by Lisa Gillis
“Momma, you’re back...”
“I missed you.” Touching her lips to his fine hair, she accessed his happy features and asked, “Want something to drink? Then we can get you dressed and–”
“Daddy said I didn’t have to get dressed today.”
“Really? Daddy said that?”
Nodding, he sat up rubbing his eyes. A large clock adorned one vast wall, and its wide stretched hands depicted the time as after six. It was an odd feeling to know the day, as Tristan and she normally knew it, was almost over. Yet here, tonight, it was barely beginning for her.
“Daddy said I could wear my pajamas all day, and then we could go swimming all day tomorrow.”
Having Jack make arbitrary decisions about Tristan was going to take some adjusting to. Even though these types of decisions were minor, and he had always consulted her concerning anything major, the loss of complete control felt odd.
Tristan trailed her to the kitchen where she searched for plastic cups by randomly opening cabinets. Jack had served Tristan with one both last night and this morning. The breakable glasses were logically located right next to the fridge. As she continued to look, Randi and Dax, both still heavy lidded from sleep, sauntered into the room.
“Looking for these?” Dax joked while waving a box of cookies.
“Yes!” Tristan enthused, clamoring to a chair in preparation for a snack.
“Actually, I was looking for plastic cups.” To Tristan, she admonished, “I thought you could have some supper before cookies.”
“There are no plastic cups here,” Randi spoke, and at the same time Dax produced the requested cup from a shelf beneath the island.
“They are down low so he can reach them,” Dax explained and looked so proud that Marissa knew he must have been the one to put them there.
“Since when are there plastic cups?” Randi wondered, then followed Dax’s gaze to Tristan and answered her own question. “Oh. Since someone became a daddy...”
Randi actually looked content at the thought of Jack with a family, and puzzling on the lingerina and Jack just couldn’t be any more confusing.
“Can’t I have one cookie now? Please Mom..ma?”
“You know what? Have three cookies. Have four! And I will be right back.”
Randi and Dax exchanged a look between themselves, but she felt no remorse for her outburst as she whipped around. Her intention was to search for Jack, but she turned smack into his hard chest.
Automatically, his arms wrapped her holding tight even after she regained balance. “Where’re you running off to?”
Safe in his embrace from all the weirdness of the day some of the pent-up stress dissipated, and she blew out a relaxed breath.
“Actually, I was going to ask if you had any ideas on Tristan’s supper.”
“Food sounds amazing. Order a pizza?”
“Oh yes!” Tristan exclaimed, and she turned in time to see him ball a fist and move his arm in a triumphant motion. “Pizza. Four times in a row.”
“You didn’t have pizza for breakfast,” she protested feeling guilty for so many pizzas even if they were nutritious.
“He did,” Jack replied, and their son solemnly nodded. “We ate the leftovers from last night. Then he had cereal too.”
“For desert. Because it’s sugar,” Tristan intoned of the frosted crispy flakes earlier splashed atop the table.
Knowing that Tristan was, in all likelihood, repeating something witty ‘Daddy’ had said, her eyes went to Jack who was setting up the coffee maker.
“And speaking of sugar,” Jack turned, his dark gaze both twinkling and parental as it went to their son, “I hope you are not eating cookies before real food...”
“Momma said I could.”
“Okay then. As long as you asked.”
Marissa felt her mouth drop open as her son smugly finished the cookie in his hand, and both Dax and Randi hid their giggles.
Choose your battles...She had read the phrase once in a parenting magazine, and now she took it to heart deciding to stay silent. Technically, it was true. She had told him to have four cookies! Crossing the room, she snatched a couple of cookies to tide her empty stomach over until ‘real food’ arrived.
Jack was intent on the screen of his phone, and he requested input as he poked an order into the app.
“Pepperoni and jalapeno,” Tristan sang out his usual order, and without looking up, Jack just shook his head with a silent smile having already experienced that unusual order from his four-year old.
