by Deana Birch
“Sorry. I grabbed a drink with Richie. He’s having girl problems and needed an ear. It was nice to think about something else.”
“You wanna talk?”
“Tomorrow.” I kicked off my shoes and Jake opened the duvet for me. I closed my eyes and wondered how much I could trust Shane. But in the end, it was a chance I had to take.
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Having found a bit of clarity, I woke up on Saturday morning covered in guilt. I thought back to what Fern and I had eaten during the week and understood every working mom in the country. My judging parents who let their kids eat fast food was a thing of the past. But enough was enough. It was time to put everything back on track. I left Jake to sleep and went to the grocery store. By noon, every burner on my stove was occupied, and Fern’s favorite marble cake baked in the oven.
“This is a good sign.” Jake slipped his arms around my waist and kissed me on the cheek. I chopped sweet potatoes for my vegetarian curry; the crockpot was my final frontier.
“The shame got to me. Did you know I actually brought home a cheeseburger and fries for Fern?”
“So this is about food remorse. You’re still undecided?” He unwrapped his arms and propped his hands on his hips.
“This is me cooking.” I spread my hand out and fanned it over the food. “Can it be that?”
“No. This whole week has been totally unfair. You have invented some reason, again, why we don’t work, and you don’t talk to me about it, again. Meanwhile, your ex calls and you have no trouble speaking to him. This is bullshit.”
Yikes. Somebody woke up pissy.
“Why don’t you make some coffee, eat, and then we can talk?”
Jake stomped around the kitchen, clanked his spoon into his bowl, grunted, and swore under his breath. I let him have his noisy mantrum as I finished my curry and tidied up the dishes.
He sagged into the couch with his feet on the coffee table and thumbs busy texting. I sat down next to him and waited for him to finish. He didn’t rush, either to mess with me or delay what he thought was going to be bad news. Finally, and without apology, he set the phone on the table.
“Will you please tell me what happened to throw you?”
No. And I never would. His happiness and career depended on my silence.
“Look. You have a past; I have a past. But what I need to know to move forward is that whatever you did in the past is going to stay there.”
“Did you hear something? I mean, for fuck’s sake, Louana, Sam and I locked ourselves in a bathroom during that stripper and coke party. I don’t know how else I can assure you.”
I found his eyes and bit my lip. “Promise me everything you did in the past is going to stay there.”
Jake studied my face. “I haven’t cheated on you, and I don’t plan to.”
“I believe you.” I did. I had to.
“Why did you ask me that question in bed the other night?”
“Because I want to make sure you’re not gonna get bored with me and go running to…someone else.”
He crossed his arms. “Let me ask you a question. Do you love me because of how I fuck you?”
I blinked. “No.”
“And do you think I love you because of how you fuck me?” His jaw flinched.
“No,” I said.
“Right. So, news flash, baby, I’m not just in this for the sex. And, quite frankly, I’m a bit disappointed I have to spell that out for you.”
I twisted my face and let my mind fold through all the reasons I loved Jake: Him with Archie and Fern, his amazing sense of humor, how playful he was, his talent, his time and consideration for his fans…
“I’m sorry.” They were not words I threw around without prudence. “I hope you can understand that on the Jake Riley road, I’m going to sometimes hit speed bumps, or even potholes. Can we promise the past stays there?”
His expression pleaded for specifics, but I knew his worst-case scenario, which I was sure he would not risk talking about.
“Deal,” he said.
“Okay. Then let’s try to make this work.”
A true smile covered his face for the first time in too long. Then it was as if there were an actual lightbulb going off above his head.
“Can I get my TV?” he said.
“And drawers. But first you have to help me with the lasagna I’m taking out to Bob’s.”
We drove out to Malibu together and made a quick drop off of food for Bob and Karen. On the way back down the Pacific Coast Highway, we stopped at a small seafood restaurant and had a quiet dinner. We talked about Archie and Fern, and I went through my workweek.
When we got home, the complex was deserted. The familiar motions of our bedtime routine unfolded around an anticipatory energy both of us were longing for. I had on my usual white cotton nightgown when he came into the bedroom.
From the end of the bed, he crawled on hands and knees until his mouth hovered over mine. He held himself up with one hand and brushed the hair away from my face with the other.
“I don’t like it when you won’t talk to me.”
