Rainey gulped and shook her head. “Nothing.”
He narrowed his gaze at her. “It didn’t look like nothing.”
“It was nothing important,” she amended.
He didn’t press, but he didn’t take his eyes off her either. Up close, his height was imposing. It could have been intimidating, but instead of feeling dwarfed, she felt shielded. Rainey also felt like she couldn’t move.
“Wh-what were you thinking about?” She heard herself ask.
He didn’t flinch. And he didn’t look away. But the seconds stretched on. Endlessly.
“I was thinking that I want to kiss you.”
How could they be standing outside when there was no air? She could hear wind in the trees. The spring night was alive around them. Clouds floated like ghosts across a waxing moon. But no air for her lungs could be found.
Jacques’s knuckle met her chin and tipped it up. He leaned in, and for the second time that day, Rainey was certain she was about to be kissed.
His whispered breath feathered over her lips. “When was the last time you were kissed?” His question threw her, demanding too much of her brain that was now focused on his proximity, the heat she could already feel from his body, the way his dark eyes now looked like black pools.
“I…” She swallowed and tried again. “About two years.”
A flicker of surprise registered on his face, and then a look she couldn’t quite name replaced it. He moved his hand and cupped her cheek, running his thumb over her skin the way he had in the restaurant. Then his fingertips slid to the back of her neck.
“That’s a long time,” he whispered, but even on a whisper the rumble of his voice moved through her.
Rainey nodded since no words came to her aid. It was a long time, and the loneliness she kept locked down and silent with her crocheting and books and plants and music threatened to break free from its chains and trample her.
His eyes searched hers, and his focus was so keen she felt stripped bare, as though he could see everything she felt.
“I’ll try to make up for it,” he said. And then his lips landed on hers as the hand on the back of her neck pulled her in.
Rainey’s eyes fell closed at the touch of his lips, firm but silken. Hungry. She heard his sharp inhale that sounded a lot like her own, and when his other hand pressed into the small of her back, closing the distance between him so her chest pressed against his, Rainey grabbed onto his shoulders and held on.
Jacques smelled like sandalwood soap, clean and real and warm. His mouth on hers tasted like peppermint and promises. When he tilted her head and the tip of his tongue asked to be let inside, she opened for him, her knees going spongy. His tongue in her mouth signaled more than a mere kiss.
His tongue in her mouth was the end of loneliness.
At the same time, it was the definer of loneliness because it made her feel the sharp edges of her solitude in a way she never had. Years of folding in on herself had left her almost numb, and Jacques’s tongue in her mouth was the reawakening of sleeping limbs. And onslaught of sensation. So much feeling.
Too much feeling.
Too much. Because she wanted to giggle and weep and collapse at the same time. And when his tongue awoke hers, and she let hers dance with it, the sound of his moan carried So. Much. Wanting.
It spoke a language she knew. A language she thought only she knew. And hearing it from his throat did her in. Rainey couldn’t handle any more.
So she pulled back, panting.
“I… I…”
How in the world could she explain that she’d lost the capacity to feel everything he was making her feel? How could she tell him that his electric kiss had fried all of her circuits? How could she admit that she was so broken there was no fixing her?
Even though she wanted to be fixed.
Jacques’s thumb sailed across her cheek again. “Too fast,” he murmured, still holding her in his embrace. “I get it. I can go slow.”
Too fast? He could go slow? A thread of hope started to weave its way up from her heart. What would happen if he went slow? Might she survive that? She had no way of knowing since nothing like this had ever happened. Yes, she’d been kissed in the years since her life had closed like a clamshell. But those kisses had only gone skin deep. They hadn’t left her shell-shocked and torn between making a run for it or offering the guy a piece of her soul.
Rainey marshaled her courage. “Slow might be okay,” she managed.
Jacques studied her, unmoving, his gaze intent but his expression unreadable. What the hell was he thinking about her?
