by Nikki Chase
I have so many questions.
I study Jessica’s face, seeing the worry in her eyes, the lines on her forehead, the way she’s biting the insides of her cheeks. Her hands grip the railing so hard her knuckles are turning white. Her spine is curved, her muscles tense.
On impulse, I put my arm around her shoulders. She gasps in surprise and snaps her head around to look at me. I pull her closer and stroke her arm.
She’s cold, but I’m going to warm her up. I’ll fix it for her. Just like I’ll fix this situation for her. Who cares why? All I know is I can't just do nothing. I can't just sit here and watch her suffer.
“Are you okay?” As I continue to stroke Jessica’s arm, I feel her start to relax into me, placing more of her weight on my chest.
“Yeah.” She nods.
“Who's doing this?”
“I don't know.”
I pause to suppress my anger that's flaring up. I don't want to make her feel worse, but I need to know who's doing this to her or I have a feeling they may hurt more than her feelings next time. “Do you think it's the same guy who broke into your home?”
“I don't know,” she insists.
I pull away just far enough from her so I can put both my hands on her shoulders and level my gaze at her. “Jessica. We both know that's bullshit. What are you not telling me?”
“It's none of your business.” Jessica leans back further away from me until I remove my hands from her shoulders. Storm brews in her green eyes. She's obviously troubled, so why the fuck is she playing this game? Why is she being so fucking stubborn?
“I’ve made it my business and there's nothing you can do about it. I don't care if you don't want my help. I'll fix this and you’ll just have to deal with that.”
“Why?” She frowns at me, confusion written all over her face.
“Fuck if I know.” I shrug. “Does it matter? I'm here to help you. Use me.”
“You could be one of them for all I know,” she says. The surprise that registers on her pretty face tells me she didn't mean to share that bit of information with me.
“Who’s ‘them?’”
“Forget it.” Jessica takes a deep breath and looks away at the street that runs in front of both our houses.
“No, fuck that. You could be in real danger here, can't you? I know you hate me, but this really isn't the time to argue.”
“I don't hate you,” she says softly, keeping her gaze on the street.
“Just let me help you. Okay? You know you can't handle this on your own. That's why you're so scared.”
She turns to look at me, doubt reflected in her startlingly green eyes.
“You know you’ll feel better if you’ve got someone on your side,” I say. When I hear no reply from her, I repeat my question. “Do you know who's doing this to you?”
“No. Like the cop said, it could be anyone.” She's starting to annoy me with her lies and I’m about to get really angry when she continues, “It could be the owner of the Pussy Cat.”
“The strip club where you worked?”
“Yeah.”
“You pissed off the guy and now he's coming after you?”
“You can say that.”
“What did you do exactly?”
“I don't want to talk about that.”
“Okay.” I wonder if he's another one in a long list of Jessica's ex-lovers.
This is why women shouldn't sleep around. Not because of morality or religion or anything like that, but because the more men they see, the more likely they are to come across some crazy motherfuckers. These nutjobs would rather kill their women than see them with other men.
“He's in jail, so it's definitely not him personally. But it could be someone who works for him,” she says.
“Like who? Do you know?”
“There was this guy I went on a date with just before the break-in. Although now that I think about it, it couldn't have been him who broke into my house because he was with me when it happened.” She pauses and thinks. “I got a weird email yesterday from some guy I don't know. But the sender doesn't seem like the kind of guy who’d hide his identity.”
“Anyone else? Anyone you can think of?”
“Well…” Jessica finally looks at me. She gives me a wry smile. “There's you.”
“Me? Why would I want to break your lock or send you a weird letter? What good would that do me?”
“I don't know.” She shrugs. “You asked for anyone I could think of.”
“Fair enough. I promise you it's not me. But then again if I were the culprit that's exactly what I would say.”
The corners of Jessica's lips pull upward. Her smile turns into a grin, which turns into laughter. I don't think I said anything that funny, but maybe she needs to laugh to get rid of her anxiety.
“Stay at my place tonight,” I blurt out.
Jessica
“Stay at my place tonight,” Jacob says. “Your house is not safe. You’ve had one break-in and one threatening letter in the space of, what, two weeks?”
