by Paige North
Terrified of how imperfectly out of control I can be.
If I let myself.
On the flip side, if I don’t go in to the studio, I won’t get to work on his record, and how is that a triumph for me or anybody?
I sip wine for further deliberation. But then, my phone rings. Pulling it out of my back pocket, I see who’s calling. Speak of the devil, and the devil appears.
My heart pounds at the sight of his name on the caller ID. My finger hovers over the decline button, but I’m going to have to face the music – no pun intended – sooner or later. Better to do it on the phone than in person at the studio.
I clear my throat. I can do this. I am woman. I am strong. “Hey, Jayce.” Keep it professional. Screw it, keep it friendly. Friendly is fine.
“Been worried about you.” Deep, sexy voice that would sound amazing while having sex.
“I’m fine. I just have a lot on my mind. I’m sure you understand,” I say firmly, though the little girl inside of me does a series of somersaults knowing he cared enough to call.
“I do. It’s a lot to handle. The pressure, the stress of the recordings. Trust me, I get it. And I get that I’m probably scaring you, too,” he says. Finally, for the first time, I feel like he’s trying to see what I see, that he’s not all about the thrill of the chase. “But fuck, Elena, I can’t...”
His voice catches, and my pulse pounds. There’s silence on the other end of the line, and for a second, I think maybe he’s hung up.
“You still there?” I ask.
“Yes.” More silence. Then finally, “I swear on my granddaddy’s grave that I’m not saying this just for sex, but I need to see you again. Come out with me. Away from the studio. We’ll have a great time. I know this amazing restaurant…” I can hear the hopefulness in his voice, laced with just the tiniest bit of vulnerability.
I want to say no. But, dammit, I miss him. “Okay.”
“What was that?”
I smile and bite my lip. “I said okay. Let’s go out.”
“Shortcake, now you’re talking my language. Tonight at 8. My car will pick you up.”
I hang up the phone and stare at it for a long while, wondering how he’s somehow able to get me to do things I know are bad for me.
The limo arrives promptly at 8, and it’s no surprise that the driver is Fermin again.
“We really ought to stop running into each other this way,” I tease, as he tips his hat with a happy smile.
Once again, I’m entering a fancy limo, only this time it’s decked out with champagne and a small box of chocolates. Once again, I feel like I’m in some crazy dream meant for someone else. What would my parents and brother say if they knew? My ex-friends would say I’ve sold out, but I have to know…how is getting treated nicely a bad thing?
This time, when Fermin stops the car, we’re outside an Italian restaurant named Abbondanza, full of pretty bistro lights and Nashville’s upper crust all enjoying a fine summer evening. A tall older man stands curbside ready to take me inside, and suddenly, it strikes me how easily I could get used to this routine.
But I swear—swear to God -- if Jayce is late again, I’m out. I say goodbye to Fermin and take the arm of the maître D, allowing myself the luxury once more of feeling like a celebrity, a big difference from waiting tables at Hammerhill’s. All around the restaurant, men look my way. Women, too. Once again, we head toward the back of the establishment, and if I see a gauzy curtain, triggering memories of Vanguard, I may just lose my nerve.
I’ve been so nervous, I haven’t had time to think about how excited I am to see him. Excited to talk to him. Excited to see where things go. Allow myself -- just for a moment -- to think that maybe, just maybe, I can find balance with this whole thing, and I’ve been scared of him for no reason.
We arrive at a table in the corner, and lo and behold, Jayce is there on time. I smile nervously, as my heart pounds inside my ribcage. He looks amazingly hot. Holy hell. Hotter than hot. Pick me up and carry me straight into hell hot. No cowboy hat (not that I minded that), black pants, dark blue shirt unbuttoned at the top, showing off that wideness of chest, and his hair is slicked back on top, short on the sides. There’s about a quarter inch of stubble on his face, which makes him look even sexier and roguish than usual, and I blush imagining how it would feel against my skin.
Jayce tips the maître-D and bows, reaching out for my hand. “See? I can be taught.”