“I can go slow,” he said again. “But knowing how your kiss feels, it’ll be torture.” His mouth curled into a smile as he spoke, and Rainey wanted to throw caution to the wind and kiss him back, no matter if it left her immolated.
She was about to do just that when his phone pinged. A groan rattled from Jacques’s chest, and the hand on her cheek dropped away. She watched him wince as he read the screen.
“I should take this,” he said. “Uber starts to route requests away from you if you decline too many.”
Nodding, she slid her hands from his shoulders down to his chest. “Of course. Thank you for dinner and…” She wanted to thank him for the kiss.
You can’t thank someone for a kiss, you idiot.
“…and everything,” she finished lamely.
Jacques raised a brow and gave her a wolfish smile. It was hot enough to singe her skin. “Thank you for dinner.” He pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead. “And thank you for everything.”
And then, before she knew it was coming, he pressed another kiss to her lips. Though it carried force behind it, his mouth never parted hers. Yet it was as though he was pushing meaning into her flesh, a message she’d have to decipher later when her head cleared.
He released her just as quickly. “Goodnight, Rainey.”
Jacques was already on the steps with his back to her when she squeaked out her reply.
“Goodnight, Jacques.”
Chapter 9
If their introductory jam session had been amazing, their recording session was epic. Stellar. Cosmic.
They laid down seven tracks, five songs Kate had composed and two of his own that they had adapted for the band the day before. And recording at Dockside — the studio of legends — was like Disney World on Ecstasy.
The drive to Maurice had taken only twenty-five minutes, but impatient with excitement, it had felt like an eternity to Jacques. When he pulled up to the sprawling fourteen acres of oak trees and bayou, he’d understood the studio’s motto: “Move in. Make records.” The place was huge. Fishing pond. Tennis courts. Poolside suite. Cypress decks. Vermilion Bayou.
He’d driven the Impala, tailing Kate, Des, and Kara, and when they parked and stepped out into the quiet, all four of them looked at each other without a word. On their faces, he could see the certainty he felt.
This was the closest they had ever come to magic.
Thirty minutes later, after meeting Gil, the sound engineer, taking in the studio — that really looked more like a TV set of a comfortable home — and running sound checks, they were doing it. They were making a real album in a bona fide recording studio, and Jacques couldn’t stop grinning.
He’d made a CD with Epoch, but that had been laid down in Chris’s parents’ den with a sound mixer they’d borrowed from the high school music department where Chris’s mom worked. They’d had nothing close to the custom console, the outboard gear, and the professional caliber mixing Dockside would give them, and already Jacques could feel a shift in his life.
After they knocked out the first song, his muscles and bones were humming with euphoria. And before they rolled into the next one — one he’d written — he took out his phone and held it up. In the background, he captured Kara tucked away in the alcove that held synth equipment, Des and Kate standing on the oriental rugs with their guitars, the alligator sculpture hanging over the double doors, and his joy
-drunk grin. He tapped Rainey’s contact because…
Because she was the person he wanted to let in on this moment.
Jacques: Check. It. Out. If I’m dreaming, don’t wake me up.
He pressed send, and they launched into his song, “Lazarus Night,” and playing it with Kate, Kara, and Des felt better than any song he’d ever played with Chris and Blake. The four of them had an energy that was palpable. He could feel it. He could hear it. And judging from the way each one of them checked in with one another as the song unfolded, so could the girls. When the song ended and Gil took off his headset, the look on the sound engineer’s face confirmed it.
The band was something special.
Two songs later, they took a break and headed out to the cypress deck with bottles of water. Gil joined them.
“I only see one problem,” he said, swiping a palm down his salt-and-pepper goatee.
“What’s that?” Kate asked, the beginnings of a scowl already forming between her brows.
“The name,” Gil said, nodding his head in Jacques’s direction. “How can you be called ‘Heroine’ when you have a dude?”
Jacques thought he could actually see hackles form over Kate’s spine. He jumped in before she could say a word.
