by JB Salsbury
The second image comes fast, robbing me of the first, until I realize this dress is more revealing. Shorter, strapless, and the sheer white fabric is so thin I can make out the shape of her nipples. I screenshot both images and save them to my photos for further inspection and personal use. I know it’s wrong, and I hate myself for doing it, but I’m a starving man who’s been offered a crumb and I’m fucking ravenous.
* * *
Did you screenshot those?
* * *
“Oh shit.” I look around my office as if I’ll find a hidden camera. Am I sweating? Um… I type back.
* * *
I needed to zoom in to see the details on the skirt part.
* * *
I hit Send, panicked and sure I’ve given myself away. Skirt part? I sound like a man.
* * *
Oh, ok. Weird, the app just notified me that you screenshot the images.
* * *
I scribble down a quick note to pass my criticism on to the myBubble people. Why the fuck would that be a feature to add? Makes me look like—makes Dawn look like a total freak.
* * *
Do you have a favorite? I can’t decide.
* * *
Right, she’s waiting for girl advice. How would a woman respond?
“Andrea! Come here, please! Quick!”
She comes running in. “What?”
I look up from my phone and feel bad when I see the slight panic in my assistant’s face. “Sorry. It’s… I have a friend who wants my advice on a dress and I told her I’d get a female opinion.”
I show her the red one followed by the white.
“Hm… I guess it depends on the occasion. The white one is hot, great for a night out with the girls, but not appropriate for, say, a wedding. The red is sexy but understated enough for a wedding, cocktail party, or—”
“Hold on, slow down…” I do my best to type word for word what Andrea is saying. “Okay, or what?”
“A first date.”
My fingers still on the keypad. “A date?”
“Yeah. The red is sexy but doesn’t give too much away. Perfect first date dress, gives a hint to what’s going on underneath without actually showing it, whereas the white one, well, that’s a great dress for an after-sex date. Giving a man a peek at what he’s already had his hands on, ya know?” Her brows pinch together. “Jackson?”
“Huh?”
She nods toward my phone. “Why aren’t you typing?”
I close the app and turn my phone facedown on my desk. “I need you to book me a round-trip ticket to San Diego leaving tonight.”
Sadie
Working in hotel catering, I rarely get a weekend off, which makes today so valuable. Sitting on the patio of my favorite coffee shop with my sketchpad and pencil, I find inspiration in the simplicity of life that buzzes all around me. Even with my messy bun, puffy eyes from little sleep, and my T-shirt and shorts that I slept in, I become an invisible spectator, blending and disappearing in the atmosphere.
My pencil shadows the page as I draw the two men at the table in front of me. They lean toward each other, their body language communicating they’re intimate. I keep my eyes on the page, only sneaking the occasional peek to make sure I’m hitting the right angles in my sketch. It’s a little voyeuristic, and I wonder if I get caught, will people get upset I drew them without their permission?
A chair scrapes the concrete patio behind me. I startle and slam my sketchbook closed. I peek over my shoulder, hoping the person didn’t see my drawing. My pulse pounds in my neck and my face instantly flushes. “Jack?”
His head turns slowly as if he’s not sure whether or not he heard his name. I almost wish he wouldn’t have, because when he does, his face lights up and his lips curve into that signature Daniels smile I fell in love with as a kid. “Sadie?” His beautiful green eyes narrow. “Is that you?”
“What are you doing here?”
His smile falls and he turns his seat more fully toward me. “I was about to ask you the same thing. Are you stalking me?”
“I live here.” I point down the street. “A few blocks down.”
“No shit?” He sips his coffee. His big hand wrapped around the cup is a reminder of how familiar they were when he’d absently play with my fingers, or trace patterns on the sensitive underside of my forearm. I was always amazed at how gentle those big hands could be. “I’m in town meeting with a client.”
“Here in Hillcrest?”
He brings his coffee to his lips and mumbles, “Mm-hm.”
“All the way from New York. Must be an important client.” I laugh uncomfortably, feeling jittery and I have an intense need to run. I have been avoiding his phone calls for weeks and he’s sure to ask me why. I try to come up with a justifiable reason for ignoring him. I need to leave, but my brain refuses to engage.
“Mind if I join you?” Whatever he sees in my expression makes him frown.
“I guess, but I was getting ready to leave soon…”
He’s already pulled out the chair across from me, and his knee brushes against mine as he settles in at the two-top. He’s dressed in a T-shirt and jeans, but he’s always managed to look like a model even in the most casual clothes. I fidget in my seat and tuck in loose strands of my hair. I must look like such a slob.
“Sadie.” He says my name with such care, as if the letters themselves could be broken if spoken too harshly. “You look great.”
Flames light my cheeks and I stare at my coffee. “You’re lying, but thank you.”
Here it comes. He’s going to ask why I haven’t been taking his calls. He’s going to want answers I can’t give him and—
“What are you working on?” He thumps my notebook.
“Oh, um, nothing really. I…” I laugh softly. “I’m sorry, this is kind of weird for me.”