“Thomas will be here in a half hour,” Randi reminded of the stylist then arranged with Dax to use the shower in his room.
The pizza arrived, and Marissa got Tristan settled. Dax sat at the table with him, and both she and Jack stood at the bar eating. She was so ravenous that she was barely chewing. Jack seemed to be preoccupied vaguely staring out the glass doors in between snippets of conversation with her and Dax.
“I should get a shower.” Ignoring Rusty’s hopeful look, Marissa wisely tossed her crusts into the trash bin.
“Your stuff is upstairs,” Dax informed around a mouthful of his order.
With a murmur of thanks, she headed to the second floor and found her bedroom empty. Continuing to the end of the hall, she pushed open Jack’s bedroom door. Sure enough, her purchases were on the unmade bed.
Opening the dress box, she checked for wrinkles. Finding it fine, she hesitated over where to take a shower. With her mind made up, she carefully laid the dress out flat on the bed then pushed closed first the bedroom door and next the bathroom door.
Like last night, she paused stunned for a minute by the beauty of the huge bathroom. Taking a towel from the chrome rack, she hung it on a hook next to the glass doors, and began to let her clothes fall to the floor.
Stepping into the massive shower, she contemplated the chrome panel set into the tile. A tiny digital screen read ‘READY.’ Instead of twisting the manual lever, as she had the previous night, she moved away from the showerheads. Tentatively, she pressed a button and the digit ‘one’ appeared. This was not much different from a microwave. The numeral one was blinking and hoping her presumptions were close to correct, she pressed ‘start.’
The harsh blare of metal music assaulted her ears, yet the blue light streaming through the shower spray captivated her eyes. Putting a hand out, she found the water a pleasant temperature, but the music was not pleasing at all.
Pressing the first button again made the screen blink, and another push brought a flashing two. She hit enter, and leaped back when cool water doused her body. The music had not stopped, but the light show was now red.
The panicked push of buttons never gave her an option without Jack’s music preference. When she couldn’t seem to turn the shower off altogether, she resigned to a fate of screamo music and went back to the first setting which would at least be warm.
Opening her eyes after a long relaxing minute beneath the spray, she realized her next mistake in choosing Jack’s shower.
Her eyes scanned over male shampoos and shower gels, and she knew she would come out of this shower smelling of mint and spices instead of vanilla and berries.
Pooling gel into a washrag, she began to bathe, but affixed startled eyes through the glass when one of the double doors opened. Relaxing when she saw Jack, she continued soaping up and watched, wary but interested, as his clothes joined hers on the floor.
His usual smirk evolved into an outright grin, and she knew he realized that she was trapped into the music selection. The shower was much larger than the one at her house, but Jack crowding it took her breath away just the same.
“Thought I’d find you here,” he rumbled close to her ear as she easily surrendered the plush rag to him.
“Why? Because I said I was going to shower?” She yelled over the music and curved a taunting smile watching as his hair begin to plaster to his head and down his neck and shoulders.
“Ha, Mariss. So funny.”
But she wasn’t laughing and neither was he. Draping the washcloth over one of the showerheads, he soaped up his hands, and her eyes fell closed as she enjoyed the slip and slide of his fingers on her skin.
“Can we turn it off?” she begged when the sound compromised her complete enjoyment of the moment. “Or at least down?”
His arm stretched to a panel that she had not noticed, way higher up on the wall, and the blissful sound of only water followed. He gave her a rundown on the functioning of the automated system, but was quickly back to his soapy task.
“Tristan still eating?” She wasn’t yet used to not having to worry where he was every second. As much as she trusted Jack, she didn’t know how responsible Dax was.
“No. He’s playing guitar for Randi.” He had moved behind her, and spoke into her neck while his hands skimmed down her sides.
“Jack...” She couldn’t believe she was going to say what she was about to. Never, even in the years of being engaged to her ex, had this happened. Then again, never had she been sexed up so many times in a week. And certainly not by anyone so–
Even as she thought in terms of size, it was there firm against the small of her back as Jack crowded her to the wall.