“I’m shocked.” I laugh, sitting into the high back armchair he’s holding out for me.
He gives me a mischievous smile and sits next to me. Not a sliver of anxiety in his voice, not the tiniest bit nervous. How does he do it? Me, I’m falling apart meeting him again, facing my fears, and he just goes about ordering wine in Italian like a pro, along with two appetizers I can’t pronounce either. I know I’ve been an adult for roughly seven years of my life now, but this is the first time I feel like I’m on a date with a real man.
For a moment, scenes from last Friday night flash through my mind—the stubble on his face against my cheek, the spicy scent of his neck, the commanding way he stole that kiss from me, the way he knew what my body wanted before I did, when he slid his fingers into me, when he gave me his palm to me to grind up against. Would I let him do it again tonight if it came to that?
The prospect of another encounter with Jayce before the night is over sends stormy waves churning inside my chest.
“Thanks for coming out with me tonight.” He watches the wine steward pour into two glasses and hands me one.
“Sure.”
“So why the disappearing act?” he asks, his eyes trained carefully on mine.
I’m about to give him the standard line that I’d given him on the phone, about how I was busy and had a lot going on, that I needed to get home, blah blah but then I figure, screw it, why not tell him the truth?
“Last week, you caught me off guard in the studio when you came out of the control room to talk to me in front of the other girls. Then, at Vanguard…” I beat back the shakiness in my voice. “We were there for business, but you caught me off guard again. Then, Wednesday in the studio, I thought…I don’t know what I thought.” I take in a trembling breath and gather my thoughts. “I guess what I’m trying to say, Jayce, is that I’m scared of you. You always surprise me, but you intimidate the hell out of me, too.”
He listens, nodding. For once, he doesn’t have a smart-ass remark. His eyes drop to the table. “Well, then we need to change that, don’t we?” His hand crosses the table to take mine. It feels nice and warm, big, secure. I love holding it and tracing the vein lines on the back. A shiver courses through me.
“It’s just that when I see something I want, I go after it full force,” he says. “I can’t apologize for it, Shortcake, it’s how I’m made.”
“I get it. I do.”
“You’re gorgeous, number one.” He ticks off on his fingers. “Number two, your vocal talents are amazing. Number three, we sound great together. And four…you’re different.”
“Different?”
“Yeah, different. You don’t care who I am. You make me work for it just the same as anybody else, and I like that. Appreciate it, actually. Sometimes it’s all too easy to forget who you are, where you came from, and my mama taught me better.”
“Did she now?”
“Yeah…” Something in his face saddens me. A tilt in his eyebrows, a shift of shadow across his eyes. I won’t make him tell me about it. Not unless he wants to. But I wish he would tell me. “Besides, I see myself in you in some ways. I used to come out here all the time, work the district’s honkey-tonks, wait for that moment to be discovered. I know what it’s like, Shortcake. I’m not a complete dick, though you probably think I am.” He sips from his glass, pressing his lips together in a way that makes me want to jump in his lap and drink wine straight from his mouth.
“I didn’t think that at all.” Why would he think so? On the contrary, I see a man who must have a hard
life, despite how easy he has it. Fame can’t be so simple, and getting people to like you for you can’t be simple either. I understand that sudden fame probably makes people do all sorts of out-of-character things.
“Good.” His fingers trace slow lines on mine. The way he looks at me with those dark brooding eyes makes my stomach flip.
Slowly, I blow out a breath. Can I handle this? Can I see him again and still cut the track, stay focused on my career, not mix the two? Last week, I was positive I couldn’t. I felt weak. But today I’m empowered, feeling like Jayce might really be interested in me, that maybe he isn’t just trying to get in my pants.
Dinner is beautiful and filled with things like rosemary chicken and angel hair pasta and cappuccino dusted with fine chocolate. By the end, I’ve polished off an entire bottle of chardonnay with him, and I’m feeling bolder than ever, coasting in a fog of wine. Nothing too strong to inhibit me, just enough to set me free of stress and guilt.
