Faster

by Deana Birch

  Me: Good morning

  Jake: Are you still in bed?

  Why did I feel like he wanted the answer to be yes?

  Me: out by the pool

  Jake: Bikini?!?

  I grinned.

  Me: sort of

  Jake: I need a visual.

  Me: not a chance.

  Taking a selfie was out of the question, let alone topless.

  Jake: you’re a tease

  Me: maybe you should stop texting me then

  Jake: good idea. I’m back in two hours. Come and get me.

  His arrogance had made it back to Los Angeles before him. He hadn’t even said please.

  Me: I’m busy.

  Jake: You are infuriating.

  Big word, rock star.

  Me: Again, stop texting me then.

  Jake: I’ve been on this bus with five men for ten days. Ten days I spent mostly thinking about you. PLEASE pick me up in two hours. I need to know if this is all in my head. Plus, if you don’t, I’ll show up anyway, and you know Fern will let me in.

  I went over it all in my mind. It wouldn’t be so horrible to see him again. And he’d admitted to thinking about me. I knew he would be here today and gone tomorrow, but I couldn’t deny my pull to him. My fingers twitched at the thought of rediscovering his body. The hair on the back of my neck tickled my skin as I remembered his lips. I let my desire overrule my brain. Friend fling, round two, started in two hours.

  Me: same place?

  Jake: yes

  Me: ok

  Jake: was that so hard?

  Me: see you later

  As I gathered my things, I said goodbye to Thomas Newman and went inside to shower. When I was done, Archie got his walk, and I was off to the Valley a little over an hour later.

  ⸎

  The bus was already there when I pulled into the parking lot where I had left Jake ten days prior. He stood outside next to it wearing sunglasses, track pants, a T-shirt, and flip-flops. As I got out of the car to greet him, he spotted me, and his grin went from ear to ear. I couldn’t help but smile to myself as I walked over to meet him.

  When he wrapped his arms around me and quietly thanked me for coming, I was a bit taken aback. He followed up with a simple kiss on the cheek and a deep breath in and out.

  As he pulled away, something he had once said rang in my ears. Back-from-tour Jake was by no means the same Jake as when I had left him, and it had not even been two weeks. He was different. I couldn’t see his eyes, but I could feel his fatigue, and I didn’t know the stories, but I could sense the excess.

  “So this is why you’ve been so boring?” said an unfamiliar voice from behind me.

  “It doesn’t, however, explain your lack of wit.” Jake’s tone was straight, but then he smiled. “Louana, this is Shane. Shane, Louana.”

  In my small and limited experience with the rich and famous, I had tried to do my best to keep my cool, but Shane Murphy was bigger than life. He was androgynously beautiful, with sharp features but warm, green eyes. His jet-black hair was a perfect mess. He wasn’t as tall as Jake, but his tight T-shirt proved he was as fit. Casey’s obsession made immediate sense.

  “Nice to meet you.” I tried to be as glib as possible.

  “And you remember Sam.” We turned to him.

  “Hey.”

  A little red convertible pulled up, and a beautiful, blonde hippie with braids in her hair and henna on her hands ran in Sam’s direction. She squealed and they flew into each other’s arms. Immediately in their own world, Sam didn’t bother to say goodbye, and the hippie never said hello. They climbed into her car and left.

  “Gotta grab my bags.” Jake left me standing with Shane.

  “You’ve put quite a spell on him. I’ve never seen him so well-behaved,” he said.

  It didn’t come across as a compliment, so I didn’t respond.

  ⸎

  We drove in silence for a bit on the way back to Hollywood.

  “Thanks for coming,” Jake said.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  “Tired, but fine. Better now.” He smiled. He still wore his sunglasses, but I could tell he was exhausted; he couldn’t hide it. His body may have been next to me, but his mind was elsewhere.

  “I need to go to the store to grab a few things for the week. Why don’t I drop you at my place for a shower and a nap, and I’ll be back before you know it?” I asked.

  “Already trying to get rid of me?” he half joked.

