Scared of Beautiful

by Jacqueline Abrahams

  “My family does,” I reply and the word family grinds out of me. It’s better than saying my father. Noticing that this was a point of contention, she doesn’t continue to question why I don’t just occupy one of my father’s apartments. Instead, we start the trek into town to see what she has to offer.

  I hate the first three, and so does Jackson. None of them have windows or views of anything. In fact, the only window the first one had looked over onto another building, directly into a window wherein a middle-aged woman was strategically bent over her husband’s torso. Jackson suppressed a laugh and Cindy and I rolled our eyes, smiling.

  The fourth apartment was just a few doors down from the Clever Bean. It was a front facing top floor apartment, with bay windows in each room that overlooked the busy street below. It had two decent sized bedrooms and hardwood floors, and I was in love.

  Always being one to trust my own instincts when it came to money, Cindy, Jackson, and I headed back to her office to sign the paperwork. “Can I move in soon?” I ask her excitedly, after completing the paperwork and funds transfer.

  “I really shouldn’t allow it until the funds clear, which will be Tuesday,” she answers regretfully. I’d be treading carefully, too if I had just made the amount of commission she had for two hour’s worth of work.

  I think of spending the next three days with Morgan in the bed next to me and cringe.

  “It’s okay,” I smile.

  After hitting a few furniture and appliance stores to buy some essentials and have them delivered on Tuesday, Jackson and I make our way back to the campus. He’s been rather quiet since we left Cindy. I notice his hand wringing the steering wheel periodically as he stares at the road ahead.

  “Wanna share?” I ask, almost scared of what I’d hear. Maybe he does think I’m some spoiled rich girl. Maybe his opinion of me has changed. Before he can answer, I interject. “I should have told you I had that kind of money, since we said no secrets. It’s just, it’s not that important to me. Honestly, I invest it and forget about it.”

  Jackson lays a hand over mine. “Why would that bother me?” he asks looking at me.

  I breathe a sigh of relief, which is short lived. If that’s not it, then what?

  “I was thinking of asking, maybe seeing if you wanted to come down to Atlanta with me. See Jade. I was going in a few weeks anyway to see my folks, but now you need to get away ‘til Tuesday…” Jackson speaks apprehensively as if he’s not sure that he really wants this. “Shana and Daniella will probably be there, too. It’s bizarre, but I feel like I need you with me to face that.”

  Shit! What the hell am I supposed to say? Saying no makes me look unsupportive, after his last comment. But do I really want to land myself in the middle of the shit fight that will probably ensue? Am I really ready to meet families? To be honest, after only recently emancipating myself from my own family, did I really want to get anywhere near another? My stomach knots but before my brain has a chance to derive a good excuse, the word ‘sure’ rambles out of my mouth. Holy freaking hell! What did I just do? Jackson loosens his grip on the steering wheel and his shoulders visibly relax as the tension in them releases. After dropping me at my dorm to pack a few things, Jackson heads off to do the same at his. I book two business class flights to Atlanta, before shutting my laptop and leaving to meet him.

  We arrive at the airport just as twilight breaks. The chill in the air only adds to the nervous tension in my stomach. Jackson pulls out his wallet as we approach the counter to book the flights.

  “Oh, wait. I took care of it,” I say, handing the clerk the credit card I used for the booking.

  Jackson’s averts his gaze across the terminal and grows quiet.

  “What?” I ask as we make our way to the boarding gate.

  “Maia,” he sighs, not meeting my eyes. “I don’t need charity from you, or anyone for that matter. I invited you to come with me and I told you that I would take care of the tickets.”

  “I…I just figured…” I stumble for an explanation.

  “Figured what? That I couldn’t afford it?” Jackson looks well and truly pissed off, and it’s a look that I’m not used to on him.

  Tears sting my eyes as a nervous knot rises in my throat. He looks towards me and his face softens. “It’s fine, okay,” he says wrapping an arm around my waist. “Thank you. Just next time, can you at least talk to me about these things first?” I blink back the tears and nod solemnly. Ever since I was a child I’d learned to avoid conflict, and my automatic mental reflexes made a note to never do that again.