“What were you like as a kid?” I ask out of the blue. Maybe it’s the wine, but suddenly, I want to know everything about how Jayce grew up.
A thin shadow eclipses his eyes just then. “Why do you ask?”
Um, to know more about him? Why would anyone ask that question? “Just curious. Like did you love singing, did you live in Nashville? Sorry, you might think I’ve done my research on you before going on this date, but I don’t know the slightest thing.” I laugh.
Except that I’m kind of buzzed and want to kiss Jayce all night long after dinner.
“There’s not much to tell, Shortcake. Of course, I loved singing. I lived in the hills, big family, four brothers. My brother Ethan sings too. You’ll have to go out with me again to unlock more secrets.” He smiles that Mona Lisa smile of his.
“Ooo, secrets,” I giggle. Hmm. I imagine him living a simple, idyllic country boy life, but I know there must be more to his story than that. “What’s on the dessert menu tonight then?” I ask, giving him lazy eyes, imagining his hot mouth blazing trails of happy fire down my body. Then, I remember we’ve already had tiramisu and dessert means something else to Jayce.
Yes, I definitely can handle this.
Before I know it, Jayce has called for the check, paid, and walked me to the car. A tinted shield goes up between us and Fermin, a gadget thingy I never noticed before, then suddenly, we’re making out in a tangle of arms and lips and tongues. He smells so good, tastes so sweetly delicious, and his hands…God, his hands are so sexy. They wrap around my waist, pull my ass higher onto him, massage my breasts through my dress, and sweep my face closer.
I give into their pushing and pulling. I want him, but not so fast. I need him, but slow down. Feeling bolder, I climb on top of him, straddling him fully dressed, grinding my wet core against his pants, feeling his hardness yearning for freedom. I’m falling, falling down that rabbit hole again, and I just don’t give a shit anymore.
If there’s a consequence to this, so be it, but it won’t be tonight, Satan. Not tonight. Nobody ever needs to know about this either. Not my parents, not my brother, not Zoe. It’s my secret, mine and Jayce’s.
“Wait for it,” Jayce grunts, his voice a raspy whisper against my throat.
“Wait for what?” I finally admit to wanting him, and now he asks me to wait? Is he insane? “I don’t want to.”
His tongue searches out mine, and he sucks on my bottom lip, gasping for breath between kisses. I’m drenched in juices, wanting him more than I’ve ever wanted anyone. Nobody has ever come this close. For all intents and purposes, I am a virgin again, because nobody has ever brought this passion out in me like this before. Ever.
“For that,” he says breathlessly, and when I look up to follow his gaze out the window, there’s a shadowy mass of arm-like branches up reaching up toward the orange-lit sky. Where are we? Somewhere east near Hermitage or Mt. Juliet. What are we doing out here in the country?
Reaching past me, Jayce grabs something hard and plastic inside a leather pocket behind a seat and clicks on what sounds like a button. The window automatically rolls down, and then I see it all lit up against the darkness—the most beautiful piece of natural artwork I have ever seen. A giant live oak. And within it, an expertly manmade wooden structure of three floors, balcony, complete with tire swing, rope bridge, and all. A play land.
It had to cost a fortune. It could only be made for a spoiled brat who gets everything he wants. I love it. I love it so hard. “What is this place?” I ask. “It’s breathtaking.” Absolutely stunning, like a country fantasyland come true.
His eyes sparkle with pride. “My treehouse. Come on, girl.”
7
Jayce
Some guys have man caves.
I have a treehouse—two-thousand square feet of wooden awesomeness. It’s four acres away from my house in my own backyard and looks like any normal home with three rooms, a bathroom, kitchen, and balcony, except it’s in a tree. The perfect place to hide when things go up shit’s creek. My actual home is on the other side of the property, but Elena doesn’t have to know that. Only my family, band members, and management team know where I live.
I grasp her hand, and we walk through cool summer grass. It’s a great night, fireflies and all, but nothing compares to her. She’s wearing that pretty stone necklace again, set sexily against her dark sundress showing off her amazing body, and I want nothing more than to tear that sundress right off her.
