Jump The Line (Toein' The Line Book 1)

by McFarland, Mary

  I open my legs a little, and then I smile into Aidan’s eyes and laugh—delighted—when he slides his hand possessively onto my thigh and runs his hand up my leg.

  “So if you’re auctioning this baby off for charity,”I say, my heart pounding,“what do you drive?”

  It’s the only thing I can manage to squeak out, and I know it sounds stupid as hell.

  “A Toyota,”he says. Removing his hand from my thigh only long enough to shift the Ferrari’s gear, he rockets us forward.

  * * *

  It was a ride I’ll always remember. The Ferrari, Aidan told me as we drove to meet our party for the birthday luncheon, was a present from Doctor Smalley. Aidan also explained his background to me, about how his mother got pregnant with him by Doctor Smalley. Like Aidan, I also did not know my real dad as a kid. Being adopted’s probably just as bad. It’s supposed to be salvation for kids, but as Aidan and I agree, it can also be hell.

  I started talking about Megalo Don, but Aidan shut that down before I got started.

  “When I’m off duty, I’m off,”he said. “I want your birthday celebration to be ours, uninterrupted by work or any bad lingering memories of what happened.”

  We spent lunch with his parents, Judge and Babbs Hawks, who’d arranged a charity auction for the Ferrari. Aidan switched the registration to Vine Works, Babbs’ charitable foundation. It felt like half of Cincinnati showed up.

  My mom and Robin came to the party with Wes, recovering from a bullet wound. Stoke shot him, but Wes had crawled inside the room where Stoke and I and Brick were fighting. When I slashed Stoke’s face with my razor, Wes shot Stoke.

  I’m sad Stoke’s dead, but he’s the kind of friend I don’t need: no one does.

  DeeDee, apologizing all over herself to Aidan and Wes for allowing Stoke to steal her service weapon that morning at Arnee’s, thanked me over and over.

  “What for?”I asked, not thrilled she’d been invited, but taking Babbs Hawk’s advice:“Be gracious to her, Alaina. She’ll positively hate it.”

  I worked on following Mrs. Hawks’ advice, and loved the result. “I’m just grateful you’re alive,”I told Officer Barbie, a bald-faced lie.

  Aidan said to be nice to her, too. She’d made some screw ups, but she was a NPD officer and deserved respect. “She’s a rookie, like you’ll be one day,”he’d said. “She’ll learn.”

  Captain Meyers couldn’t come, but his girlfriend, Mayor Darlene Laws, showed up acting like royalty and demanding to cut the first piece of birthday cake for a photo op with the Enquirer. No problem: I let her. She bid an obscene amount of money for the Ferrari. Watching her write the check made Aidan happy.

  A surprise guest was an FBI agent, SAC Smith. He’d arrived at Stoke’s apartment and coordinated the SWAT attack. Thanks to the SAC and his leadership, Aidan assures me, that effort saved my life. A few minutes later, and Brick Verbote and Stoke Farrel would’ve had their final two teeth for their collection. The SAC’s job included getting the terrible aftermath of that scene under control, including the collection of forensic evidence.

  “What are you plans after you graduate?”the SAC asked, when he’d managed to corner me.

  “I’ve been accepted at CUNY,”I tell him. “I’d like to get my Master’s in forensic psychiatry, and then see where I want to go after that.”

  He slipped me his business card. “The FBI is hiring, Ms. Colby, and I hear from Detective Hawks you’ve already done some fine work on an important case.”

  Chapter 55

  After the luncheon, Aidan and I, finally alone, take the stairs up to his second floor apartment above the stage.

  “I’m awestruck by what you and your mom are doing with the opera house,”I say. “Vine Works is an impressive project.”

  The Hawks Opera House itself is also impressive. It’s a vintage eighteen hundreds structure. It’s elegant yet cozy, like Ford Theatre, where Lincoln was shot. Solid wood cornice work adorns the box seats, amassed like layers on a wedding cake above the main first floor. But when we step inside Aidan’s apartment, it’s like stepping into a different world. The décor’s modern, masculine, bold black and white and gray fabrics and a massive leather couch tastefully arranged in front of the fireplace.

  From the moment Aidan picked me up in the Ferrari until now, I’ve felt weird: happy and edgy at the same time. I’m not used to all this wealth, the rich exotic world Aidan lives in. I’ve not worked this hard to get where I am, just to become an ornament on his arm, and I’m feeling lost in all the opulence that makes up Aidan’s private life.

  Another concern is the tripod standing in the center of the room with a camera locked on its top. It’s pointed at the couch—at me.

  “What’s that for?”

  “Another birthday surprise,”he says.

  “Oh?”

  Holding hands, we crash to the couch in front of the fire he’s obviously started for my benefit. I feel suddenly self conscious, like a performer on a stage, like I’ve come home with a stranger. The camera reinforces my edginess. My close call with Megalo Don has taught me a few things, made me jumpier.

  “Seriously, what’s that for?” My tone makes it clear I want an explanation.

  “Like I said, a surprise. One more gift.” He pulls my foot into his lap and starts massagaing it.

