I realize my explanations are going to sound like feeble excuses, so I’ll just say I’m sorry about everything that happened. I realize you may not believe me immediately or ever, but I hope you’ll allow for the possibility that I might be telling the truth. Either way, thank you for reading this far.
Glad you’re back at work, and enjoying it.
Hope to hear from you, but will understand if I don’t.
All the best,
Jake
He had replied, and while she didn’t buy into his excuses and explanations, he had apologized. It probably didn’t speak much for her expectations, but at that moment, it was enough. It was more than Leon had done, at any rate.
A bit of the raw ache in the middle of her chest eased, and she walked into Escapades with a tiny smile inching across her face.
Early the next morning, after work, Ariel typed up the reply she had spent the entire evening crafting in her mind:
Hi, Jake,
I appreciate the apology.
Work has been great. I’m taking on additional responsibilities at Escapades, the club on Wilshire Boulevard where I work. The owner is opening a new branch in San Diego and asked me to be the interim manager here. He says I’ve been preparing for it for years; it’s payback for all those incessant questions on how he ran things at the club.
Someday, my unbridled curiosity is going to get me into trouble I can’t get out of.
Ariel
She frowned as she reread her response. It was chatty but impersonal, which was the perfect tone. She didn’t want to be stiff, but she didn’t want to lead him on, either. There was nothing between them, after all.
Her eyebrows furrowed on the hint of a frown. Her improved mood that entire evening had nothing to do with Jake, right?
But what if it did?
A relationship with Jake was out of the question, but correspondence couldn’t possibly hurt, could it? Before she could change her mind, she dashed off a postscript:
p.s. It’s okay to keep writing. That’s not too complicated, right?
Chapter 12
Jake leapt high into the air and spiked the ball down. It smashed onto ground, sending up a spray of sand.
The onlookers roared with delight. Wild applause rose from the crowd.
“Game!” the referee yelled. “Colin Coleman and Jake Hunter.”
Jake and Colin slapped each other on the back and walked to the net to shake their opponents’ hands.
“Good game,” their rivals congratulated them. “Top form, both of you.”
Jake nodded his thanks and then strode off the sand court to grab a towel from his duffle bag.
Young women in bikinis clustered around him. “Could I get an autograph please?” one of them asked. Her teeth flashed white against her bronzed skin. She held out pen and paper.
The next young woman offered a permanent marker and her flat stomach.
Jake forced a tight smile as he scribbled his name on her skin. She giggled and pranced off to collect Colin’s signature.
Jake signed several more autographs and politely declined offers of dinner, drinks, breakfast, and whatever lay in between. Nearly fifteen minutes passed before he finally got to his destination—his duffle bag. By then, the sheen of sweat on his skin had dried and he didn’t even need his towel.
He reached for his phone to check his messages, and smiled when he saw Ariel’s name in his inbox. She wrote at least once a day with chatty stories of her work and her life in Los Angeles.
Hi, Jake,
I survived my first fortnight as interim manager of Escapades! The club is still open. It didn’t burn down. It didn’t get raided (although I did have to call the cops one night—some actor dude thought it would be awesome to bring a whole bunch of his friends, and we got mobbed by crazy, screaming, half-naked women wanting their autographs) and we’re making money (that movie star night, by the way, so rocked). Mark is thrilled and alluded to making the promotion permanent, if I want it.
I think I do. I love what I do. In fact, I always did, except that I was so stressed trying to secure my elusive dream that I forgot to look around and enjoy what I did have. Funny how life creeps up on you and makes you happy even when you’re not thinking about it.
You set me on the right track, so thanks.
How’s volleyball season? Any recent tournaments?
Love, Ariel.
“Everything okay?” Colin’s voice cut into his thoughts.
Jake put his phone away. “Yeah, everything’s fine.”
“Good game today. Nailing this tournament pushed us to number three. We’re definitely in the running for a spot in the Olympics,” Colin said. “Did you hear from Adidas or Nike yet?”
“They’re not interested.”
“Reebok?”
Jake shook his head. “No, but they might be if they hear about our championship win today. I’ll let them know and see what they say.”
Colin nodded. He sat down on the sand and tugged a water bottle out of his bag. “We’ll need to sync our schedules for training. Can you start Monday for the Texas tournament?”
“Probably.”
“Probably?”
“I’m still juggling projects at work.”
“Damn it, Jake. I told you—”
“Things don’t magically fall into place just because you want them to. There’s something called ‘real life’ out there, Colin, and sometimes, it just sucks.”
“What crawled up your ass and died? So you can’t nail a sponsor. You can nail a girl, can’t you? Find a rich girl and dupe her into paying your way. What happened to that Ariel chick?”
“You leave Ariel out of this.” Jake shoved his belongings into his bag and walked away.
“San Antonio on Monday!” Colin called out. “I expect to see your ass there. Don’t let me down.”
Jake’s cell phone rang. He glanced at the number and braced himself. “Hey, Trina.”
“Are you still coming down tonight to help Mom with the move?”
“Yeah.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ll be in San Francisco tonight, and then Mom and I will catch the flight to L.A. tomorrow. Is she all packed?”