  Chapter 14

  Jackson

  I probably shouldn’t have been so hard on Maia. She was only trying to help. Still, something about the way she just assumed that she should handle it pissed me off. The hurt in her eyes immediately made me regret my anger. She didn’t have to come with me. And Lord knows I replayed in my mind a hundred times whether this was a good idea or not. My folks would love her. But what was I dragging her into, with Jade and Shana? She’s not built for drama. That’s obvious. She’s already experienced enough of it in her life at home.

  Our flight is the red eye, which means it’s empty, and late. Maia and I are the only two passengers in Business class, along with a handful of people in economy. After serving us drinks, the flight attendants all exit to their seats midway through the airplane, to presumably take a nap. Maia changed into a black skirt and almost knee high wedge-heeled boots at the dorm, and they’ve been driving me crazy ever since I saw her walk out the building.

  She seems really into the rom com playing on the screen in front of her, but there is no way in hell I’m letting this pass. Hell, I’ll rent her the fucking DVD when we get to Atlanta! Trying to be slick, I casually place a hand on her thigh. She observes me cheekily, with a mischievous glint in her eye. Guess she wasn’t so into that movie after all.

  Without warning, she places her hand over mine and guides it up her skirt, straight towards the Promised Land. I twist into Maia, and her lips crash into mine as my hand finds its mark. Last night we took our time, free from interruption. Tonight, this is urgent. Maybe it’s the idea that at any moment someone would walk down the aisle and catch us? Her right hand unbuttons my jeans and her fingers wrap firmly around my shaft. Her hand glides up and down, to the same frequency of my fingers sliding in and out. My lips latch onto her neck, and she stifles a moan, arching her back in response. We’re both so close. Then suddenly she yanks her hand away and stands up motioning for me to follow her. I know what she’s thinking. I don’t even bother to button up my jeans.

  Maia closes us in the airplane cubicle and turns her back to me, resting her palms on the sink in front. Her ass juts out invitingly, and for a split second I really can’t think straight enough to remember what to do next. Then it hits me, and I hitch her skirt up over her waist, pulling her G-string to the side. Within seconds, I slide into her. Jesus, she feels even tighter than she did yesterday in this position. Is that even possible? Thank god this is meant to be a quickie. She backs her ass into me, harder with each thrust. The mirror in front provides me with a full view of her face, and I see her in all her glory, eyes closed, trying to stifle back cries. Her back arches in response to me. I wish I could tell her to scream; just scream, baby. I lean my chest into her back. My eyes are glued to the mirror. Seeing her reaction to me is so fucking hot.

  “Fuck, Maia.” The words escape my lips in barely a whisper as she leans back to grip my thighs and pulls me deeper into her, just as I feel her come. And as I join that party, I could swear that my whole fucking body has just imploded.

  The mirror in the small cubicle is now completely fogged up, and the humidity in here is at an all-time high. Maia and I dress breathlessly and quickly and exit the stall. Thankfully, no one has ventured through the cabin; at least none that we can see.

  Maia’s face is flushed. “You are truly a gift from God,” I whisper as we settle back into our seats.

  “I aim to please,” s
he replies coyly.

  “You do realize that we are now officially members of the mile high club?” I joke.

  “What, you weren’t one before?” she asks innocently, trying to make light of it, but her eyes tell me that my man whore reputation concern her a little.

  “Nope, you’re my first,” I reply reassuringly. And last, I want to add, but I think it’s a bit too soon for declarations like that one. Maia curls into the crook of my arm and falls asleep for the rest of the flight.

  I stay awake, trying to prepare myself mentally for what I am about to deal with. My mind plays through so many stupid scenarios; ranging from me, upon seeing Daniella, channeling Star Wars and blurting out ‘I am your father’, to turning and running in the opposite direction. Maia’s steady breathing is like a metronome, consistent and calming. I’ll be fine, we’ll be fine, and everything will be fine. Then why the fuck could I not shake the uneasy feeling in my stomach?

  I asked my friend Emmanuel to pick us up from the airport, which I suspect might be a bad idea for two reasons. First, because Emmanuel is rough as hell, and secondly, he was my partner in crime while I was whoring my way through the state of Georgia. Still, he’s a good guy. I’m not sure how Maia will react when she meets him though.

