The Second Jam

by Lila Felix

  I let out a breath. “Hey, don’t sweat it.” He’d grabbed my hand and my breath was held once again. When he leaned over, his shirt stretched out across his chest. He wasn’t too muscly, but he was buff enough to make it stretch. His hands were hot and rough, calloused like my dad’s. “Don’t tiptoe around me. I’ll ask you if I need help.”

  Cyrus ended up picking Leap Year, which was one of my favorites. I put my paperwork aside and pulled my legs up under me and grabbed a blanket from the back of the couch. “Give me your feet.” He said, patting the tops of his thighs.

  “No way, I’ll fall asleep.”

  “No you won’t. If I remember correctly, this one is pretty funny.”

  I sighed. It didn’t take much convincing.

  We watched for about a half an hour before I missed his voice—half an hour.

  “They never dated. This whole movie, there’s not one date.”

  He stopped rubbing my feet and I regretted talking at all.

  “Do they need to date to know they have something real?”

  “I guess not. Dating is underrated. People don’t date anymore.”

  He didn’t move his focus from the screen, but I knew from the way he was churning his jaw that he was thinking about it.

  Come on Cyrus. Think about it. Think really, really hard about it.

  “How do you know if someone wants to date you?”

  The conversation was going exactly where I wanted it to.

  “They bring up the subject during a random movie and let you rub their feet.”

  Before I knew it, I was next to him. He’d pulled my feet and made me slide the length of the couch landing where I was face to face with all that bearded glory.

  “You would date someone like me?”

  Oh good grief. “Cyrus, you’re not a sasquatch. Of course I would.”

  “Even with—I mean—I can’t read.”

  “You said you’d stop saying that.”

  “Fine. I’m a—slow—reader.”

  He was nervous. I usually cringed when he got nervous, but him getting nervous around me like this was a turn on. He showed me his bruises.

  “I like you for your heart, Cyrus. You let me be myself. You’re not trying to change me or fit me into some mold. You’re content to stand by me instead of insisting on holding me up.”

  “You don’t need anyone to hold you up.”

  “Exactly.”

  He was still holding onto me. His strength could be felt in the way his fingertips delved deep into my muscles. I loved that. There was no need in pushing him. Just like his reading, he would do it when he was good and ready—and not until.

  I was going to come unglued if he didn’t stop looking at my lips.

  “Will you go out with me?”

  I hardly heard the words over the pounding of my heart in my head. Plus, my eyes were on his, which were still on my lips, even as he asked me the question.

  “I thought you’d never ask.”

  “When? I know you’re crazy busy.”

  “Friday night. We’re not having the team dinner. It was cancelled. I forget why. Where are we going?”

  One of his hands left my hips and threaded into my hair, and moved from scalp to the tips. “I’ve been waiting to get my hands on your hair.”

  I giggled—giggled. The boy made me giggle.

  “You didn’t answer the question.”

  “Oh, well, it’s a surprise. You’ll need to wear a dress.”

  I got closer to him. He smelled like grass and sweat—the good kind. His hand was still in my hair and I took the chance on getting what I wanted while we were so close.

  My hand on his beard.

  He chuckled again, but this time I really felt it.

  “What makes you think I have a dress, Cyrus Black?”

  “All girls have a dress, whether they like them or not, hiding in the closet, the dress that fits them like a glove—they just couldn’t pass it up. I bet you’re no exception.”

  I had one of those but he was smug enough without letting him know how close he was to the truth.

  “You’ll have to find out.”

  He didn’t let me go. The intensity of his stare was burning me alive.

  So, naturally, I changed the subject.

  “How come you don’t have tattoos? All of your people have tattoos.”

  Especially the Falcon one. He had more tattoos than I’d ever seen.

  “My people?”

  Though physically he’d made no move away from me, I felt the distance.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  “Yeah, you know, um, mechanics. The ones I know have tons of tattoos.”

  “I have plenty of tattoos. You just can’t see them. It’s hard enough for me to get a job without adding to their reasons not to hire me. What about you? Don’t roller derby girls have tats?”

  “I have three. But they are nowhere that can be seen. Even in my derby shorts.”

  We both turned to see the awkward moment happening on screen.

  “I love those shorts.”

  “How did you know I’d gotten hurt? Were you at the bout?”

  “I go from time to time. I’ve seen you before.”

  “You have?”

  He shrugged. “I’ll tell you all the things I know about roller derby one day.”

  “Deal.”

  We watched movies for hours on end. I managed to stay awake the whole time. Cyrus expected nothing from me. When I was with him I didn’t feel the pressure. My chest didn’t stay tangled. My head didn’t hurt. I could be me and not a slave to my to-do list that never ended.

  “I’d better go. I’ve got work tomorrow and you probably have a million things to do.”

  “My list never ends except when I’m with you.” I looked at the ground and blushed again. I was so free with him that if I wasn’t careful, I’d tell him everything in one sitting—pull a Scout Black.

  “Consider me your personal vacation. Goodnight, Beatriz.”

  We both stood on opposite sides of the doorway. His back was turned to me, but he made no move to leave. I quelled an urge to ask him to stay.

