aunt Megs, who, judging by her dark complexion, is not a real aunt. That’s all I got. For that whole eight hours. But I don’t think I’ll push it, she’ll talk when she wants to.
Being that I’m driving, I opt for a light beer, and Maia orders an expensive scotch and dry. I took her for a long stemmed wine glass kind of chick, but scotch? Kind of gangster, I have to say. I smile at how the little things she does impress me. We order a seafood platter and take in the candlelit ambience of the small restaurant. The muted candlelight hits her face just right, making her eyes glow almost iridescently. The best thing about Maia is that she has absolutely no idea how fucking hot she is, how as she looks up at me expectantly, half her face is hidden behind a curtain of long, dark hair. My mind trails off in various directions, imagining the obscene things we could do on this table, if we were alone. My jeans pull with the rising pressure the thought is causing me. Thank fuck for long tablecloths.
“Jackson,” Maia’s voice breaks through the imagery.
“What, um yeah?”
Her brow pulls together. “Sure you didn’t hit your head?” she teases.
“Nah, I’m good,” I say taking a swig of my beer. It’s suddenly fucking hot in here.
“So, I should probably give you a bit of background about today,” Maia says, very reluctantly.
“Maia, don’t feel like you have to, I don’t wanna hear anything you don’t wanna tell me,” I reassure her, because it seems fitting.
“No, I do want to tell you. I need to tell you,” she looks at me determinedly, as though she’s just decided to run a marathon. I reach across the table and cover her hands with mine. “So, the asshole you punched was my, well, apparently now not, my father. He’s a millionaire, a control freak, and a sadistic prick. He made my mother’s life hell. And practically ignored me, unless we were in the public eye. My mother decided to leave him, and I’d say given the hooker and the booze, he’s not taking it so well. Only he doesn’t give a flying fuck about her, just about losing control.” Maia takes a long swig of her whisky, polishing off the remnants in the glass, and signals the waiter for another.
“And the asshole you met on the street, that’s Bryce. Ex-boyfriend, one of Manhattan’s most eligible bachelors and an absolute pig!” Maia takes another swig of her whiskey and I reach for the glass.
“I’m not trying to be your parent here, but slow down princess. You need to eat before you go knocking back the hard stuff like that.” Fuck me, I do sound like a responsible parent.
“The chick with him was Morgan, ex-best friend and yes, you guessed it, an absolute slut,” she continues. I’m extremely grateful when the seafood platter arrives at the table because I was seriously preparing mentally to carry Maia to the car and hold her head over a toilet bowl all night. “So,” she says between picking at the tower, “Morgan hooked up with Bryce two days after I dumped him, and she’s foul because of what he did.” Maia’s tipsy already. Wow, she’s a really cheap drunk. Not that I would take advantage of that, but still, wow! She’s holding up a tempura prawn as she asks, “Aren’t you going to ask why he’s a pig, what he did?”
I had assumed that his first impression said it all. He looked like one of those dudes that didn’t really need to do anything and would still be considered a major dick. The hurt in her eyes is genuine. I move the platter away and simply say, “No.” She looks up startled. “I mean, unless it has something to do with you, then I’m really not going to waste my time and yours talking about him,” I explain.
“It does,” she replies. “Can we go? I just want to walk for a while.”
I go to pull out my wallet to pay the bill, but Maia’s already handed the waitress a black American Express card. My male pride suffers a little at the gesture, but given the circumstances, and the fact that the action seemed so automatic for Maia, I let it pass. With the exception of a few lonely fishermen on the wharf and adjoining piers, Maia and I have the wharf to ourselves. We find a bench close to the edge of one of the piers and Maia curls up in my arms. She seems so fragile now, so in need of protection, but when she stood in front of her father, she held his stare. Didn’t lose it. I know he hurt her when he grabbed her arm, but she forced back the majority of her pain. My blood boils when I recall that, and truthfully, the only reason I didn’t smash his face into a million small pieces was because of her, because this was still Maia’s family after all. I make a silent promise to willfully destroy the next person who makes her feel that way.
The black ocean stretches out for miles ahead of us. “So, why do I hate Bryce, aside from the obvious?” I ask.
“You mean other than him being a fucking waste of oxygen,” she replies passionately. Maia is really fucking sexy when’s she’s mad. Long as she’s not mad at me.
She recounts the story of how their families orchestrated dinners and weekend getaways in the hopes that they’d hook up. ‘Good publicity’ she called it. They finally did. When she was sixteen, they dated for a year. Maia pauses before the rest and takes a long sigh. She tells me that his friends must have been pressuring him to ‘just fuck her already’ and clearly gave him some shit about it. Until one night, after a particularly trying evening with her father, he suggested they go out for a few drinks. One club turned into two, then three. I have a feeling I know how this story ends. A lot of chicks back home don’t remember losing their virginity. I’m about to reassure Maia that she doesn’t need to go on, but she does. She tells me that she wasn’t drinking much, two champagnes at most, but after the second one she didn’t feel right, so asked Bryce to take her home. Only he didn’t, and the next day she woke up in his bed. Remembering nothing. Bryce swore that she was too drunk to remember anything. That she wanted it. Morgan, her so-called best friend, corroborated Bryce’s story.