“I know,” I said, blinking a few times. “And I’m not trying to use this as an excuse, but I don’t have any siblings, so I tend to internalize.”
“That’s one way of putting it.” He was teasing now, which made me respond with a fake pout.
“Shut up and kiss me, bulldozer.”
“Them is fightin’ words, woman,” he said, with a pathetic southern accent. Shit—his hands were headed right to my ribs, and it took less than a second for him to tickle me. I squealed for him to stop, and when he did, he stayed in play mode.
“What you got under that little nightgown, missy?” Actors could rest assured he would never steal their parts in a Western. The accent was surprisingly worse than his French one. He lifted the hem of the nightgown. “Why! You ain’t wearing any britches!”
I giggled through a couple more jokes, but then his mood changed back to serious. Between kisses on my neck, he whispered he loved me and begged me never to leave him. When his hand crept between my legs and began its sweet tease, I arched my back and let him transport me to ecstasy. With a gentle thrust, he pushed inside and exhaled his contentment. He drove into me slowly but deeply, and the intensity between us thickened.
“How could this ever not be enough?”
His words landed on my ears, seeped into my heart, and wove themselves into my soul. I knew I had made the right decision to leave his past behind and move forward with the man I loved.
Acknowledgments
Jake and Louana are two loud and pushy main characters who would not let me rest while I hand wrote the first, painfully horrible draft of this book. The road to publishing their story has been long and winding, but my amazingly supportive life partner and our two beautiful daughters encouraged me the entire way. They also ate a lot of pasta with butter. I will forever be grateful for their patience and am honored to hold my 25 percent stake in our family.
My first reader is a saint. Liz marked up the document, helped me find the twist, and has cheered me all the way. She is but one member of my book club, the Bookettes, who was kind enough to put eyes on this story. Thank you, Julie, Marysia, Toni, Jackie, Jo, and Jeanine for making breakfast once a month such a blast.
My editor, Carly Hayward, from Book Light Editorial, was the first professional to believe in this project. She was integral in shaping this story, and you can thank her for the addition of Jake’s POV. Her colleague Laura Dennison was kind enough to copyedit and offer LOL bubbles as she went. For proofreading and formatting to eBook, the very lovely Sally Hanan at Inksnatcher did a timely and fantastic job.
Thank you, Colleen Oefelein and Naomi Hughes for teaching me to write a query letter/blurb. Colleen, you have been a hilarious help and soft shoulder.
Thank you to all my beta readers: C.H., Jade, Olivia, Ilze, Marie, Debbie, Katia, Kathy, Anya, and anyone I am forgetting.
To my writer tribe: Lily aka Chaton, Meka, Han
nah (tone!), Momo, EVIE!, Tara, Tia, Cora, Taylor, Alyssa, and Courtney. You are all the best. Thank you a zillion for the laughs, tips, and hand-holding.
Finally, I never dated a drummer, but I am a huge Dave Grohl and Taylor Hawkins fan. My own rock star, who wrote down every phone number I ever had in his little black book, is a cherished memory of youthful times.
Look for SLOWER out Fall of 2018
Rock drummer Jake Riley and his career-driven girlfriend have buried his colorful past and are skipping through their first official day of cohabitation. Their new-found bubble of bliss bursts when Louana’s overly confident French ex-boyfriend shows up on their doorstep.
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To say the couple fumbled the encounter would be a compliment. Louana evades, and the ugly monster of Jake’s jealousy awakes inside him. A chasm grows between the two as Jake’s reaction seems hypocritical—due to the beautiful fans who drip off his arms at his sold-out shows—and an underlying pressure Louana feels to maintain a civil contact with her ex who happens to be a close family friend.
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Facing their problems requires them to ditch their previous fast-paced romance and move much, much slower.
About the Author
Contemporary romance and erotica writer, Deana Birch, was named after her father’s first love—who just so happened not to be her mother. Born and raised in the Midwest, she made stops in Los Angeles and New York before settling in Europe, where she lives with her own blue-eyed, happily ever after hunk of burning love. Her days are spent teaching yoga, playing tennis, ruining her children’s French homework, cleaning up dog vomit, writing her next book, or reading someone else’s.
To Read More about Deana:
WEBSITE www.deanabirch.com
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To Contact Deana:
E-MAIL: [email protected]
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