  As we walk out of the gate into the main terminal, Maia’s fingers intertwine through mine. The airport is deserted, given the early morning hour. That’s why when I see Emmanuel, leaning against the wall alone, he looks even more terrifying than he usually does. He is six foot five, built like a Mack truck, with ebony skin and an army-style crew cut. His tendency to wear his shirts a little too tight accentuates his huge biceps, and unless he was around friends, Emmanuel wore a scowl that promised to cut a person if he looked at him wrong. I’m not even gonna try and say he’s a gentle giant. I would be lying; he is really street as shit.

  “Jay!” Emmanuel walks over to us with his usual swag.

  Shit. I realize too late that I hadn’t debriefed Maia on him yet. Well, let’s just pray for the best. Emmanuel locks me in a quick hug after a fist bump. His eyes fall down to Maia’s and my linked hands. Oh hell, here we go.

  “And who might this be? Honestly Jay, only you could manage to find a piece on a nearly empty plane in the middle of the night. And she’s quite fine.”

  Emmanuel eyed her up and down and as he rubbed his chin. I feel Maia’s finger close around mine and she moves behind me ever so slightly. We’ve been friends for a short while but my anger sparks, and I want to knock him out. I won’t, because I know he’s packing. I’m also not stupid. “This is Maia, my girlfriend,” I say, not bothering to hide my irritation.

  Emmanuel raises his arms in surrender. “My bad, no disrespect intended Maia. Nice to meet you.” Emmanuel’s pupils are so dilated that I doubt he’ll even remember this in the morning. I know he’s always high, but I’m more than a little pissed that that’s how he drove here to pick us up.

  “Hey,” Maia smiles sweetly. Always a lady.

  Emmanuel’s modified black Range with its twenty inch spinners is hard to miss in the parking lot. It appears clean on the outside, but the inside tells a different story. The floor is barely visible with all the empty Gatorade and beer bottles, various items of clothing, some of which belong to women, and condom wrappers. I pray to god that the actual condoms themselves have been discarded. The smell of sex blended with weed has permanently become absorbed into the seats. Maia looks green, as though she may vomit in her mouth.

  “Where are my manners?” Emmanuel says, before pushing the button on the remote to activate the hydraulics and lower the SUV lower to the ground. Maia climbs in the back, careful not to touch a single thing. I throw the bags in the trunk and climb in next to Emmanuel. I’m sure next time Maia will insist on paying for a cab, and who could blame her? That is, providing there will be a next time, after this trip.

  Chapter 15

  Maia

  If I weren’t still slightly euphoric from my encounter with Jackson on the airplane, this ride would have been some really scary shit. Emmanuel reminded me a little of Mr. T from the A Team, except that he had a slightly more pleasant face. He was scary and abrasive, and besides that, the bastard called me a whore! Well, not in so many words. I’m beginning to wonder just how deep in this world Jackson was. This guy is not a player. This guy is a thug. This guy doesn’t look like the type that accepts ‘no’ from a woman. Ever. This guy scares the shit out of me, but still, I am the girlfriend. I smile to myself.

  In the front seat, Emmanuel talks nonstop, filling Jackson in on what had happened since he saw him last, which has been all of two weeks. Apparently someone got someone else’s girl pregnant, and another one of their friends was locked up for what Emmanuel called ‘nothing major, just sexual assault.’ I tune out, staring out at the long road ahead, until I hear Emmanuel mention Shana.

  Jackson was clearly indifferent to almost everything Emmanuel said, but his shoulders tense at the name. I know I should just ignore it, but my ears prick.

  “She’s still hot as hell,” Emmanuel says whistling. “Even after the kid and shit.”

  And shit?

  “Doesn’t matter,” Jackson shrugs. “I’m here with Maia. I have no interest in Shana.”

  “Old habits die hard, bro. When you see that ass…”

  That’s it. I may have issues with confrontation, but this shit is absolutely ridiculous. I clear my throat loudly.