“We’re keeping the name,” he affirmed, making sure to catch Kate’s eyes. “What’s better than a heroine? Sure as hell saved my ass.”
Kate raised a sardonic brow at him, but Kara and Des both smiled. Kate swiveled her head to face her two female band members. “I guess we have to keep him now.”
“Fuck, yeah,” Des murmured. In the two days he’d spent with them, Jacques had heard next to nothing from the bass player, so her welcome, terse though it was, hit home.
“Like there was any doubt,” Kara gushed.
Gil, effectively silenced, could only fight his grin and nod. “Yep. I’ll be telling this story one day to Rolling Stone,” he said with certainty. Then he pushed himself up from the wooden glider where he’d been taking his break. “C’mon, then. Let’s finish that future Grammy winner.”
Jacques was still coasting on his high the following night as he set up his amp and two guitar stands on the stage at Artmosphere. It was a quarter to eight, and the place was only a third full. Most of the patrons sat at high top tables, nursing their beers or enjoying plates of hummus or Sonny Sliders. People didn’t go to the bistro for the food, but food was a plus. As the name suggested, the place was chill, inviting. Folks could sit on the front patio and still hear the band, or they could dance at the foot of the stage. The vibe was cool, and the drinks were cheap — enough. And even though the crowd wasn’t big, it was Thursday night. Jacques knew it wouldn’t be long before UL students and the twenty-something crowd in Freetown, the sketchy, Boho neighborhood downtown, turned out in droves.
But tonight, Jacques wasn’t worried about a packed house. He didn’t care how many UL students or Freetown hipsters showed up. He just wanted to see one person in the crowd, and when he stepped up on stage to start his set, she was nowhere to be seen.
Rainey had told him she’d meet him at Artmosphere, explaining that her sister was being released from the hospital that day, and she’d need to be with her until Holi’s boyfriend got back from work. Jacques hadn’t asked when that would be, and asking now would make him seem like a selfish jerk, so with one final glance at the door, he launched into his cover of “Wonderwall.”
People liked hearing songs they knew, so when Jacques was playing solo, he’d always start with covers to get the crowd warmed up before he offered them his own songs. With Epoch, the draw was different. They’d still play plenty of covers, but with the force of a full band, they could open with one of their popular, high-tempo songs, and a core of followers would dance and sing along, whipping up the rest of the crowd with them.
After their kickass recording session, Jacques had asked the girls if they wanted to join him for the last hour of the night’s set. They’d accepted as he knew they would. Jacques had asked them to come for the end for two reasons. He wanted time to warm up the crowd and remind them of what they liked before offering them something new.
And he wasn’t dumb. He knew Heroine had limited live experience. A crowd — any crowd — could make a young band nervy. And while the four of them seemed to have a good thing going, they were untested live. If the set was a little rough around the edges or if Kate, Kara, and Des got spooked and had trouble pulling it together, he wanted it to be after the patrons at Artmosphere had plenty of time to finish a third or fourth drink. A later crowd was a more forgiving crowd.
So when he introduced his second song, he led with a teaser.
“How’s everybody doing tonight?” He let his low baritone bass roll over the room. Cheers and applause made up his answer. “Everybody got a full glass?” More cheers and whoops accompanied the lifting of many a cup. Jacques used the opportunity to lift his plastic water bottle in a toasting gesture before taking a sip.
“It’s a beautiful night. It’s a beautiful life,” he teased, letting the seduction of his voice flirt with each ear. His listeners answered back with their own joy. “I got some songs I know you like—”
Cheers interrupted him.
“—and I got some songs I know you’re gonna like.” Again, cheers followed his words.
“—and if you stick around…” He let silence slip in as he raised a brow and made eyes at the room. “…I’ve got a surprise for you.”
Whoops and hollers reached a fever pitch. “Epoch!” he heard shouted a few times from different corners of the bar. Jacques shook his head, putting on bedroom eyes and giving a low chuckle.
