Faster

by Deana Birch

  “I missed you,” he said.

  My mouth tightened into a happy smile.

  “Are you hungry? I’m making spinach saag.”

  “Starving.”

  “Then I should go start dinner.”

  I moved to get up, but he still held me down with his body as mischief danced in his eyes. His hands wandered to my ribs.

  “Not before you tell me how much you missed me,” he said.

  “Ah! Stop!” I protested his assault on my side body. I squealed with laughter and tried to get away. “I missed you!”

  He didn’t let up.

  “How much?” His finger continued his attack, and the grin I loved plastered across his tired face.

  “A lot! Stop!”

  Still no reprise.

  “I don’t know if I believe you.”

  “Uncle! I’m gonna pee!”

  He finally stopped torturing my ribs and leaned down for one more slow kiss.

  “I really did miss you,” he confessed into my ear.

  Leaving Jake on the bed, I got up and rinsed off in the shower. I pulled on a tight tank top and a pair of pajama shorts and tied my hair into a loose ponytail.

  In the kitchen, I washed the spinach and located all spices I would need for the saag. When I went to get the pans, I caught Jake standing in the doorway, watching me.

  “How do you manage to always be so beautiful?”

  “How do you manage to go from child to charming in zero point three seconds?”

  “I told you, it’s my superpower.”

  “Flatter me all you want. You’re still walking the dog,” I said.

  Our eyes held for a beat, but then he turned around and headed for the door.

  Fifteen minutes later, he was back. The table was set, and I was already sipping red wine. Vanessa Paradis played in the background. I was sure Jake would have preferred something else, but he didn’t say anything.

  We ate our rice and spinach, and he told me about the insanity of his Thursday night.

  “Holy shit. She had him for two days?” It was a Hollywood story I wouldn’t soon forget but was sure never to repeat.

  “It was fucking nuts, baby. Shane told me later she even wiped his ass at one point.”

  “Ew, I didn’t need that detail.”

  He picked at his plate and frowned. “Sorry I wasn’t here last night.”

  “I’m pretty sure that’s the best excuse I’ve ever heard.”

  I told Jake a bit about my trip—about loving Manhattan and its energy. My busy day at work seemed incredibly boring next to the story he’d told me, so I skimmed over it and the progress we were making on the film. We sat on the couch and finished the bottle of wine; my feet were in his lap, and he massaged them gently.

  “Baby?” He wet his lips. “Can I buy a TV?”

  “What?”

  “You don’t have one, and I’m sick of watching things on my laptop.”

  “Ugh, I hate TVs. They’re such an eyesore. Plus…” I trailed off. I didn’t want to bring up the fact that he may not be living with me in ten days’ time. But he picked up on the meaning, and his tone changed.

  “Jesus, Louana. If you want to kick me out next week, you can keep the fucking TV.”

  I brought my hands to my face and pressed my palms to my chin.

  “Jake, I don’t want a TV. Don’t make this about something it’s not.”

  “You brought it up,” he said.

  He was right.

  “You know what? I’m tired and had a long week. I missed you and am happy to be back,” I said. My eyes pleaded with him to drop it.

  He softened a little. “Okay. But if I stay, can I get a TV? I can build a bookcase around it. You’ll never know it’s there.”

  “Fine.”

  “You are tired. Your negotiating skills are suffering.”

  “Ha ha.” I pushed myself up and grabbed the empty wine glasses.

  “I’ll give Archie his last walk, but when I get back, I want you naked on the bed. I’ve had three days to think about what I want to do to you in there, and I need a round two.”

  ⸎

  Waking up in Jake’s arms was heaven. A big part of me could have stayed in bed with him the entire day. But my monkey mind and fully charged battery had other ideas. I needed to move.

  Archie and I had a good run, and when I got back home, Jake was in the shower, singing. I peeled off my sweaty clothes and joined him.

  “You’re happy,” I teased, as I pushed by him for the spray.