  Jackson shuffles uncomfortably in his seat, but it’s Emmanuel who responds. “Don’t worry baby, it seems the boy here only has eyes for you. Wow, to have Jackson sprung, you must have dynamite in your…”

  I open my mouth to interrupt, but Jackson beats me to it. “Stop the car, Emmanuel.” Jackson’s jaw is tense.

  “What? We’re still ten miles away,” Emmanuel says, honestly shocked by Jackson’s request.

  Is he serious? Really? Has he no clue that what he said in front of me was offensive? “I said stop the car.” Jackson’s voice is low.

  “Whatever man!” He yells, swerving the SUV to the side of the road. “You’re looking to get shot at this time of the night, on this road,” he continues. Jackson opens the back and grabs our bags, silently. Emmanuel pulls off in a fury, throwing up gravel and sand in his wake.

  “Jackson…” I start, gently placing a hand on his arm. He shrugs me off and walks away to call a cab. What the hell? What’s his problem? I guess maybe he just needs some space.

  After a few minutes, Jackson walks over and wraps his arms around me, pulling me into a fierce hug. “This is not a side of me that I ever wanted you to see. Am I really like Emmanuel, Maia?” Jackson asks me, his voice sounding helpless.

  “No!” I reply fiercely. “You were obviously hurting and upset. That’s your past. That’s not the Jackson I know and love.” The words fly out of my mouth before my brain has processed them. In the pitch black of a deserted stretch of highway, I have just told my newly labeled boyfriend, whom I met less than two weeks ago that I love him, on our way to visiting his parents, ex-girlfriend and their child.

  Jackson lifts my chin and brings both hands up to cup my face. “I think there is a very strong probability that I may be in love with you too.” Jackson looks at me endearingly. A wave of relief washes over me. Jackson’s eyes meet mine and the world stands still. As he brings his lips to mine, the headlights of the cab illuminate us. “Good timing, asshole,” Jackson groans.

  Pulling up to Jackson’s house, I can see why he’s so humble. The house is small and quaint. It’s a clad and wood cottage, with a red tiled roof and a sweet country garden lining both sides of the wraparound porch. A weathered love swing sits to the right of the red front door. Jackson apologized profusely in the cab for not saying something to stop Emmanuel’s assholish behavior, but explained that they have history, and contrary to what I saw, he’s actually a good friend.

  The lights along the porch are lit. We make our way quietly through the front door and down the narrow hallway to a room
at the back of the house. I expect Jackson’s old room to be plastered with bikini models, or worse. But apart from a few framed vintage car posters, the walls are a crisp white with black curtains and timber blinds. The linen is also white, and it feels way too clinical and clean to belong to a male. We curl up together on his bed, clothes and all, bodies pressed against each other. Jackson’s steady breathing eventually lulls me to sleep.

  After the energy we expended on the plane, and the frustration we released after the situation with Emmanuel, Jackson and I sleep well into the morning. I wake up to what the New Yorker in me feels is unseasonably warm fall weather. The bed is sans Jackson, and I immediately feel nervous at the thought of walking around a strange house alone. Just as I’m contemplating staying put for the foreseeable future, Jackson walks in with just his jeans perched low on his hips, and a mug of coffee.

  “My hero,” I say reaching for the cup. “You always seem to bring me coffee. How did you know I need it to wake up properly?’ I ask.

  “Morning, beautiful,” he replies moving the cup away from my lips and replacing it with a delicious kiss. “Elementary, sweet Maia,” he grins. “I noticed that you were a bit fiery in the mornings, until you had a coffee, and then you seemed to cheer up. Logical.”

  “Ever consider that maybe I cheered up because I was having coffee with you?” I tease. “Not that I would ever admit to that….”

  Jackson takes the coffee cup out of my hand and places it on the nightstand before laying back and pulling me on top of him. “So, what you’re saying is…I make you happy?” he says, sweeping my hair behind my ear.

  “You do,” I reply honestly. His mouth meets mine in a series of soft kisses, which threaten to evolve quickly into something much more. I push myself up and grab the mug.

  I change quickly. Given the haphazardness of our decision to come to Atlanta, my clothing choices are limited by what I had time to pack. Jeans and a tank, or jeans and a sweater.