“It’s way better than Epoch,” he murmured, and the crowd went nuts. “But first, how about a little of The 1975 first?”
He broke into an acoustic rendition of “Chocolate” to the screams of about thirty female voices. On the second refrain of “No, we’re never gonna quit it, now we’re never gonna quit it, no,” Jacques spotted her.
For a split second, the sight of her made him lose the words. She wore a pale blue sweater that left her shoulders bare. Both shoulders. An expanse of porcelain skin he knew he’d have to taste before the night was over.
This need announced itself in his brain, and, thank God, his fingers kept playing, and the lyrics came back to him a second later. Rainey stood leaning against the pillar that was up front and to his right, and when he was sure he had his rhythm, he smiled at her.
The smile she gave him in return he felt in his chest. A slow sweep of warmth that filled him and went deep.
He finished the song, and she didn’t move, just kept her eyes trained on him. Jacques realized then she was alone. It shouldn’t have surprised him, and, in truth, it didn’t. Rainey had a nature that projected an air of solitude, but most girls went to bars with a group of their friends.
It hadn’t occurred to him that she’d be alone, and the knowledge worried him. Would she have good time? Would the countless single guys in Artmosphere leave her alone? Would she be safe?
These questions had their say in the back of his mind as he played the last chords of “Chocolate,” and the crowd cheered. Jacques murmured his thanks, but he kept his eyes on Rainey. And without taking them from her, he mentally edited his set list and rolled into “Here and Now,” a song he’d written for Epoch, but one he’d played on his acoustic at least a thousand times.
He held her gaze, and she didn’t once look away as he repeated the refrain.
I’m happy that you’re here.
I’m happy that you’re doing okay.
I’m happy we ain’t lost the now.
There’s no place I’d rather stay.
Then right here next to you.
‘Cause the way you look at me
Is nothing short of beauty.
Nothing short of beauty.
Even in the dimness of the bar and the colored stage lights, he could tell she was blushing. And even though there were probably a hundred-other peopl
e in the room, for the three minutes of “Here and Now,” it was just the two of them, and a song he’d written two years before suddenly held new meaning for him.
He played until the top of the hour. The crowd had grown, and he could see that Sam and Mags behind the bar were jumping, slinging drinks and making change like the world would stop if they missed a beat.
“Let’s take a break, fill up our cups, and tip the bartenders,” he called before setting down his guitar and hopping off the stage.
Jacques wanted to walk straight to her, but even though she wasn’t far from the stage, his path wasn’t clear. People — some he knew and some strangers — stepped in front of him to shake his hand, slap him on the back, and congratulate him on a great set.
Arnie, a regular at Artmosphere, thrust his hand in front of Jacques when he was just three feet from Rainey. “Never heard you play ‘Here and Now’ like that, man. Sounds good acoustic.”
“Thanks, Arnie.” He was already leaning away, trying to get to her. “See ya around—”
But Arnie kept talking. “Kind of reminded me of the time Epoch did that unplugged version of ‘Last November.’ ‘Member that?”
Jacques did remember, but he didn’t care. He wanted to get to Rainey. And Arnie liked to talk. And he liked beer even more, so when he did talk, he took his time, coaxing his beer-soaked tongue around each word like a mother bathing an infant.
“Yeah, Arnie. I remember. Excuse me for—”
“Shame y’all broke up,” Arnie said, looking pretty broken up himself. Jacques wondered how many beers the guy had already guzzled. Arnie was a regular, but that didn’t mean he was particularly popular. Probably because the guy was a drunk. A friendly drunk. An easygoing drunk. But there wasn’t a whole lot more beneath the surface. More than once, Jacques had given him a ride home after closing time, and the guy lived in a tiny little apartment on Amelia Street. Maybe he worked. Maybe he was on government assistance. Jacques had no idea, but it seemed like a sad way to live.
Drive Page 9