“Yes, she is.” Trina hesitated. “Are you sure we’re doing the right thing?”
“Damn it, Trina. You talked me into this. You researched the nursing homes and picked this one.”
“I know. It’s the only highly recommended one that we could afford, but it’s so far away. What if she needs us? L.A. isn’t exactly an easy commute from San Francisco. I can’t pack up at a moment’s notice and head down to her if she needs family.”
“I don’t know. I guess we’ll just deal with it when it comes.”
“And you’ll have the check for the three-month deposit, right?”
“Yeah.”
“And I did tell you that the online automated payments gets a $100 discount a month, right?”
“Yes, you did. Look, Trina, I have to go finish packing and catch my flight. I’ll see you in about ten hours. We can talk then.”
He hung up and glanced over his shoulder as a hand tapped his back lightly. Jake turned to see an attractive young Indian woman in a white sundress.
She extended her hand. “I’m Leila Desai. I watched your game. Congratulations on your win.” Her accent was subtly British.
“Thank you.”
“I apologize for eavesdropping, but I overheard you say you’re on your way to San Francisco tonight.” Her smile was winsome. “I am too. In fact, my flight leaves out of the executive airport in an hour, and will get you into San Francisco in three hours, minus the security lines. If you’d like to shave your travel time down, I’d be happy to offer you a ride out there.”
“I…” He stared at her. “This ‘ride’ of yours—”
“Small private jet. We don’t own it. It’s one of those timeshare arrangements my parents bought here in the U.S. to bypass the congested airports.” Her matter-of-fact tone made the extraordinary s
ituation seem commonplace. She smiled faintly. “I promise I’m not a crazy stalker. Besides, you’re much bigger than I am. I don’t think I could kidnap you and get away with it.”
Jake laughed at her point-blank humor. “If you’re leaving in an hour, I don’t think I can swing by my place to pick up my luggage and make it to the airport in time.”
Her chuckle was a rich, warm sound. “I’ll give you a ride. I’m the plane’s only passenger; it’s not leaving without me.”
Leila’s ride to the airport was a chauffeured black Bentley, and as promised, the plane door closed and the plane taxied down the runaway almost as soon as Leila and Jake took their seats.
He relaxed against the butter-soft leather seat. “I really appreciate this.”
“Oh, not at all. I imagine you must be tired after days of playing in the tournament, so don’t feel like you have to make conversation if you’d rather relax or sleep.” A dimple danced in her cheek. “I must confess that the other reason my parents bought into this private jet is so that we wouldn’t feel compelled to have conversations with strangers on planes.”
Jake chuckled. Immediately, he thought of Ariel. Ariel, of course, wouldn’t just talk to strangers on planes; she talked to strangers everywhere.
“You’re not American, are you?” he asked.
“Indian by birth, but raised primarily in London.”
“What brings you down to Georgia?”
“Researching properties for my mother,” Leila said. “She wants a southern house, only nobody—not even she—knows what she means exactly. I came over to meet with real estate agents and tour some properties. Mother’s not entirely certain she trusts my taste, but it’ll suit her better than Father’s, at any rate.”
“Did you find anything she’d like?”
“A couple of promising possibilities. The photographs don’t do them justice.”
“So what’s in San Francisco?”
“One of our homes. I just wanted to spend some time there before heading back to London. I’ve always liked San Francisco—the perfect amalgamation of mountains and ocean. It reminds me of Rio de Janeiro, and it’s almost as expensive.”
“I was born in San Francisco.”
“And you’re headed home now?”
“Kind of.”
Leila tilted her head to invite further conversation.
“I’m helping my mother move into a nursing home in Los Angeles tomorrow.”
She said nothing, but her eyes were gently compassionate as she laid a hand lightly over his.
“She has Alzheimer’s. She’s lived with my sister for several years, but it’s getting to be more work than my sister can handle. She has a family, young kids. Mom’s taken to letting herself out of the house and wandering the streets; she’s nervous and disruptive in crowds and around strangers—and practically everyone’s a stranger to her these days. The nursing home just seemed like the only solution left open to us.”
“But why Los Angeles if your sister lives in San Francisco and you travel around the country?”
“Because San Francisco, as you’ve pointed out, is expensive. The home in L.A. was the best compromise we could find between cost and quality of care. Was it the best decision or even the right decision?” Jake shrugged. “I don’t know. Sometimes, it feels like it’s progress just to get to a decision, any decision.”
She laughed, a light and musical sound. “Oh, I know. When it comes to the ones you love, it’s always complicated.”
Chapter 13
By the time Jake walked into his sister’s home four hours later, his head was spinning.
Trina stared at him. “I wasn’t expecting you for another five hours.”
“Managed to get an earlier flight. How’s Mom doing?”
“She’s already asleep. The kids too.” Only then did she fling her arms around him. “Oh, God, it’s so good to see you.”
“I’m sorry I left you to deal with this for so long.”