“It doesn’t have to be.”
I blow out a breath.
He smiles. “It’s just me. Jackson.”
I scrunch up my nose. “When did you stop going by Jack?”
He lifts his brows. “It’s hard to be taken seriously in the professional world with the name Jack Daniels.”
That makes me laugh. “I guess that makes sense.”
“Why?” He flashes that gorgeous crooked smile. “You don’t like it?”
“I don’t know. I mean… you’ll always be Jack to me.”
Jack
My God, she can kill me with my own name.
I maintain steady breathing, relax my shoulders, and try to act casual when all I want to do is pepper her with a million questions.
Like, why the fuck are you avoiding me?
What the hell happened to you?
What the hell happened to us?
And who the motherfuck are you dressing up for, Sadie girl?
I pat myself on the back when I manage an easy smile and say, “You’re still doing art.”
The hint of lightness I started to see in her eyes disappears. A scowl pinches her delicate features, and she bites out, “Yeah.”
I rewind quickly, try to figure out where I went wrong. She seems to enjoy talking about her art with Dawn.
“That’s great.” I move forward cautiously. “You always were a fantastic artist.”
“Thanks.” Her response is a little softer, but now she won’t look at me.
I sip my coffee, which tastes like a dog’s asshole. Seriously, why is this her favorite coffee shop? I swallow back the bitter brew. “So you’re still in school I guess?”
She chuckles, but the sound is harsh and she’s still looking everywhere but at me, “Not all of us manage to graduate in four years.”
One thing is clear—the time lost between Sadie and me has made it so I can no longer read her like I used to.
“Very few do. I busted my ass to get finished in four years.” Mainly because I couldn’t wait to get back to Sadie. Whatever happened to that goal?
Her eyes come to me as slits of angry fire. “Oh, and I do
n’t bust my ass?”
I’m shaking my head before she’s even finished. “That’s not what I meant.”
“What did you mean?”
“Nothing. Just having a conversation.” Why do I get the feeling that no matter what comes out of my mouth, she’s going to twist it and use it as another reason to freeze me out?
Change tactics. Marathon. Think marathon.
“Would you go on a walk with me?”
She blinks and seems to struggle to get her rage back on track.
I pounce. “I’d love to see more of the city, and what better person to show me than a local?”
She looks around the coffee shop, watching people as they pass by. She even seems to search the buildings for an excuse. Finally she draws those gorgeous blue-green eyes up to meet mine. “I guess I can show you around.”
I hop to my feet and hold out my hand. She stares at it and begrudgingly slips her soft, small hand in mine. The second our skin touches, every cell in my being remembers hers and tingles with awareness. Unfortunately, once she’s standing, she pulls her hand away and gathers her things.
“Where to first?”
She pushes by me. “Let’s just start walking.”
“You want to swing by your place so you can drop your things off?” And show me where you live. Hash tag stalker!
“Yeah, okay.”
As she walks ahead of me, I do a small air punch of victory, earning a nasty look from a guy wearing cut-off shorts and rainbow socks.
Let him judge. I’m close to Sadie and nothing can bring me down.
Chapter Eight
Jack
“This is abstract, right?” I’m staring at the five-foot-long canvas hanging above Sadie’s couch in her small loft-style apartment. More specifically, I’m staring at a faceless naked man with an elephant-sized dick painted on the five-foot long canvas.
“No,” she calls down from the loft. She disappeared up there two minutes ago, telling me to wait here and that she’d be right back.
No? “But the, uh, size is somewhat exaggerated.”
The soft pad of her sneakers on the wooden steps as she comes back down the stairs is the only thing that pulls me away from the gigantic cock. Sadie changed from her soft shorts and flip-flops into denim cut-offs and Keds. Her legs have always been long and muscled, but they’re more feminine then I remember, curvier.
She settles in next to me, less than a foot away, and I stare at her pretty face. Stop being weird, dude!
Thankfully she’s looking at the painting and not me. “Not really, no.”
My jaw threatens to hit the floor, but I smash my teeth together to avoid it. “So you pulled this image up in your head from memory, huh?” I rock into her shoulder and chuckle at my joke.
She doesn’t smile. “No. I had a live model.”
I glance at the painting. Monster dick guy got naked and posed for her? Of course he did. She’s gorgeous. Probably hoped by doing it he’d get in her pants, sick fucker. I only wish I could see his face, but in this pose, his head is tilted back so all I can see is his jaw, neck, and Adam’s apple. “Who?”
“Me.”
I whip around at the sound of a male voice. It’s the bartender from the wedding, the guy I liked until he got all bitchy when I asked about Sadie. And he’s not wearing a fucking shirt. “You.”
“Nice to see you again, Jack.” He tightens the towel wrapped around his waist.
My fingers itch to grab Sadie, pull her to my chest, and press her face into my neck to protect her from Moby Dick here.
I fist my hands as she smiles at the fucker. “Hey, you’re up late.”
