by Kylie Scott
How many years would I get for throttling him? That was the question. "Wait. Are you actually suggesting that any woman who doesn't kiss your ass must therefore be gay?"
He shrugged.
"And you wonder why I must insult you."
"You doing what needs to be done isn't a problem, Lena. You're not going to have any issues telling me no."
Oblivious to my incredulity, the man cracked his neck, giving me another bored look. "Whatever the real deal is here, sort it out. I get that you're embarrassed, but you'll just have to get over it. Okay?"
I made no promises. But then again, I couldn't do much of anything just then. If I opened my mouth to speak, I highly doubted I'd be able to form words.
"Okay. We're done," Jimmy said, strolling from the room like he didn't have a care in the world.
CHAPTER SIX
The knock came on my bedroom door just before midnight.
After our "talk," we'd pretty much gone back to normal. Jimmy exercised morning and afternoon, usually with at least one of the guys along. Because I wasn't much of a sobriety counselor, and being Jimmy's shadow got boring after a while, I'd taken on the role of being his assistant also. I'd check emails, occasionally reading aloud the parts he needed to know. I'd chat with Ev (David's wife and assistant), whoever the latest poor unfortunate in Adrian, the band manager's, office happened to be, and the PR person. There's a lot involved in keeping a rock star organized. These days, I also liaised with the builders and techie types responsible for turning part of the basement into a state-of-the-art studio. With that project nearing completion the guys had started doing their practice and writing sessions here as opposed to at David's. More room.
All in all, we kept busy.
We inhabited the same house and often the same room, but didn't necessarily talk much. The silence wasn't uncomfortable but companionable, I'd long since gotten used to it. Usually, after a while, Jimmy would put on some music. Today on the stereo was The Dead Weather, which was fitting, because outside the weather grew steadily worse. Within, however, we were our own peaceful enough world. There'd been some curious side-eyes now and then, but I'd determinedly ignored them all.
He knocked again on my bedroom door. Then, not bothering to wait for permission, charged on in. "Been thinking."
"I didn't say you could enter." I studied him over the top of my reading glasses, lying in the middle of my big bed propped up by no less than three cushions. Comfort mattered.
"It's my house. Nice jammies. Ducks this time, huh? Cool." He cast an amused eye over my flannel ensemble, because of course, his highness still looked slick (designer jeans and a black long-sleeved T-shirt that fit him to perfection) no matter the hour. Sweaty from a run was as mussed as the man ever got. Even then, his dark damp hair appeared to have been styled by the wanton fingers of lingerie model as opposed to the elements.
"You're just jealous of my awesome stylin'." I clutched my e-reader to my chest, doing my best to hide my happy nipples. "I bet you sleep in Armani or something, don't you? Prada, maybe?"
He chuckled.
"What do you want, Jimmy?"
"Never been in here before."
"You came in here the night you carried me up to bed after I'd crashed on the couch," I reminded him.
"It was nearly four in the morning. Didn't stop to look around." He took a slow tour of the room, casting an eye over my belongings. It could be said I have tidiness issues when it comes to my personal space, clothes lay abandoned on the chair, shoes beneath it. In my bathroom, makeup, hair junk, and feminine hygiene products decorated the grey marble countertop. I'd gotten overly comfortable since moving in here and expanded upon my belongings. The last couple of years, I'd lived a minimal existence. It fit in with all the moving around. The surplus of stuff would make my eventual packing up and moving on a pain.
Jimmy's brows bunched. "Don't you let the cleaners in?"
"Of course I do."
"They come twice a week, Lena. How the hell do you manage to make a mess again so fast?"
"It's a gift. I don't leave my things around the rest of the house. This is my personal space and therefore none of your business. Did you barge in here for a reason?"
He faced me, hands on hips. "Yeah, after our talk today, I wanted to know where you were at?"
"So you accept that ordering me to stay doesn't actually make it so?"
"Maybe." He meandered on over to my desk and casually started sifting through the debris. Half of the contents of my purse were scattered across the table, along with a couple of magazines. Oh no damn it, one of them lay open. Shit. I'd already had about enough embarrassment today to last me a decade. Please God don't let him see.