Trina dashed away the tears on her spikey eyelashes. “Well, family’s the last safety net, right? You’re here now, and it’s all that matters. I can’t tell you how glad I am you’ve found a way to cover Mom’s nursing home costs.” She led him into the living room. “Come, sit. Tell me how you’re doing. How was your last tournament?”
“Great. Colin and I placed first; we’re third-ranked in the country right now.”
Her eyes lit. “Does that mean you’ll be going to the Olympics?”
“Probably.”
“That’s wonderful. Who’s sponsoring you?”
“No one. Yet.”
Trina’s eyes widened. “But that would mean…Mom’s costs…you’re still working?”
He nodded. “Picked up several more IT projects. The money’s good on that front.”
“But when are you finding the time to train?”
“That’s for Colin and me to figure out. Don’t worry; it’s all fine.”
“But you looked so…confused…when you walked in.”
“I am. I met someone on the plane, and when she heard that I was taking Mom to L.A. tomorrow, she offered to come along.”
“Just like that?”
“Actually, she offered her plane.”
Trina’s jaw dropped. “She what?”
“Leila. She’s British or Indian, or both. Her parents have a time-share private jet, and she’s got the use of it tomorrow. She offered to take Mom to L.A. I told her Mom didn’t handle crowds well, and she thought this might work better than going through SFO and LAX.”
“Wow,” Trina murmured. “And what did you say?”
“I told her I’d get back to her late tonight or first thing tomorrow.”
“What? Why?” Trina stared at him. “There’s someone else.”
Jake looked away.
“And you’ve got it bad.” A grin spread over her face. “Who is she? How is it I’ve never heard of her?”
“Her name’s Ariel. I met her in Fort Lauderdale. I never told you because there was nothing to tell. I crashed and burned before anything started. She thought I was after her for her money.”
“And you told her you weren’t, right?”
“She left before I could explain. I tracked her down online, apologized, and we’ve been exchanging e-mails since.”
“So you’re friends.”
“I don’t know what we are.”
“You want to be more.”
He nodded. “It’s hard though. She thinks I’m a mercenary asshole looking for a sugar mama.”
“Is she a sugar mama?”
“Actually, she works as a bartender in L.A.”
“I see…” Trina released her breath in a sigh. “How badly did you fall?”
“I haven’t been able to take my mind off her at all, and I’m not sure why.” Other than an incredible physical and emotional connection, and an amazing day together.
“So…you’ve just met this Leila, who’s offered you a ride on her private jet, presumably with all kinds of honest-to-God sugar mama potential, and you’re hesitating because you think you might be in love with a bartender who doesn’t want anything to do with you.”
Jake frowned. “You make me sound like an idiot.”
She laughed. “You are an idiot, but you’re a good-hearted idiot.”
“None of that tells me what to do.”
Trina shrugged. “You already know what to do.”
“So…” Noelle trooped up to Ariel, who stood behind the bar mixing an order for table twenty-three. “Can I get a favor?”
“As long as it doesn’t involve getting naked. Tried that, didn’t work.”
Noelle laughed. “No, nothing like that. I’ve got classes tomorrow morning, but Mom’s looking forward to a visit.”
“You want me to check on your Mom?”
“Can you?”
“Sure, no problem. I like hanging out with her.”
“Awesome.” Instead of heading back to her section, Noelle tapped her fingernails
on the wooden countertop. “Two weeks after the fact, how’s ‘not too complicated’ working for you?”
Ariel’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t you need to attend to your customers?”
“Everyone’s hunky dory for the next five minutes.” Noelle grabbed a honey-baked peanut from the tray of snack food on the bar. “Well?”
“It’s…not complicated.”
Noelle rolled her eyes.
“We write almost every day. I tell him about my job. He tells me about the beaches and seaside towns he’s visiting.”
“Let me see his e-mail.”
It’s personal was Ariel’s instinctive objection, and then she realized, as she handed her phone over, that Jake’s message wasn’t in the least bit personal.
Noelle read the e-mail quickly and handed it back over. “He’s got a future with Yelp or Zagat as a restaurant and nightclub reviewer, but that’s about it.”
Ariel sighed. “You noticed that, too, huh? It’s about places and things. Not a word about volleyball or Colin, or how his search for sponsors is going.” Or any woman he might be dating. She wasn’t proud of the little coil of jealousy in her stomach.
“You can read all that in the sports news, can’t you?”
“Not really. Jake’s not big enough, really, to grab the spotlight, so any official news of him are just one-liners of where he’s competing next.”
“And you still haven’t spoken to him?”
She shook her head. “I have his number, but I don’t even text him. It would complicate things, and that’s not where we’re going. We both know that.”
Noelle rolled her eyes again in a “God save me from imbeciles” gesture and stalked away.
At that moment, Ariel’s screen flashed an incoming e-mail from Jake. She pulled it up.
Hi, Ariel,
I’m coming into town tomorrow for a few days, and wondered if I could see you. I know it’s last minute, and you’re probably working, but I thought I’d ask.
Jake
p.s. Yes, I know this complicates the no complications rule. It’s okay to say no. No excuses or reasons needed.
Flawed: A Love Letters Novel Page 9