I avoid Jacob’s intense, questioning gaze. Instead, I take a good look at my house. The black front door that was wide open when I got home from the date. The mailbox at the end of the driveway where a threatening—not to mention insulting—letter was placed for me to find.
Jacob is right. I don’t feel safe here. Not anymore.
“I can’t,” I hear myself say.
I may have said it in a half-joking manner when I told Jacob it could’ve been him who’s responsible for the break-in and the letter. But there’s still a little voice in the back of my head that tells me not to trust him.
I only got this far by relying on myself and making a clean cut from my past. It wouldn’t make any sense to get myself involved with someone like Jacob.
Especially not now, when I feel like my enemies are closing in on me and mysterious things are happening around me—and it all started from the time I met Jacob by chance on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere.
I mean, everything fits together too well to be a coincidence, right?
“Why can’t you?” Jacob puts his warm, callused hand on my cheek and turns my face until I’m looking straight at him. His hand feels safe and strong, big enough to cup my face.
“I just can’t.” I can’t tell him anything more. He’s obviously not going to take the news that I actually believe he may be the perpetrator very well. And just in case he really is, I don’t want to make him angry.
He stares deep into my eyes, making me feel like he’s penetrating deep into my thoughts, fumbling around in there to find the answers I’m not willing to say. I can’t help but melt into his gaze, into his touch.
We’re not saying any more words, but somehow I feel like we’re communicating more this way. I put my hand over his hand on my cheek and close my eyes. It would feel so good to share my burden with someone… I’ve been dealing with so much on my own for years, for practically my entire adult life.
Jacob leans in and presses his forehead against mine. I can smell the oil, grease, and sweat from his body. He hasn’t had a chance to change out of his heavily stained white shirt from before. I breathe in deeply, drawing his scent into my lungs.
Keeping my eyes closed, I put my hand on Jacob’s face. I feel his jaw clench and his muscles tighten. I can even feel the pulse of his heart when my hand runs over the throbbing veins in his neck. As if in response, my heart hammers against my rib cage. My fingers trace the prickly stubble along his jaw and chin.
I can’t deny it. I want to do more to this man. I want more than my hand on his face. I want to explore more of him.
More than that, I want to see the hunger hidden in his eyes unleashed. I want to see just how much he wants me too, see what he would do to me if I let myself be vulnerable to him.
I’m losing my mind. I’m so attracted to him I can barely focus.
Before I can tell myself to get a grip, Jacob leans in and pulls me closer to him. His lips tou
ch mine. They feel hot, like the rest of him. They’re firm and insistent, like the rest of him.
I try to resist and push him away, but his touch makes me weak. His kiss reminds me of what I’ve been missing, what I’ve been longing for.
He starts by lightly teasing my lips, coaxing me to respond. I move closer and let myself melt into his kiss. God, it feels amazing and I want more.
He traces my lips with his tongue, nibbles on my bottom lip. I open my mouth for him, and he sweeps inside, trapping my face in his hands, pulling me closer.
It suddenly feels so hot here. It could be the warmth of his body, so close to me. Or it could be the furnace that has fired into life within me. I fight to catch my breath when Jacob crushes his lips against mine and ravishes me with his mouth.
I stop holding myself back. I match his force as best as I can. Soon, his fingers are tangled in my hair, my hands are gripping his muscled arms hard, and we’re both fighting for air.
Every part of my body feels alive. Everything within me pulsates along with the rhythm of our kiss. Wetness drips between my thighs as Jacob thrusts my body against him.
I manage to fight through my dizziness and breathlessness, just enough to push him away. When I open my eyes to look at him again, he’s still panting with his lips parted. His dark eyes look even more intense with his pupils dilated.
“We shouldn’t,” I say in between my heavy breaths.
Before Jacob can say or do anything, I dash toward the door and slip inside, closing the door behind me.
Max immediately runs toward me and jumps up, pawing at my legs. I slide down the door until I’m sitting on the floor with Max in my arms.
I hear Jacob’s footsteps getting closer on the creaky porch, heavy and determined. He pounds on the door, calling my name. The door vibrates against my back with every bang.