"Leave my stuff alone please, Jimmy."
"What's this?" He picked it up, of course he did. Then he began to read. "Guide to getting over him. Interesting."
"Well you didn't just expect me to turn tail and run without at least investigating alternatives, did you?"
He lifted one shoulder. "Pretty much."
"Great. Your faith in me is heartening. So what have you been thinking about?"
"Your feelings," he deadpanned, looking up from the magazine.
I took a breath. "Jimmy, I'm impressed. You almost managed to say it in a normal voice this time."
"I practiced downstairs for a while." He sat on the edge of my bed, legs spread wide, making himself completely at home. Which I guess made sense to a degree.
"So what about my feelings?"
"You know this isn't half bad. Some of this advice is pretty sound." He kept on reading.
"You've suffered from unrequited passions yourself, I take it?"
He snorted. "Course not. I always got whoever I wanted."
"Of course you did." I bowed my head, properly chided. Shame on me for thinking otherwise. Doubtless he'd left a trail of broken hearts behind him an ocean wide.
"Which was not always a good thing." The arrogance slipped from his face and he frowned, his jaw taut. He stared into the distance, remembering what, I wondered? When he realized I was watching him, he swallowed, gave the magazine a shake. "We should do this."
"What? Do what?"
"One. You need to get out and see other people." He winced. "You're obviously not so great at getting hookups, so don't worry, I'll help you out with that. Two. Try to focus on my flaws."
"You want me to follow the list to help me get over my crush on you?"
"Yeah, stop interrupting. This is important. Two. Focus on my flaws." He gave me a cursory glance. "I don't see you having any trouble with that one. Three. Stop feeling sorry for yourself, needy and or angry."
I pushed up my glasses. "I see."
"Yeah. Honestly, it's really unattractive, Lena. No one wants to see that shit."
"R-i-ght."
"Four. A bunch of them sort of rolled into one here, again. Go out with friends. Try something new. Get fit. Pamper yourself. Have fun. Enjoy life. Go on a trip. Paint your toenails, whatever the fuck. Blah, blah, blah. You get what I mean."
"Mm." I nodded.
"That's pretty much it."
"And I'm supposed to follow this?"
He gave me a long look. "You said you didn't really wanna leave, that you liked the job. Prove it."
I laughed ever so slightly manically. The decision had been made and it hadn't been an easy one. Backtracking now did not seem wise. "Jimmy, please. It's just some stupid magazine article probably written by a bored intern on their lunch break. This is not science. It's not going to fix anything."
"Then why was it lying open at this page?"
Good question. Strands of black hair hung over his forehead, hanging in his eyes. Without thought, he pushed them back. My fingers itched to do just that, to brush back his hair and sooth his fevered brow. Now that he seemed particularly hot in the temperature sense.
And he thought some wisdom out of a magazine could cure me.
"Never know, Lena. It just might work." He dropped the magazine
in my lap, gaze pinning me to the spot. "And I think you owe it to me to try."
My chin went up. "I do, huh?"
"I gave you a chance. Gave you this job, and made every effort to accommodate you. Not fair you'd just take off after not even two months without giving it your best shot. You owe me"
"You hired me because you thought I'd be easier to manipulate than another actual counselor and because Mal and David harangued you. Let's not lose sight of the truth here."
One thick shoulder rose and fell. "Does it matter? I gave you the job, you said you like the job. Least you can do is give this a chance."
"I'll think about it."
"You do that." A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "I know all about addictions and wanting things that aren't good for you, Lena. End of the day, it's up to you to decide whether to take control and fight it or not."
Jimmy Ferris as an illegal, dangerous, controlled substance. Funnily enough, I could see it. The man affected me on all the levels no matter how much I tried to resist, damn it.
He headed for the door, closing it slowly behind him. "Night."
"Night."
# # #
A bang like a shotgun startled me from sleep. I shot up in bed, blinking into the semi-darkness. What fresh hell was this? A blurry shadow stalked toward me.