  “I am.” He scrubbed the shampoo into his locks, made a white Mohawk on his head, and waited patiently for his turn to rinse.

  We stopped for breakfast on the way to the farmers’ market. I sat across from him, observing all his little habits. His fingers were always occupied, tapping on something or touching an object and studying it. He was a bit of a busybody, like a hyperactive child who had learned to embrace the need to be in constant movement. I could relate—being lazy was not in my nature.

  “I think I should buy a car,” he said out of the blue.

  “Do you know what you want?”

  “Well, I want something with a bit of space. So a sports car is out of the question.”

  “Bit cliché anyway.”

  “I’ve never bought a new car before.” He stretched his arms up over his head, revealing his happy trail. “It feels weird to spend fifty thousand dollars on one.”

  “That’s your budget? Jesus, Jake.”

  “I could go higher, but I don’t want to rub it in the band’s face about how much money I’m making off ‘Faster.’”

  “You’ll need car insurance,” I said.

  The waitress came and cleared the table. She gave Jake an extra-long smile. Maybe she’d seen his inviting stomach muscles too. Poor thing. I had permanently licked my name into those abs. She didn’t stand a chance.

  “Phil lined everything up for me a few weeks ago when I mentioned it to him. I only need the car and to go to the DMV to settle the impound thing.”

  “We have time. You wanna go check some out?” I dug my phone out of my bag and did a quick search. “You could get a Jeep Wrangler.” I showed him the picture on my screen. His eyes lit up.

  “I smell a test drive.”

  Two hours later, Jake was the owner of a black Jeep Wrangler Rubicon. He requested all the options, and the dealer was going to tint the windows and deliver it to him on Monday morning. It was awkward getting back into my tiny Fiat after all the space and height of the Jeep.

  At the crowded farmers’ market, we held hands and committed other random acts of public displays of affection. It was the normalcy of it all that struck me the most. We moved so easily together, like we were dancing to a choreography only we knew, to music only we could hear. Life with him away from the chaos of the road hummed along to a sweet tune.

  ⸎

  “Do you mind if I abandon you with this?” Jake nodded to the bags of food on the counter we were putting away. “I need to work out a few kinks on one of the songs before I play it for Sam later.”

  “Not at all. I’ll put my headphones in. You’ll have total privacy.” I gave him a kiss of approval.

  “I don’t mind if you listen.” He tugged at my hand, his eyes searching mine.

  “I think we’ll both work better this way.” I winked. I slipped my phone in my back pocket and shooed him out of the kitchen. But he didn’t leave. He moved closer, pulled me into him, and kissed me. I thought he would push away after the kiss, but he still held me tight. Jake let out a slow, gentle sigh. It would have been the perfect time to tell him I loved him. The moment invited it.

  Instead, I stepped back.

  “This is distracting,” I joked, but it worked. After one more quick peck, he left the kitchen.

  I turned the volume up; “Carmen” was a fantastic sous chef. The dessert—a lemon tart to be served with fresh berries—was first on my list. While the crust baked in the oven, I prepped the filling and washe
d the red potatoes for the meal. I opened a bottle of red and reduced it for my sauce, sipping on a small glass I’d set aside as I prepared the rest.

  By six o’clock, the table was set, the tart was in the fridge, the kitchen was clean, and the potatoes were roasting. Jake still sat at the piano, although he strummed his guitar with his back to me. I went and changed into a simple, black, cotton high-low dress, which required me to take out my headphones and hear Jake’s song. His choice of cord changes was somber, but the rhythm made for a great hook. It was dark but catchy—all things Spades. I was by no means an expert, and I was biased for sure, but I was certain Jake had a gift for songwriting.

  I went to the kitchen, grabbed a beer out of the fridge, and took it to him.

  “I like that,” I said, and set the cold bottle on the table.

  “You wanna hear the whole thing?”

  “Only if you can guess the color of my underwear.” My sweet smile turned into a wicked grin.

  He narrowed in on me, slid his pick into a secure spot behind the strings, and leaned the guitar against the piano. Challenge accepted.