  Telling him he resembled a bag of burning dog excrement wouldn’t make him feel any better or help him relax, and if I went too soft, he may have taken it for pity. So I went for playful.

  “My motives are purely selfish.” My lips pursed, and I scrunched my nose up once.

  “I don’t need a nap for that. A shower, yes. A nap? No way.” The flirtatious Jake I knew reappeared.

  “It actually works out perfect. I’ll run down to the store and then I’m all yours until 7 a.m. We won’t even have to walk Archie. I’ll ask my neighbor, Richie, or Fern can handle it for tonight.”

  At home, Jake tried his best to get me to stay, but I insisted on my plan. He told me to hurry back; instead, I dawdled. I wasn’t stalling. I was trying to give him a bit of space to put himself back together.

  When I did get back, I found Jake in a deep sleep, spooning my pillow with his legs wrapped in the duvet. After tiptoeing to get my reader, I closed the bedroom door and went to the couch. At five, I made my dessert and prepped the vegetables. At six, I set the table and opened some wine. At six-thirty, I went in to wake him.

  He didn’t stir. I brushed the light brown hair away from his face.

  “Jake,” I whispered, then kissed his temple.

  Nothing.

  I repeated myself a little louder, but was still gentle.

  “Hmmm?” His grumble was barely audible, but content.

  “Jaaake.” I laced his name with sugar.

  Not quite awake, he turned over onto his back. He pried his eyes open, and he mumbled a little “Hey.”

  “Welcome back.”

  “Mmm, smells good in here.” He stretched his arms overhead.

  “Dinner’s ready in five.”

  “I thought you were gonna wake me up when you got back. What time is it?”

  “It’s time to eat.” I winked at him and left the room.

  I was setting the plates down on the table when he joined me, fully dressed, his hair in official bedhead state.

  “Chicken marsala,” I offered.

  “Looks amazing.”

  We sat down and I poured him a glass of wine. We clinked our glasses, and out of habit, I said, “Bon appétit.” Jake tilted his head as if to question me about something, but his hunger must have trumped his thoughts, and he poked a mushroom with his fork and brought it to his mouth instead.

  “Oh my God, real food. This is exactly what I need,” Jake said, holding my gaze. “You’re exactly what I need.”

  “I’m flattered, but you don’t know that.” My voice was matter-of-fact.

  “You don’t know what you don’t know.”

  Jake and his riddles. I changed the subject. I wasn’t ready to get into a heated debate about the status of where we weren’t headed.

  “Tell me about the tour.”

  “Cities, venues, buses. Alcohol, drugs, fans.” He cut the chicken, dipped it in the sauce, and took a bite.

  “Sorry I asked.”

  “No, I’m sorry. It’s just living the dream can also mean living the nightmare. The shows are great. Everything comes together onstage. The crew does an amazing job; we haven’t had any technical problems at all. But Shane and the guitar player, John, don’t always make things easy for me and Sam on the bus. This is insanely good, by the way.” His fork pointed to the already half-eaten plate of food in front of him.

  “Didn’t you say there were five of you on the bus?”

  “Yeah, our manager, Phil, was with us. He and John left as soon as the bus stop
ped.” He shivered, perhaps remembering something from the previous week. “I want to talk about something else. Tell me what you’ve been up to. Your texts don’t reveal much.”

  “Well, Friday night I went out with my friend Casey. We went dancing and got drunk on champagne. I paid dearly for it on Saturday.” I tried to make my life seem fuller than just work.

  “I wondered if you were a little tipsy.”

  “I was a lot tipsy.”

  We finished dinner and Jake stood to clear the table. With the meal over, the familiar tension between us bubbled and foreshadowed what was to come. I needed to say something to break the silence.

  “If you need to do some laundry, I have a machine. It’s a bit small, so you may have to do a couple of loads.”

  “Everything in my bag is dirty. So yeah, that would be great.” He rinsed the plates and loaded them into the dishwasher.