He grins, and it’s pretty obvious the guy bleaches his teeth. “Long night.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to roar, “What the fuck is going on here!” when another guy comes out from the short hallway. He’s buttoning his shirt, his hair a mess and his feet bare.
“Ricky, I’m gonna take off. Oh hey, Sadie.” The dark-haired guy kisses Sadie on the cheek then looks at me.
“Scott, this is an old friend of mine. Jackson.”
Friend? Jackson? She may as well have kicked me in the nuts.
I exchange pleasantries with the guy. Okay, maybe not my usual over-the-top pleasantries because why the shit is Sadie living with two guys who look like they just stepped out of a fucking Armani ad? Guys who have a girl roommate are supposed to be skinny pale nerds, not Magic Mike look-a-likes with jumbo dicks. Scott kisses Ricky.
On the lips.
Pulling the release valve from my chest, I exhale long and hard and find myself smiling. Big. “You’re gay.”
Ricky’s eyes narrow.
I want to laugh with relief. “I’m sorry, but you don’t look gay.”
He tilts his head. “What exactly does gay look like?”
Scott laughs. “That’s my cue to leave.”
“Oh! I parked behind you when I came home last night.” Sadie takes off with Scott trailing behind her.
She lives with a gay guy. I am so okay with that. I can’t stop smiling.
Ricky steps to my side, facing the painting of him. “She’s talented, isn’t she?”
“She really is,” I say, trying to fight my grin. “You could’ve told me at the wedding she was your roommate.”
He crosses his arms and shrugs. “Where’s the fun in that?”
I laugh, because how could I not? I’d thought this guy was a threat before I knew what he was packing beneath his jeans. Such a relief to know he’s not interested in Sadie. “I’m a lot more comfortable knowing she’s not your type.”
“Don’t get too comfortable.” He grips my shoulder and squeezes. Hard. “I swing both ways.”
My smile falls and the fucker laughs his ass off all the way back to his room, where he slams the door behind him.
Sadie
“You did this?”
My heart hitches a little at the pride in Jack’s voice as we study the ten-by-ten-foot mural painted on the brick wall of a record shop.
Since we left the loft, we’ve stuck to safe topics—his work, my art. He asked me which piece I’m most proud of. I couldn’t tell him the truth, so instead I brought him to a piece that’s in my top five.
“Sadie, this is phenomenal.” He runs his hand along the wall. “The color, texture, it looks three-dimensional.”
“Thank you.” I spent a month sketching, painting, and perfecting the mural depicting a naked girl-bird hybrid with long, elegant wings in a cage. She’s not locked inside, the door is open, but she refuses to leave the safety of her own prison. I leave out the part about it being a self-portrait. The girl in the painting might not look exactly like me, but the feeling the image conveys represents my torment. Vulnerable. Insecure. Trapped in a cage of my own fears with an open door I could walk out of if only I were brave enough to do it.
He walks back and forth, studying the image from different angles, and I try hard not to stare at the way his body moves. He’s bigger than he was years ago. Not taller, but fuller. More man, less boy. His hair is cut short on the sides with that longish, hip-professional mess on top.
He comes to stand next to me, and his arm brushes against mine. My skin warms where he touched me and I squeeze my elbows in, hoping to avoid it happening again.
“You’re so talented. I always knew you were, but this…” He blows out a breath. “Wow.”
I brace myself for the delicious shock I’m about to get when I turn to face him. Looking at Jack has always done weird things to my body. I make it quick, turning and asking, “What do you want to see next?”
His eyes meet mine. He doesn’t speak. It’s as if he’s searching for something.
When I can’t take the connection for another second, I turn for the door to the record shop. “Let’s check out the music.” At least then he’ll be busy looking at records and not at me.
The door chimes when we walk in. The smell of vinyl and dust swirls in the air, along with Janis Joplin’s voice
.
“Sadie!” Crab, the manager, waves at me from behind the register. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”
With Jack at my side, I greet my friend. “Crab, this is an old friend of mine from Las Vegas. Jackson, this is my friend Crab.”
They shake hands, and the visual is pretty funny. Jack is New York GQ while Crab is a Point Break surfer offspring in a tie-dyed tank and bandanna.
Crab’s warm brown eyes seem to smile when he focuses on me. “Where’ve you been?”
“Mostly working, finishing up my degree, trying to be a responsible adult.”
Crab flashes a thumbs-down and makes a fart noise with his mouth. “Bo-ring.”
I see the emotion flicker behind his eyes and take my cue to redirect the conversation before it gets started. “We’re gonna check out some records.”
I start to walk away when he says, “We’ve been missing you in the water.”
I freeze mid step and feel Jack’s eyes on me. Act casual. Don’t give anything away. “I’ll be back when school mellows out.”
Please take the hint and don’t ask more. Please.
“I know what happened was—”
“INXS!” I grab the first record I see and shove it into Jack’s hands. “Remember my mom listening to INXS until our ears bled?”
“Yeah,” Jack says absently, but he’s lying too. My mom never listened to INXS.
I put the album back, moving deeper into the shop and away from Crab.