"Wha--"
"Get up," ordered Jimmy. "We're going jogging."
"Have you lost your fucking mind?"
"Rise and shine. Day one of your intensive desensitization-to-me program is about to begin." He threw back the drapes, letting the weak sunlight seep in. "You got tennis shoes, right?"
I fumbled on the bedside table for my glasses and shoved them on my face. The world unblurred. "God, Jimmy. It's barely past dawn."
A black Nike flew in my direction. I only just managed to deflect it. "Hey!"
"C'mon. Move it."
Next came a set of baggy old grey sweats, chucked onto the end of my bed. His lordship was already decked out in all black designer running gear. Ready and raring to go. "You got a sports bra in here somewhere? Girl your size, I'm thinking you'd need one."
"Get out of my drawer." I threw back my blankets and stalked over to him. "Do not go through my underwear, you asshole."
He ignored me and kept right on burrowing through the drawers. "In my line of work, it's nothing I haven't seen before. C'mon. You need to get ready."
"I repeat, are you insane?"
"Told you, I'm not breaking in another companion, so I'm going to help you help yourself. We're going to work our way through that little list of yours so you can get past these silly feelings of yours. If anyone can kill a crush, it's me."
"You know where you can shove the list. And if you need help, let me just fetch a rubber glove and some lube and I'll be right with you."
With a sigh, Jimmy straightened. He held his fisted hand high, slowly uncurling his fingers. Way up high over my head dangled a pretty pair of black silk panties. "Say you'll go jogging with me and I'll give them back."
"I'm so tempted to just punch you in the junk right now and be done with it. I mean, it has to happen sooner or later, right?"
He made no move to cover himself, showed no weakness. Instead, one side of his mouth curled upward and a dimple appeared. My stomach dropped. I'd been right, definitely at least one dimple. He gave the panties in his hand a jiggle. Given my lack of height and Jimmy's abundance of it, there was no way I could reach them.
"Do you actually expect me to jump around like an idiot?" I asked in a withering tone.
"It would amuse me."
"Don't make me kill you at this hour of the morning, Jimmy. It's not civilized."
The semi-smile disappeared and he dropped the panties into my waiting hand.
"Thank you."
"You give the list some thought?" Hands on hips, he stared down at his nose at me.
I had, long and hard, in fact. While getting away from Jimmy might make sense, it also hurt. Guilt snuck in every time. Maybe he and my replacement wouldn't get along, I mean, Jimmy and I often didn't get along. But we did it in a way where he stayed sober and on track. So I guess in the main way that mattered, this lopsided partnership was a success.
"What do you want here, Lena?" He rubbed at his temple. "I know you've dealt with some dickheads in the past, but that's not the situation here. I'm not out to do any damage. I just want you to keep doing your job."
"I know."
"Man," he groaned. "Would it help if I said 'please'?"
"I'm not sure," I answered honestly. "Maybe. Do you even know how to say that word without attaching any undue sarcasm and irony to it?"
He is head fell back as if in a silent plea to heaven. "Please."
"Please, what?"
"Come jogging with me. Do the list. Stop this shit. Lena, please?"
He seemed sincere, and he was right, I didn't completely, one hundred percent want to leave. Also, it was important to reward good behavior.
"Okay, Jimmy. Let's give it a go."
# # #
"Oh good god, I hate you." I panted, dragging my sorry ass after the bastard to whom the sentiment belonged.
"See? It's working already." Jimmy hadn't even broken a sweat yet. The athletic ass might as well have been out for a stroll. "Plus, you'll be healthier. Everyone wins."
"I'm healthy. I eat fruit."
"In pie doesn't count."
If only I had laser beams for eyes. Damn the lack of technology.
"Not saying there's anything wrong with you," he said, turning to face me. Still jogging, the fucking show-off. If only he'd fall on his ass, I'd enjoy that so much. His gaze flitted over me, lingering overly long, though not unappreciatively strangely enough, on my hips. "I like a little junk in the trunk."
I whispered expletives because there wasn't enough breath in me to actually say them out loud.