I personally have this desire to slam Bryce’s pretty little face right into a fucking concrete wall. But at least I get why she’s so detached and hesitant to trust another guy. Fuck, I would be too, if every person I’d ever gotten close to in my life thus far was such a complete and utter fucking asshole. To make matters worse, I really feel like I should say something now. But my male brain has no idea how to process this. Other than testosterone fuelled rage.
“So you think he slipped something into your drink?” I ask.
She nods, “I’m almost sure of it. He took selfies on his phone of the night, as show and tell at the next tennis game. Morgan showed me one, and I didn’t even look conscious. Morgan told me to let it go, said that if my father knew I was planning a smear campaign against Bryce, he’d never forgive me. It would be social suicide. So I dumped him, and within days he and Morgan were an item.”
I hold her shoulders and turn her towards me. “Maia, you need to stop wasting your time thinking about them. Don’t make them fucking important in your life by thinking about them. Concentrate on this.” I pull her firmly into me and find her mouth with mine. Even broken like she was today, Maia is fucking amazing. And I plan on letting her know that every day until she tells me not to. Her hands slip under my shirt as the kiss deepens. To my absolute surprise, she places her free hand square in my lap. I move her hair aside and trail a series of kisses down her neck. She throws her head back and a small groan escapes her lips. Her nails dig into my back and it feels fucking crazy. Her hands cup my crotch and the stitching on my jeans threatens to give way under the strain. “Maia,” I breathe, just before our mouths crash together again. Fuck me, there is nothing I want more
than to rip both of our jeans off! I couldn’t care less that we’re on a wharf, hell, there could be a whole goddamn carnival surrounding us and I don’t think I’d give a shit. That’s why it damn near kills me when I pull back.
Maia looks at me questioningly, her breathing still ragged. “First of let me start by saying that I cannot believe I’m about to say this, but we have to stop,” I say as convincingly as I can manage. I adjust my jeans, but right now there’s no comfort to be had in them. As she averts her gaze to the crashing waves of the midnight tide, I try to read her facial expressions. It’s cloudy, and doesn’t help that she says nothing. “Maia,” I say gently.
She looks away into the black depths of the ocean sky and when she turns back to face me, her eyes are distant. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear that she built an entire emotional wall around herself in those five seconds when her eyes left mine. “You’re right,” she offers me a small plastic smile before standing and starting back towards the car.
Chapter 11
Maia
What the hell am I doing? Jackson’s behaving like a perfect gentleman, and I’m seriously pissed about that. A disturbing thought causes my skin to crawl. The whore in my father’s penthouse. Was I that whore? Was I really that chick? What the hell am I doing? The ride home from the wharf is excruciating with the silence that blankets us. I let Jackson drive. He stares tentatively ahead, and a few times I think he may say something, but the words don’t eventuate. Not until we arrive back at the campus.
“Maia, are you really going to give me the silent treatment for being a gentleman?” he asks, with a little more annoyance than I expected.
I really and truly don’t know what the next words out of my mouth are supposed to be. Did I lead him on? Yes. Was I really going to have sex with someone I had only known for a few days on a bench at a public wharf? Yes. Was I pissed off that he shut me down? Yes. Was he really just being a gentleman? Yes.
“Jackson, what do you want me to say? I don’t know how to deal with many things, and today was a shit day overall, except for the parts I spent with you. And in truth, I probably had a little too much to drink.” Unfortunately the wharf’s events had well and truly sobered me up. I look up at him hoping that he understands what a complicated chick he managed to get tied up with.
His eyes soften slightly, but overall he still looks relatively pissed off. “Look Maia, I really want to get to know you, I really do. Today’s complications are one thing. That drama I don’t mind, being there for you felt right. But I’m not here to play games, not with you or anybody, no matter how amazing you are. Everybody goes through their shit, but if every time you do, or I give you an opinion, you freeze me out, this is going nowhere fast.”
He takes my hand in his, and god I love how rough they feel. My eyes sting with tears, and I look up, struggling to keep them from breaking free. “Is it bad to say that I don’t trust you?” I ask quietly.
“Old habits die hard I think.” Jackson lifts my chin to meet my gaze. “No, I always prefer the truth. But if you’re not going to bother giving me a chance to earn your trust, tell me now. At least then I can try to walk away. Before this gets deeper than it already is.”
Jackson’s words are soft, but they are loaded with meaning. We both have trust issues. Both well warranted, I’m sure. I’m not good with words, or exposing my feelings to anyone. My defense mechanisms started building themselves when I was a toddler. But I owe this to myself. So I don’t even try to explain what I feel. Instead, I wrap my arms around Jackson’s neck and lean into him. Our lips meet in the softest, most earth shattering kiss imaginable. His hands cup my face gently as the sweet and heated kiss raises the car’s temperature. He grins at me cockily as we finally separate. “You are an unbelievable contradiction, you know that? So chaste, yet so very loaded at the same time.”
I throw my head back and scoff. “Loaded? Umm, that would be you.” I allow my eyes to sweep across his jeans coyly.