  “I don’t want any more—”

  He stills my protest with a kiss.

  My little black dress, having survived the Ferrari ride and the charity auction luncheon, rides up my thighs. I relax, but keep a wary eye on the camera. “What’s the gift?”I say, feeling spoiled, but not happily so.

  “I know it’s important for you to make your video for the Rockettes’ jump-the-line competition,”he says, nodding toward the camera. “I want to help you do it. For your birthday,”he adds.

  The catch in my throat, the breathless feeling I’ve had all day, releases. Along with it, I feel twenty-one—okay, make it twenty-two years’ worth of worrying—dissipate. My lifelong companion, the feeling I’m a displaced alien who’ll never find my place in the world, also releases.

  “This is difficult.”Aidan says. “I don’t want to hurt you, but—”

  I tense. “But what?” My knees go weak. Surely, he wouldn’t treat me like a princess all day, and then give me the kiss off?

  “If you decide to stay here after you graduate,”he continues,“that is, if you decide not to go to New York, I’d like you to teach dance at the opera house.”

  I don’t say anything right away. How should I take his offer? Like he doesn’t think I can make it as a Rockette so I should stay here and accept charity? Even if I don’t get a call to come try out for the Rockettes, I’m down with that.

  “Aidan, I’ve never imagined I can dance professionally with my disability.”

  “It’s a salaried position,”he says,“and demanding. It’s not charity, if that’s what you’re thinking. You’d be working hard.”

  “I need time to consider your offer,”I say finally, giving myself a mental high five. Now that’sself-confidence, a girl taking her time to think over an offer that comes with a salary. “I still have to finish this semester, and I’m worried about getting my GPA back up so I can graduate Summa Cum Laude.”

  I don’t mention it to Aidan, but I’ve also got to start helping Robin pay for college tuition. If I go to New York, I’ll be scratching to get by, a poor starving co-ed, again.

  “Meantime,”I add, smiling,“I can use all the help I can get making my jump-the-line video. As a birthday present,”I add.

  Rising slowly from the couch, I hold out my hand. “Dance with me?”

  “There’s no music,”he says.

  “Oh, Aidan, there is. Come on,”I say. “Let me show you how to listen with your body.”

  When he pulls me into his arms, I feel the oh-so-familiar sweetest heat. I feel something else, equally as thrilling. As I listen to the imaginary music playing inside my head, I realize that it’s gone: the frenetic rh
ythm of my old dream—is gone. Instead of Mas Que Nada, I’m hearing the mushy lines from Tammy Wynette’s Stand By Your Man. If you love him, oh be proud of him, because after all he’s just a man.

  Picking up Tammy’s clunky beat, I follow Aidan’s lead, my feet gliding with his steps, my body—our bodies—becoming one. Pulling me gently along, he dances me toward the camera. “It’s your birthday, Alaina. We could do a test video of your jump-the-line routine,”he says. Pulling the sleeve of the soft jersey dress he’s paid for down off my shoulder, he kisses the naked flesh, nuzzling the cloth farther downward.

  “I’ve not seen you dance, other than at Omar’s, and—”

  I hide a shiver. “I’m so done with Omar’s, Aidan.”

  Not that it matters. Omar and Rakesh Gupta left the country. DeeDee Laws, who I’m finally able to stop calling Officer Barbie, and her mom, the mayor of Newport, have vowed to keep Omar’s shut down. “No more exotic bars in Newport,”they promised at my party.

  “The Ass will always be there,”Aidan had said, causing the two Laws ladies to join forces and smush Aidan’s handsome face with cake icing. I had to stop Officer Barbie from licking it off. Detective Laws has also developed a fondness for Nick LaFiglia. Aidan says Arnee’s owner is in trouble: DeeDee’s decided he’ll help her get her collar—somehow.

  “—would you mind showing off my favorite harem outfit?”Aidan asks, unaware there’s little tears of happiness squeezing from my eyes.

  “Turn off that camera,”I say, pulling his head down for another kiss.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Aidan, shutupand roll the camera.” I kick off my shoes and give Aidan a sample of the steps I’ve been practicing for my tryout video. “Just a preview,”I tell him, pulling Aidan’s little black dress up over my thighs.

  “Mercy!”he says, the desire heating his gaze assuring me he means it not at all.

  I laugh: what irony. Sometimes, it’s sweeter to toe the line than jump it. But lately, I’ve adopted a new motto. Why compromise?

  About the Author

  Hi, y'all. I'm an author and mistress of Mucky Manor, my tree farm in southern Ohio, where I grow hardwoods, organic veggies, and medicinal and culinary herbs. My dogs and chickens and friends and family provide critique for my novels in progress, which include works of romantic suspense, fantasy and SF, and mainstream fiction.

  We love company at Mucky Manor, so I invite you to join us and learn more. Visit my Web site to talk with me--and give me your critique--as I write my latest novel. Or you can hang out for the chance to win free fun gifts and reader give-aways. I'm on the Web at www.marymcfarlandauthor.com. I'd also love to see you on Facebook and Twitter. I'm at www.facebook.com/marymcfarlandauthor and www.twitter.com/mcfarlandauthor.