  He turned around and pinned me with a look I’d always dreamed of being the target of. He braced his well-toned arms on either side of the threshold and I felt caged in. The heat of his stare coiled around my chest, making me shiver.

  “You’re cold. Get back inside.”

  Neither of us made a move to end the moment.

  “I’m not cold.”

  He shook his head. “I won’t kiss you until I’ve taken you on a date. It’s not what we do.”

  I knew what he meant by ‘we’ this time. The Blacks had a reputation. They were all drop dead gorgeous. They all treated their women like queens. They had manners that would make any Southern lady blush.

  “Who said I wanted you to kiss me?”

  “Oh, honey, your face says it all.” He leaned forward and placed a longer than necessary kiss on my forehead. “See you Wednesday night. We have a study appointment.”

  “See you then.”

  “Did he see me?” As soon as she could, Scout cornered me in the locker room.

  “Did who see you where?”

  As smart as Scout was, it was easy to get her off on another tangent like saying something off on purpose so she would correct my grammar.

  “Did Cyrus Black see me at the hospital?”

  “I didn’t ask him.”

  “What?” She screamed the question at me.

  “You told me that you didn’t need to know. All you needed to know was that he was okay. He’s okay. Just let me work my magic on the rest.”

  She sat next to me on the bench. She never washed her pads and the funk she carried around with her was like that kid from Peanuts who had a cloud of dirt around him—except hers was a cloud of derby sweat.

  “Uncle Owen says he went to see him.”

  That got my attention. Cyrus hadn’t said that he went to see his dad. Then again, we di
dn’t talk about his family. I knew why, but it still bothered me.

  “That’s progress, right?”

  She giggled. “He went to see Uncle Owen because of you. At least, that’s the gossip. My uncles gossip worse than women.”

  My heart fluttered in my chest. Why would he go to see his dad about me?

  “Was something wrong?”

  That was my first instinct. I’d said something so stupid that Cyrus had to seek counsel from his father.

  “No. Apparently, my best friend is kind of in love with you.”

  “I see how it is.” Zuri’s voice echoed in the small space. “You’ve got Cipro in love with you and you didn’t even tell me.” She was joking with a tinge of truth.

  “How was I supposed to tell you something I didn’t even know? And his name is Cyrus.”

  “Zuri, Cipro is a kind of antibiotic. Bea, you don’t like him?” Scout’s worried voice whispered.

  What I didn’t like was everyone in my business. No one cared when Peter was leading me around by a leash, but all of the sudden they cared that I was dating Cyrus or almost dating Cyrus.

  “I don’t know yet. I mean, I like him. We are kind of sort of dating.”

  “He looks like he’s homeless.”

  Anger swelled in my chest. Zuri was cutting it close.

  “Maybe that’s the kind I like—homeless. It’s better than a rich guy who tells me what to say and what to do and how to dress so I can be the perfect trophy on his arm.”

  My best friend lost all the color in her face. There was only one guy that I was referring to. I’d dated him for years and even before that it was a known fact that my parents wanted us together.

  Which is the only reason why I’d stayed with him for so long.

  The room fell quiet. “Look. He’s very sweet and he’s nice to me. He doesn’t criticize my every move. Can we just not make a big deal out of this until something happens? At least until after the first date?”

  Silence was my answer.

  Zuri grabbed her bag and left after pecking me on the cheek and Scout was taking her time leaving on purpose.

  “I’m worried about Cyrus in this, not you. Just for the record. There’s things about him you don’t’ know.”

  My bitch reputation proceeded me.

  “He’s a big boy, Scout. He’s handling his shit just fine.”

  “See you Saturday.” She moped out. I was harsher than I should’ve been, but Cyrus was an adult now. And part of his issue was his family burying his problem instead of meeting it head-on.

  Instead of going home, I decided to stop by the shop and see him. I picked up Chinese, hoping he liked it.

  Cyrus Black was beginning to feel like a refuge for me.

  When I got overwhelmed, I thought about him.

  When I grew frustrated, I pictured his smile.

  When I buried myself in things to do, just the thought of him threw me an anchor.

  I made a pit stop at my dad’s house. He was already asleep, clutching the tiny bride and groom that had been on the top of my parents’ wedding cake. I didn’t dare pry it from his hands. It wasn’t worth the effort or the pain it might cause him.

  Sometimes I wished he would lose his long term memory so he didn’t remember her.

  It might be less painful for him.

  I chose to go through the office and pick up my measly check. My dad insisted that I get a check every month from the shop even though I didn’t work reception there anymore. It helped more than he knew.

  “You’re here late.” Peter’s voice poured over me in the dark while I searched his desk.

  “I could say the same for you.”

  “Here’s your check.” He handed it over with a jerk.

  “Thank you.”

  He crossed his legs on top of the desk. “I see the way he looks at you. Your mother would be ashamed.”

  Two sentences and already the tears were welling up in my eyes.

  “You never brought me dinner.”

  The underhanded comments were the bane of my existence and they hadn’t stopped at the breakup.

  “You didn’t deserve it.”