  “Hmmm.” His eyes moved from my head to my toes and back up again, before settling on my waist. “No bra. That’s not nice, but it rules out your matching sets. Must be a standalone.”

  He was on the right track.

  “Do I get to touch?”

  I slithered over to him and his hand went up my skirt, giving him direct contact to my panties.

  “Not a thong. All lace?” He moved his hands from my ass to the front. “Definitely dark.” I was getting more and more turned on, despite the textbook manner in which Jake spoke and groped me.

  “Dark purple!”

  He lifted the bottom of my dress to confirm his answer. He gave me a big, closed-mouth kiss below my navel and flipped the dress back down. “I was wondering when these were going to make their appearance.”

  I squinted down at him. “Have you committed my entire underwear drawer to memory?”

  “Yup.” His answer lacked both shame and pride. “Now will you listen?”

  “I’d love to.” I moved over to the couch and sat down with my elbows on my knees and chin in my hands.

  The song, “Inside My Head,” was a dark commentary on how we allow the words of others to tear us down. I listened, captivated by him, his talent, his voice, his musicianship. When he finished, I didn’t know what to say. The song was twisted and beautiful, but so heavy.

  “Well?” He waited for me to react.

  I couldn’t come to terms with someone who seemed so happy writing something so melancholic and painful. The fog around me lifted a little.

  “It’s really, really good.” I searched for my words. “How did you write something so dark? I mean, this morning you were singing in the shower.”

  “Honestly, it was you.”

  “What?” How could the song be in any way linked to me?

  “Not like that.” His smiled assured me. “You’re right; I’m probably happier than I’ve ever been. And when I sat down to write on Monday, everything was coming out butterflies and glitter. Then I remembered how you told me you had turned the sad opera into a warm memory, and I did the opposite. I wrote to the other end of the spectrum. I thought about what you would never say, never do. Then I amplified it to its darkest place, and then the song just came out.”

  “Well, it worked.” I was relieved by his explanation. “That is some dark, fucked-up shit. Shane’s going to love it.”

  “Now, about those purple lace things under your dress…” He took a swig of his beer and sat it back down.

  “Sam and Gina will be here any minute,” I protested. “And anyway, the last time I checked, quickies are not your forte.”

  But he was already on top of me and kissing my neck.

  “Who said anything about me?” he said. He pushed my back down on the couch and pulled off my underwear. “This is all about you, and the last time I checked, I know exactly what button to push to make you come.” His confidence alone was enough of a turn on to get me halfway there, and indeed, he knew exactly what to do with and to me. Within ten minutes, I’d had an orgasm and Jake was out walking Archie.

  I opened some wine and poured myself a glass. I connected my phone to the Bluetooth speaker and cued up some Zero 7, then sat down and wondered if I actually needed Jake to love me to keep him here. I tried to convince myself I didn’t, and couldn’t, decide if I was happy or sad when it didn’t work. I rubbed my face and tried to forget my self-inflicted turmoil. When I thought about how much and how deeply I was beginning to love him, I wanted to cry from the overload of emotions. When I thought about losing him because of my pride, I was depressed.

  The commotion in the courtyard was a welcome interruption from my suffering. With a glance out my window, I understood everyone had arrived at once. I went to join them, finding Gina, Sam, Richie, Fern, Jake, and Archie. I could tell right away that Richie recognized Sam. He was already shy by nature, but now he was starstruck to have two members of The Spades standing in front of him. Introductions were made, and Fern offered us all a glass of her sangria.

  We couldn’t say no; even Richie was stuck. Jake went to help Fern with the glasses, and I popped back into the apartment to fetch the snacks I had already set out for us.

  Gina wore one of her patterned halter dresses, leaving her hair long and wild, and looked stunning, as always. She and Sam were relaxed, rested, and healthy. When she turned to Richie to ask what he did for a living, his cheeks burned red. He barely got out his answer when Gina saved him.