"We jog every day, slowly work up your distance, you can eat more pie. How does that sound?"
It sounded like he was a patronizing judgmental asshole. I flipped him the bird.
"Lena, look at me."
I stopped, I looked. Also, I slumped over and gasped for breath because multitasking is important for the modern woman.
"You're a pretty girl and your curves are cool," he said, still moving on the spot. "Getting a little healthier won't hurt, though. Raise your energy levels, stuff like that."
Jimmy thought I was pretty?
Of course, he could have just been being kind. Either way, it didn't matter, not really. So my belly should just stop swinging about all lunatic like and be still. Though the jibe about pie still pissed me off. People from a local restaurant stocked the fridge, there were salads, grilled meats, pasta, and yes, occasionally pie. Like I made them put it in there at gunpoint or something. What I ate was none of his business and his opinion shouldn't even matter.
It shouldn't and yet it did.
"I don't need to conform to your ideas of beauty," I said, once my breath had been located.
He'd been staring off at the oversized houses and fall trees around us, but now his gaze snapped back to me. "Course you don't, never said you did."
"Not all of us are born looking perfect like you, Jimmy."
"You're pissed?" He stepped closer. "Lena, I've got a lot of flaws. We've been living in each other's pockets for a couple of months now so you of all people know that. Not liking the way you look isn't one of them. You want to chew me out over something, pick another topic, you're way off on this one."
Neither of us spoke for a moment. We faced each other, our breaths misting in the cold morning air.
"I might be slightly defensive about this," I admitted eventually.
"I might have noticed." He pushed his hair back from his face. "I probably also didn't say it right. Add it to my list of flaws, has trouble expressing himself."
"Especially in ways that are socially acceptable."
He gave me an amused look. "You think that matters, what everyone thinks?"
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"Sometimes. To a degree."
He snorted. "You can't affect what people think, Lena. They wanna think the worst, they will. I'm not wasting energy trying to make everyone happy. I have enough on my hands just keeping my own shit together."
There was wisdom in his words, though they weren't entirely accurate.
"People judge you whatever," he said. "People fucking love their own opinions and are all too happy to throw 'em at you, whether you ask or not. You have to be happy with yourself."
"Yes. But you care what the guys think," I said.
"Sure." He started jogging again, more slowly this time, thank you, god in heaven.
Ever so reluctantly, I fell into step beside him. My poor calves and thighs burned. Without a doubt they hated me with a fiery passion and I didn't blame them at all. "And Ev and Anne. You care about them."
He grunted.
"And Mr. Ericson." Sadly, I struggled to keep up even at this lesser speed. "Though you do mangle your words occasionally, don't stop to think before you speak. But don't we all?"
"Let's move onto another flaw," he said.
"All right." I searched my besotted mind for ammunition. "How about..."
"I'm self-centered."
"Yeah. That's true. You're pretty arrogant and narcissistic."
A lady jogger bounced on by, clad head to toe in form fitting Lycra. She gave Jimmy a wide inviting do-me-on-the-spot smile. He nodded to her, then concentrated on the path once more.
"Not entirely without cause, granted. But you don't date," I said, stopping (he halted too, happily). Jogging and talking at the same time just didn't work for me. Of course, neither did jogging and breathing. "Why is that? You put all this effort into your looks, buff up your body, buy the best clothes. And hey, kudos to you, it works. But you don't go out unless it's business or something to do with the guys, you're basically a hermit."
"There a question in there somewhere?"
"Why?"
"Why do I take care of myself or why am I a hermit?"
"Let's start with the first one," I said.
He shrugged. "I'm vain. What are you gonna do about it?"
Huh. "So you're completely happy with yourself?"
"With how I look? Sure." He raised a brow. "My looks are the one thing that's always worked for me, always gotten me attention. If I'm pouting on the cover of some magazine, then that helps sell records. It's a fact. I'm not a poet like Davie or crazy talented on an instrument. I sing okay, sure. But what I have is this face, that's what I contribute. And in this business, you use every advantage at your disposal."