  By the time I got to Cyrus’ door, I was a mess. I hadn’t meant to crumble, but when he opened the door, his eyes gave me the permission I needed.

  “Hey, come here.”

  That’s what I loved already about him. He didn’t waste time on trying to get me to explain or bumble through a story while crying. He made sure he was holding me—making sure I was okay before he even knew what was going on. Hell, I could’ve been crying because I murdered someone and he would’ve held me before he asked.

  “He’s a sleaze.”

  I finally choked out the words.

  “I wish you would stay away from him. Better yet, I wish he would stay away from here. There’s something up with him.”

  “Like what?”

  “I think he wants to buy this place.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “When I got here earlier, this woman was leaving. She had a real estate sign on her car. I don’t know. I could be very wrong.”

  “Very wrong? Wrong is wrong, there’s no degrees to it.” I laughed.

  His eyebrows bunched. “I know someone who says that exact same thing.”

  Everything in me wanted to tell him the truth.

  “I brought food.”

  “You’re probably starving after practice, but can I show you something first?”

  “Sure.”

  “Come on.”

  He took my hand and led me down to the shop. “I found this earlier while I was cleaning the tools. What? I was bored.”

  “You could’ve been practicing.”

  “Yes ma’am. Next time I will. But I found this.”

  He held up my mother’s ring in front of me and for the second time that night, I used him as my strength.

  “Shit.” He grabbed me under my legs and before I knew it, I was sitting on the hood of whatever car they were working on. I didn’t even bother to look at it. “You look like you were about to faint. Let’s get you upstairs. I’m an asshole. You need to eat.”

  I grabbed his forearms and stopped him. “No, I just need to sit for a minute. Do you have that ring?”

  He held it up. “It was in the back of the drawer.”

  “It’s my mother’s.” I looked up at the confusion written all over his face. “It was my mother’s.”

  “Was?”

  “She died years ago, Cyrus. I know that just brings up questions, but can we just drop it?”

  “We keep dropping subjects like this, we’re not going to have anything to talk about.”

  I blew out a breath, letting the night’s events out with it. “Maybe I just need you to hold me.”

  It was singularly the most vulnerable I’d ever let myself be with another person.

  “That I can do.” Cyrus scooted between my knees. I wrapped my arms around his middle. His face was in my hair and his hands rubbed the tension away in long strokes.

  There was no place I’d rather be.

  “Before you fall asleep, let’s get you fed.”

  “I can’t move.”

  “I know a way to wake you up.”

  His lips were on mine. It took a few seconds to register. Cyrus was gentle. Our mouths worked together, sending prickling heat down my arms and back. The faintest of pressure took me off guard. From his stature, I thought he’d be rough. I fisted the sides of his shirt, trying to bring him closer. His fingers dug into the outside of my thighs until I hissed. He’d grabbed my massive bruise.

  “Shit. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s just a bruise. You forgot. Hell, I’m not sure I even know where I am.”

  “That bad, huh?”

  “No, that good. You broke your promise.”

  He chuckled and I was right before. I felt it through my chest and it knotted in my stomach.

  “I know. But you on the hood of this car looking all beautiful. I c
ouldn’t resist.”

  “I’ve never been kissed like that before.”

  “Like what?” He pushed that ever annoying chunk of hair from the front of my face and moved it to the back. It was what I always did.

  “Like I was…”

  “Like you are important to me. Like you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

  I nodded. My throat wouldn’t let me speak and my tongue was stuck in place with emotion. I’d been called hot and smokin’ and the other terms that boys use to describe women, but never beautiful.

  “Yes.”

  “Come on, you’re wasting perfectly good Chinese food. And your stomach is rumbling.”

  He tucked me under his arm and we climbed the stairs like that, slow and easy. Everything with Cyrus was slow and easy.

  We ate Chinese sitting face to face on his floor. We talked about everything from music to favorite bands. Cyrus told me all the secrets of his hiding his slow reading. YouTube helped a lot. Anything he wanted to learn how to do could be searched on YouTube. He also listened to books when they were assigned in school so he could pass oral exams and pay attention in class.

  He knew a way around everything that included reading, which made him ten times as smart.

  “What about in restaurants?”

  “Easy. Every place has a standard set of items that they serve. You can’t go to an Italian place and not find pasta with Alfredo sauce or marinara. There’s not a Chinese place in town that doesn’t have sesame chicken. Like that. I end up getting the same food over and over, but I’m a simple guy.”

  He shrugged it all off, but I knew the truth. It took guts to live like he had.

  “You have it all figured out.”

  “I didn’t have a choice.”

  He switched his lo mein for sesame shrimp. “I bet you were one hell of a student.”

  “I was determined—obsessive. I graduated with a 4.27 GPA. I wasn’t even satisfied with a 4.0. I’d already completed so many AP classes that by the time I got into college I was a sophomore.”

  “What’s your degree in?”

  I really didn’t want to tell him.

  “Social work.”

  “Makes sense.”

  I expected some snide remark about him being my charity case, but he always surprised me in not coming back with the smartass comments. It was almost refreshing not to hear. Everyone in my life was a smartass except Cyrus. Not a word came out of his mouth that wasn’t sincere.