“You’re right. Get out so I can walk you up. I have a date with a cold shower to get to,” he huffs exaggeratedly.
“Hey, you said no!” I mock. “Regret that much?”
“No,” he says, turning serious. “I don’t plan on screwing this up.”
Jackson walks me up to my dorm room and our supposedly innocent goodnight kiss ends up with me once again pressed against the hallway wall, with him holding my arms up above my head and not even a millimeter of space between us.
Thankfully we said our goodbyes in the hall, because upon entering my dorm, I notice Jade is out for the night. She didn’t text to mention anything to about a date. I grab my phone and send a brief message.
Hey. Just me. Where are you?
I take a quick shower, irritated that cleanliness requires me to wash the scent of Jackson’s cologne off of my skin. No message from Jade when I get back. I close my eyes and block out the day’s events from my mind, save for the kiss in the car, and with the memory of Jackson’s lips on mine, I have the best night’s sleep I’ve had in a long time. Not one nightmare.
The next morning, an overcast sky greets me from the window. Glancing over, Jade’s bed is still empty. I check my phone, and still no texts. Surprisingly I’m awake early, and after carefully dressing in a cream cashmere V-neck jersey and my favorite weathered jeans, I make my way to Art History. As I walk over to the Art Building, I dial Jackson.
“Morning, beautiful.” He sounds like he’s just woken up and my mind reverts back to him in low riding grey sweatpants with no shirt, laying across my bed. “Maia?”
Shit! “Oh hey, yeah I’m here. Morning to you, too. Sleep well?”
“Mmmhmm. I did a few things in my dreams that I’m quite impressed with, actually. After my cold shower of course,” Jackson answers lowly.
“And which harlot found her way into your dreams?” I respond cheekily.
“Her name’s Maia. Forceful chick. Always trying to jump me. Know her?” he retorts laughing. I wish he were here so I could throw something at him!
“Anyway, have you heard from Jade? She stayed out last night and didn’t reply my text.”
“Nah, not since the Bean yesterday. She probably had a date,” Jackson answers. “Speaking of dates, do you have any time today between classes? I’m free all afternoon and I was hoping you are too,” he continues.
“Sure, I’m free from three. I’ll meet you outside the library?” Seriously, three ‘o clock might as well be half a century away. I can’t wait to wrap my arms around Jackson.
Seems like my new love life and almost-sex life do wonders for my GPA. I actually actively participated in most of my classes. All except the Art History class, where my professor went to great lengths to describe how the genitalia may have looked in the Birth of Venus, as compared to Michelangelo’s David’s parts. This would have been fine, if he weren’t so naturally creepy, and didn’t turn beet red every time he even alluded to said genitalia. Just awkward.
By the time three ‘o clock came and I made my way to the library, the wind was blowing a gale, whipping my hair into my face. The offending hair blocked my sight for a brief moment as I went to climb the stairs and I felt myself lose balance. Until a set of strong arms, with a familiar-scented cologne, caught my fall.
“My hero,” I grin, looking up at Jackson’s smiling face.
“Hey beautiful,” Jackson replies, wrapping his arms firmly around my waist.
He plants a smoldering kiss on my lips, and for a brief second my body flushes from the inside out and I feel like I’m falling all over again. The connection between us in undeniable, and so is the sexual chemistry. It’s almost electric, and I know that it’s only a matter of time before I end up with my thighs wrapped firmly around Jackson’s waist, both of us clothing deficient, of course.
“How about a change of scene? I thought maybe we could take a ride to NYC for dinner?” Jackson asks.
“Um, I’m not really dressed for the big city,” I admonish, gesturing towards my worn
jeans. “How bout a movie and dinner in Providence?” Truthfully, I really don’t want to risk running into any remnants of my past. But I don’t admit that.
“Sure,” Jackson shrugs as we walk down the stairs towards the parking lot.
It’s easy to be like this with Jackson; he’s easy. No stress, no drama, no control. Just Jackson. My mind does a quick flashback to my father, or not father as it were, and to Bryce and all of their manipulation. I push them out of my mind quickly before they can invade my thoughts.
We cross through the park and I spot a familiar silhouette in the distance. Those squared off shoulders and almost anally straight posture. Bryce. Funny, I always thought he walked like he had a pole shoved up his ass. Now I’m certain. As he approaches us, I pray to God for invisibility right about now. Sadly that does not come to fruition, and Bryce’s face forms a sickening smile when he sees us. My hand automatically reaches for Jacksons. Bryce glances at it momentarily before hissing out my name like the snake he is.
“Maia. So nice to run into you,” he says, completely ignoring Jackson’s presence.
“If only the feeling were mutual,” I deadpan. “What are you doing here?”
“Right now?” he grins. “Just getting Morgan’s books. She’s here for late enrolment in advertising.”
Morgan at Brown? Now there’s a contradiction. The only 4.0 GPA that Morgan has ever possessed is in backstabbing, and how to be a social opportunist. “I guess her daddy’s money does a good job of buying brains too,” I retort sarcastically. Jackson squeezes my fingers lightly, as if telling me not to bite.
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