  I walked over to the front door, where he had left his bag, and brought it back to the kitchen in front of the accordion closet, where the washer and dryer were stacked.

  “Um, I can throw some in, but I don’t want to rummage through your things.”

  He turned around. “It’s only clothes, Louana. There aren’t any revealing secrets hiding in there. Sorry.” He winked and turned back to the sink.

  With his dirty clothes sorted and the machine loaded and washing, I focused my attention back to him.

  Jake leaned against the sink, drying his hands with the dish towel. “Are we done with our domestic duties? I’m ready to move on to other things.”

  I swallowed hard and stood.

  “All done,” I said, letting my dress fall off my shoulders and onto the floor.

  He signaled for me to come over to him. As if I would go anywhere else.

  I stopped as close as I could without touching. His thumb made a slow circle around my lips and moved to my chin, which he tipped up so we were looking each other in the eyes. With his other hand, his fingertips caressed my arm and traveled down my chest.

  “Did you miss me?” That quiet rasp returned to his voice.

  “Yes,” I confessed, closing my eyes.

  He pulled me into him, our lips locking. He had one hand on the back of my neck, the other on my ass. His mouth was as brilliant as I’d remembered it. My body hadn’t forgotten either. I wrapped both of my arms around his neck and hopped up for him to hold me. With his hands on my butt, he held me and I swiveled to sit on the counter. We kissed more, moving from hard and fast to slow and soft. We took turns teasing the other with our mouths as the energy between us continued to mount. He scooped me up and carried me off to the bedroom.

  Jake let me down easily on the bed, then pulled off his shirt and dropped his pants. My underwear was off quicker than I could blink, and he made his way down my belly with his magic mouth. My body was an instrument he played to perfection, and my climax didn’t take long.

  After pulling myself together, I climbed on top and baited him with my lips. Once I decided he was well tortured, I reached for the condom and brought him inside me. After finding my stride, my eyes moved to his. He watched me and said, “You are so beautiful.”

  His words made me want to please him even more, so I went faster, pushed deeper. He encouraged me with his hands and his moans. Just when I thought one of us was going to break, he let out a loud cry, and I knew he had found deliverance.

  “Jesus, woman.”

  After cleaning up and slipping into my white nightgown, I found Jake back in bed. He had the pillows propped up behind him, and he rapped his fingers on his bare chest.

  “You sunbathe topless?” he asked.

  “That’s random.”

  “I thought you were kidding, flirting. But the only tan lines you have are on the bottom, and you’re not orange, so you don’t spray tan.”

  “You’ve really been thinking about this.” I pulled back the covers next to him.

  “And you do it here? In front of all your neighbors?” His finger pointed to the window and toggled back and forth.

  “Are you a tan line detective?” Instead of lying down, I bent down on my knees, the mattress dipping with my weight.

  “But you do, don’t you? Right outside here.”

  I crawled on top of him like an animal stalking her prey. I stopped when my mouth was above his. Our lips met for a brief second before I pulled up, stared him right in the eyes, and with my most confident voice said, “I do.”

  I could have mentioned the timing, or how the courtyard was barren, but this was far more fun. In truth, I suspected a few people had seen me before, but I didn’t care. My two female role models had given me a positive body image and told me never to be ashamed of beauty.

  “Imagine you’re a painting in a museum, a unique masterpiece,” Grand-maman had once said to me.

  I kissed Jake once, then nuzzled into his side. With my back to his chest, I scooted closer.

  “You kept my toothbrush,” he said.

  Yes. I had. It had been my one tiny lighthouse of hope that he’d come back. I’d gotten rid of everything else, but the toothbrush never made it to the trash. “I was gonna use it to scrub the grout.”

  “Liar.” His fingertips travelled the length of my arm. “Louana?”

  “Mmm?” I closed my eyes and brushed my cheek against my pillow to smooth the sheet casing.

  “Can I stay with you for the next three days before we head out again? Your apartment is an oasis in the middle of the city. I need to chill out and take it easy. I need a break.” His hand rubbed my hip and I pulled it up to join mine. Lord, I’d missed a good postcoital snuggle.