With those decorated arms braced on either side of her body, and his breath hotter than the steam of the shower against her face, extreme deja vu overtook the moment.
This was how Tristan had been added to their life.
As if sensing the turn of her thoughts, possibly experiencing the same deja vu, he made the husky assurance, “I brought a condom.”
If only her problem could be solved that easy.
“I can’t. I’m—I’m sore. Real sore.” The whispered admission spilled past her reluctant lips.
His hands stilled, then one quickly retreated from its intimate local, and she swallowed her disappointment. Easing up slightly, he still maintained his close stance, keeping her against him and the wall, and she miserably stared at the tile and grout.
“Damn, Mariss. I’m sorry honey. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I am. Telling you. It wasn’t like this till today.”
“I’m sorry honey...” He repeated the apology and sounded so miserable that she almost regretted telling him. “I just can’t seem to stay off you. But I will.” His arms curved around her waist holding her back against him. Then, his voice changed, going from soft and gentle, to soft and seductive. “Want me to kiss it better?”
Her insides fluttered and flamed, the afflicted area suddenly throbbing.
“Did Thomas get here yet? I should hurry if he is here.”
“Thomas?” Jack sounded a touch suspicious.
“The stylist.” Immediately, she regretted the sarcasm that coated her answer. For a moment, she had forgotten that Jack was a part of the world of stylists. He had even once mentioned the one that prepped the band for photos.
“Thomas can wait while I do my part to get you ready for tonight.”
“And how is this–” By now, he had turned her to him and dropped to kissing it better level, and she sucked in a gasp at the first touch of his tongue. “...going to get me ready for tonight?”
He took his time with this intimate ‘kiss’ before answering. Her fingers dug into his shoulder, her eyes helplessly on the top of his dark head. Brushing his lips against her, he whispered, “If you get nervous, just think of this.”
Thinking of this was sure to get her flustered, but she wasn’t going to argue the point. Unlike the shower at her house, the water in this one never turned cold. With the warmth continuing to wash over her, along with physical heat waves, she leaned against him after collapsing on his lap.
His lap that she was quickly becoming aware of... Finally, able to think, she moved her lips against his neck and her hand down offering, “Let me–”
When her fingers closed around him, he groaned and carefully eased off the tiled seat from under her to stand before her. “All yours,” and almost before his whisper was done, he was done.
Her limbs were like Jell-O as they stepped out of the tiled stall. Ignoring the towel on the hook, he passed over another. Touching her face to it, she raised her eyes in a surprised query.
“What?” His smile was sweet, enjoying the aftermath between them.
“How is it so warm?”
“Hmm? Oh the towel? Heated towel rack. It comes on when the shower does.”
“What if you’re already hot?” She followed him into the bedroom.
“Too bad I guess.” His smirk did all the usual things to her insides, and warmed her heart as much as the sweet smile that had preceded it.
Jack plucked an iPad from his side table and fell face down on the bed careful to keep his distance from her dress. Raising his head just enough and just long enough to see, he pressed at the buttons. Music pounded at a subdued decibel from an iPod tower in the corner of the room.
Wrapped in her warm towel she paused mesmerized. All mass and muscles; had she ever seen a body so beautiful? Her gaze lingered on the well-blended tan line at his waist remembering how defined it had been that day in the tour bus, and she wondered what went on in that pool outside that caused the line to blur.
Shaking those thoughts because it was the last thing she wanted to envision after spending a day with Randi, she moved toward the room that he called his closet.
“I’m going to borrow something of yours. For my date with Thomas.”
“Watch it Mariss!” The joke rebounded quickly, but it was faint as if he were drifting into a doze.
CHAPTER 13
THE STYLIST WAS JUST FINISHING Randi when Marissa returned to the first floor. “Oh, Mariss, perfect timing!” Randi’s hair actually bounced as she spoke, and her face was expertly made up in an elegant look of flawless perfection.