“This is amazing, Jayce! Is it yours?”
“Nah, I’m breaking into someone else’s treehouse. Yes, it’s mine. My hangout, my hole in the wall, my wigwam.”
She laughs loud and unrestrained. I love her so much more when she’s unrestrained, just being herself. “Whatever you call it, it’s beautiful.” I love the wonder in her eyes, too, the way they reflect the warm yellow glow of the strung lights. “But you don’t live here every day, do you?”
“No, ma’am. I come out here to chill, write a song…read. What? Don’t look at me like I don’t read, Hermione Granger.”
She laughs, a musical, fluty sound. Love it when she’s relaxed like this, like a fortified, fearless version of Elena. “What else do you do out here, Jayce? I doubt I’m the only girl you’ve brought here.”
Oh, see, now she’s stepping on dangerous territory. “Not many as you might think.” More like none. When I fuck a woman, I take her at an unidentified hotel room. But for some reason, tonight, I want Elana here. Unlocking the front door, I inhale the scent of sweet Georgia pine. “Home, sweet, home.”
“Holy… Is that really a bridge over there?” Elena spots my prized possession—the rope bridge leading to the adjacent live oak—and her baby face sparkles. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
I stare at her, blinking a few times. “You’re just…refreshingly different, Shortcake. That’s all.” Damn sexy, too, in that dress with that cleavage showing off her goods. I lead her into the kitchen and push her up against the sink before she even has the chance to marvel at the house’s design. I can show her later. My cock has other plans now.
“Now, where were we before we got here?” Cradling her face and drawing it into mine, I drink in wine-soaked lips. Then, I taste my way down her neck, plucking off one of her sundress straps. It falls away, revealing a smooth shoulder for me to bite and kiss.
She moans, gripping chunkfuls of my hair. “Jayce…”
“I know, baby. Open your legs wider,” I instruct her, pushing them apart with my thighs. “I just want to feel how I fit between them again.” Can’t think of much else except moving against her, feeling her wet panties grind up against me the way she did in the car before we arrived.
Her legs give way, and I immediately feel the heat emanating from her sweet pussy. This time, there’s nothing to stop us, no cleaning ladies, no club waiters nearby to scare her away. I do want her to feel safe, but not too safe. I need her to push herself out of her comfort zone and open up, let me in.
I push my cock, hard and aching, against
her core. “Feel that? That’s what you do to me.”
Her hand slides out from my hair and moves down between her legs then reemerges with a silky, musky gift for my tongue. She feeds me her fingers. “And this is what you do to me.” Now we’re fucking talking.
I suck on her fingers, a starving man before a bountiful goddess. “That’s it, Shortcake, nice and dirty.” I smile, pulling down the front of her dress and peeling back her bra cup. “That’s how you need to be. You’re braver today. Did I do that to you?”
“Yes,” she admits softly.
“Let’s see how much braver you can get.” Soft roundness spills from her bra, and I catch her pretty pink nipple into my mouth and roll it around on my tongue, flicking it, then closing my lips around it and sucking. “Your tits feel perfect in my mouth. Do you like when I suck your nipples?”
Again, she moans. “Yes,” she begs, pushing against me for more, but I won’t give her what her pussy’s demanding, or it’ll be over too quickly. As much as she’s ripe for the taking, I won’t give in yet. Instead, I move to her other breast, squeeze it roughly, and push it higher toward my mouth. She moans louder.
My tongue flicks her pink nipple, rolling around it in small circles, teasing it until it’s firm and begging to be sucked, and then I close around this one, too, sucking in time with her hips bucking against me.
“You like when I flick your pretty nipples, Shortcake?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Because I’m not done.” She’s dripping wet, waiting for me to take command. It’s like she’s unsure of what she wants, except to feel good. I squeeze her gorgeous breasts together, gripping them like two oranges ripe with juice, then move my mouth from one to the other, sucking and curling my tongue around those hard nipples.