  “Is that the only reason you want to stay here?”

  “Yup.”

  “Who’s the liar now?”

  He rolled me onto my back and searched my eyes. “Please?”

  What could I say? No? Take all your charm, sex appeal, and heat somewhere else? My body was too greedy. I would let my mind work out the details later. Plus, a part of me wanted him close. Helping him escape from the hassles of life on tour appealed to me.

  “Sure.”

  6

  Ruined

  * * *

  JAKE

  She did this thing where she interlaced our fingers and pushed her ass into my crotch when we went to sleep. Like she needed my arms around her. It’s not like I’d never spooned a girl before, but previous times were more out of obligation. And her little body was like the hand to my glove. When she pressed into me like that, it made me smile into the mess of her dark hair. I liked it.

  Her alarm went off and she tried to get out of bed, but I pulled her back into me three times. I thought I’d convinced her and was about to change gears when her phone rang and interrupted our action. It seemed a bit early for phone calls. I let her up and she grabbed the phone and read the screen. She blinked several times.

  “I should take this.”

  She swiped the screen and answered in French. Eavesdropping was pointless when it was in a foreign language, although her tone was sympathetic. She stood and walked out of the bedroom in her white cotton nightgown.

  Then she giggled.

  And confirmation shot through my spine. The ex-boyfriend again. Cock blocking from across the globe. His timing was impeccable.

  An unfamiliar heat sparked in my chest, and one thought ran through my mind: I did not want her talking to him. What I did want was to grab that phone out of her hand, say goodbye to the douche on the other end, bring her back to bed, and have my way with her. And I really didn’t want her to want to talk to him.

  Oh, fuck.

  This was jealousy. Seriously? Now? I dropped my head back to allow my eyes to roll into the depths of my brain.

  She stopped talking and the shower turned on. I found my own phone next to the bed and scanned my e-mails and texts. When she came back in, she had on a navy-blue dress that stopped right above her kneecaps. Another twinge of the growing beast inside me envied her coworkers who got to look at her all day.


  “Archie will be fine until nine. You’re sure you’re okay to walk him?”

  “Yeah, I’ll go after I eat.” I was already drooling at the thought of her leftovers.

  “Help yourself to anything.”

  “What time will you be back?” I scratched the back of my neck.

  “Best case? Six-thirty.”

  “Too long. Can’t you take the day off?” She probably wouldn’t agree, but then again, she’d originally said no to picking me up.

  “No.”

  Wow. She didn’t even consider it. So this was a career girl. Damn. She walked over to the side of the bed, leaned down, pecked me on the lips, and left. Just like that. She didn’t ask me to call her. She didn’t say she would call me. I’ve never thought I was the answer to women’s dreams, but she could have at least given me some indication that she wanted to talk to me again.

  Awake, alone, and disappointed, I stumbled to the kitchen and opened the fridge. Eggs were too much of an effort. I grabbed the container with the leftover chicken from the night before and pulled a fork out of the drawer. I sat down at her table and opened my e-mail again. Scrolling through messages between bites, I came upon one from our manager, Phil.

  What struck me first was that it was only addressed to me. When I read through it, I was sure there was a typo. There was no possible way the number attached to my recent royalty check was correct. I dialed his number and put him on speaker so I could keep eating. Damn, that woman could cook.

  “What are you doing up this early?” Phil’s rough voice answered.

  “Ha ha. I just saw your e-mail.”

  “Which one?”

  “The royalties.” I pronged a mushroom and popped it into my mouth.

  “Oh, yeah. I wanted to talk to you about that. You may want to keep the number to yourself. He coughed a few times.

  “Okay… But the other guys are getting something too, right?”

  “Not Sam. He didn’t write anything. And while John and Shane wrote the rest of the album, it’s your song that’s being played everywhere. And this is only the first quarter.”

  “Holy shit.” I stopped eating and did the quick math of the implications. “And the number you gave me was after I paid taxes?”