Randi introduced Thomas, and Marissa tried to ignore the stylist’s blatant stare as he appraised the work cut out for him.
Interested, she examined the portable set up station. A tall canvas director type chair, similar to the ones in Jack’s music room, awaited her. His cosmetics and hair accessories were at his fingertips in some type of upright combo carrier with flip out trays, and holsters of curling irons, blow driers, and straitening irons.
“You look pretty.” Tristan was still in his place at the table with a paper plate of pizza crusts before him and his guitar in his hand. Shyly, he spoke while avidly watching Randi who was primping in a large mirror perched like an easel on a tripod.
“Thank you sweetie pie!” Randi beamed the young boy a runway smile.
Dax, who had never been far from Tristan all day, looked up from his phone, and although he said nothing, his eyes shared Tristan’s observation.
Halfway hesitant at putting her appearance in the hands of someone else, and halfway hoping he could turn her out even half as good as Randi, Marissa took the seat. Seconds later, she was blinking in the portable light and marveling that such a setup could be carted around at whim.
Jack’s Aunt Candi and her husband arrived while Marissa was still being groomed. Thomas stepped back while the striking woman introduced herself as Candace and then introduced her tall and tanned husband, Marc. Neither batted an eye at the pajama bottoms and tee shirt, obviously Jack’s, swallowing her frame.
“And you must be Tristan.” Thankfully, they both were more interested in their blood relation, and they moved past her to the tot that was likely getting accustomed to that phrase. “Your daddy told me you like Bandit. Do you have these books?”
Tristan perused the books as Candace knelt in front of his chair. Her husband gave her shoulder a squeeze and watched, equally infatuated with Tristan. Marissa relaxed some about leaving Tristan in their care.
Dax stood at the bottom of the stairs texting. Minutes later, Jack appeared throwing her an apologetic look as he threw his arms around his aunt’s neck, then shook his uncle’s hand.
“You guys are early.”
“Thought it would be a good idea to get acquainted with th
is little guy,” his aunt smiled.
Marissa winced as the straightener caught a couple of strands of hair wrong.
“Congratulations.” Candace’s husband gave Jack a friendly slap to his back. “On the new album...and everything.”
Small talk went on around her as Thomas worked his magic. Randi readied to leave while jabbering with Candace. Jack and his uncle moved deeper into the kitchen where she heard the clink of ice against glass. At this time, she wasn’t allowed to move her head, and it was irritating, especially when she was brought briefly into the conversations.
“Stunning!” Thomas loudly proclaimed, stepping back as if she were a sculpture he had just completed. The talk ceased, and to further her chagrin, there was a chorus of agreements as if it were a Hollywood studio set and the clap sign flashed.
Focusing her eyes, she froze while taking in her reflection. Who was that glamorous woman peering back?
Only once, ever, had she worn false eyelashes, and then for almost a full five minutes before tearing them off under Olivia’s protests. The ones affixed on her lids tonight were different, fanning out to the outer corners for an exotic look.
Her eyelids blinked under more color than she had applied even in her awkward teen years. A sheen of the barest sparkle dust glistened on her cheekbones, but disappeared when Thomas switched off the spotlight.
Her hair was as sleek as Randi’s without a single flyaway and the varying strands of highlighting color blended in an extreme way not achieved even on the first day she had received the salon treatment–the week Jack first came to her home. The layers fell in a defined way, here and there, one almost over a sculpted brow.
“Thank you!” She strove to sound professional and not awed as Thomas was putting his things away, but knew the excitement rang loud in her voice.
The stylist actually paused to make eye contact when answering. “You’re very welcome. It is a pleasure, as always,” here he included Randi, “to work with such beautiful women.”
“You look pretty Momma!” Tristan sang out as he slid from his chair with a handful of books. Already showing signs of being the charmer his father was, he went on, “You are always pretty!” With that, he transferred the new books to one hand, grabbed his crutch, and made a very uninhibited trek to the den, leaving the adults to their amused comments at his antics.