  “Oh, I am crap with computers. Even my phone is a mystery to me. One time, I put it on Do Not Disturb—I honestly don’t know how—and I went absolutely mental trying to figure out why it wouldn’t make any noise. Then I saw this little moon and was like, ‘What the fuck is that?’”

  Richie’s skin downgraded to pink.

  “Oh, excuse me, Fern,” Gina said, wincing to Fern.

  “Don’t worry about me,” said Fern. “Jake taught me a couple of new ones this week in the car. What was the one I liked? Ass puppet?” She looked to Jake for help.

  “Ass clown,” Jake said with a wink.

  “Ass puppet is pretty good too,” Sam said nodding.

  We finished our drinks as Archie and Jake played fetch with the tennis ball in the pool. If he threw the ball from the deep end, Archie would belly flop in after it. He was great entertainment and happy to be the center of attention, especially Jake’s.

  I asked Richie to give Archie his last walk, and he helped Fern clear the glasses. We said our goodbyes and the rest of us moved into my apartment.

  I went to the kitchen to make my final preparations for dinner. In the other room, I heard Sam say, “Holy shit. You’ve been writing all week? How many songs do you have?”

  “Two, maybe four. Definitely one. Wanna hear? I’d love your feedback.”

  Gina stayed in the living room to listen but joined me in the kitchen once Jake had played through his haunting masterpiece, and the guys changed the topic to the arrangements.

  “Your boyfriend is one dark motherfucker,” she said.

  “I know, right?” I handed her a glass of wine. “It’s so bizarre. He’s perfectly happy, even go-lucky, and then there’s some seriously twisted shit in those lyrics.”

  “Well, the other guys will be happy. Did Phil ever find him?”

  I laughed. “Oh my God.”

  “What?” She frowned.

  “I’ll let Jake tell you over dinner; his version will be way more entertaining than mine. Although I’m not sure how appropriate a topic it is over food.”

  Jake provided ample entertainment around the table. He described and embellished the events of Thursday night. He told more of the story than he had originally shared with me, so even I was surprised at parts. Jake had a gift for weaving tales, and we ate up his every word.

  We moved back to the living room to take a break before dessert.

  �
��Where’s your TV?” Sam asked me.

  “I don’t have one. I mostly watch things on my phone or laptop.”

  “You should buy one,” he said to Jake. “You got some royalty money, right?”

  The question was a multilayered nuisance. On the one hand, Sam was aware of the royalties. On the other, he was probably in the dark about the actual amount Jake was making. The fact that he thought it was enough to cover a TV meant his estimations were very much on the low side. I knew Jake was treading in deep waters. He said he could have spent more money on the car but didn’t want to show off to the other bandmates. With the addition of me not agreeing on his moving in yet, and the discussion we’d had about a TV the night before, this topic was turning into quite the shit sandwich.

  “I tried; she said no.” Jake gave me a quick kiss on the cheek and reached for the wine bottle. “Who wants more?”

  As we were saying goodbye, Sam asked, “Do you want me to pick you up Monday on the way to the studio?”

  Jake wouldn’t be able to hide his Jeep for too long, and I could see him second-guessing his purchase already. The last thing he wanted was bad blood between Sam and him.

  “I made Jake buy a car,” I said. I don’t even know why I lied. Gina shifted; I wondered if she was remembering our first-class travel to Houston. “It’s not like he has any other expenses.” He and I both knew he had paid for everything all day long. “He doesn’t pay rent.” I spread my fingers to count on them. “I feed him all the time; I rented him the piano—”

  “You’re right,” Jake said. “You’re my sugar mama.”

  “I think that’s our cue.” Gina tucked her arm into Sam’s and pulled him toward the gate.

  We all knew the air had changed, but none of us said anything. Sam flashed a quick but fake smile. Jake would need to mend the bridge with care and tact.

  We waved as they left, and once they were out of sight, Jake cleared his throat.

  “You didn’t have to lie for me,” he said.

  “I know. I was trying to make it easier.” I held his hand and we walked back toward the apartment.