“Jessica!” He pounds on the door.
“Please, Jacob,” I beg. “I need some time alone.”
The floor creaks as he shifts his weight from one foot to another. Eventually, I hear him walk away from the door and down the porch steps without saying another word.
That doesn’t take long. I guess he doesn’t care that much about my safety after all.
I wonder if I ever really felt safe since the night I found Nancy gone from my apartment, leaving only trails of blood leading out from the guest bedroom into the living room. In that moment, I knew two things: I had to do whatever I could to help Nancy, and I was no longer safe because Stan would hunt me down for that.
I didn’t expect that the cops would find Nancy dead at Stan’s house only hours after I called them. I collapsed to the floor when I got their phone call and cried. Partly because I’d lost a friend, and partly because I knew I was going to have to worry about Stan coming after me from that moment on.
Sure, the police knew he was a threat to me. But what were they going to do? Put surveillance on me 24/7? As if I’m important enough to get that kind of treatment.
I’m sure one of the reasons why Nancy never reported Stan was because she didn’t think the cops could do anything for her.
The cops would file a report and maybe remove her from Stan’s house, perhaps even put a restraining order, but then what? What could they do if Stan were to get to Nancy before she had a chance to call the police? What if Stan were to go after Nancy’s mom instead, because he knew Nancy would do anything to keep her mom safe, including revoking her previous reports and canceling the restraining order?
Some girls at the Pussy Cat didn’t have to strip. They just did it because they could make a lot more money that way than whatever minimum-wage job they could get. They earned a little more spending money while they got their college degrees. They could quit any time they want, and they often did.
Some, like me, had no other choice. I started stripping when Mom got diagnosed with cancer. The hospital bills became way too much for me to deal with, but I wanted her to get all the medical attention she needed. I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself if she’d died without getting the treatments she’d needed.
In the end, even though she did get the treatments and went into remission for a few months, the cancer still came back to invade her body once more. And this second time, it attacked her body with vengeance.
Not even the best treatments I could buy could save her. I must have spent tens of thousands of dollars on her doctor’s visits, pills, chemotherapy, and other hospital stuff. Still, when they lowered her lifeless body into the ground, I felt like I’d done all I could and I had no regrets.
Nancy didn’t have a sick family member. But in a way, she did need the money from stripping.
After Nancy’s father died, her mom had to cover the mortgage payments for the family home. Bertha had been a homemaker for decades and had no idea how to get the money.
At the time, Nancy was already going to college in San Francisco. She told Bertha she’d gotten a paid internship at a big company that would pay her enough money to cover everything.
Of course, in reality, the job market sucked and there was no way such an internship existed. Nancy stripped for the money and planned to stop as soon as the mortgage was paid off.
But by the time Bertha owned the house free and clear, Nancy had gotten in too deep.
She’d become entangled in an abusive relationship with Stan. And I knew she was using some drugs, too, although I had no idea which ones or how often. I knew, though, that drugs were expensive and she was probably depending on Stan’s money to keep herself well supplied.
Fuck Jacob. I have way more important things to worry about than a kiss. I’m sure I’ll feel better in the morning.
I gulp down my morning coffee as fast as I can without burning my tongue. I didn’t sleep so well and I didn’t even hear my alarm ring; now I have to rush to school.
I grab my keys, quickly check my reflection in the full-length mirror by the door, and rush out the door. Just as I walk down the steps, I catch something out of the corner of my eye.
What the hell?
There, on the wooden bench on my porch, lays a body. A big, brawny body, covered by a light blanket.
Jacob.
Oh, shit.
Has he been sleeping there the entire night?
I glance at my watch.
Fuck. So much for forgetting the kiss after a good night’s sleep. Just looking at him right now, I feel a pull drawing me toward him, making me want to crawl under the blanket with him and nuzzle into his arms.
I so don’t have time for this. I have a job to do. I’ll deal with him later.
Jacob
“Hey man, what a surprise. You’ve never called me first. I guess I'm finally growing on you, huh? Told you this was going to happen. It was just a matter of--”
“Shut up, Matt. I'm not in the mood today.” I give the webcam an annoyed look.
I dig deep into my supply of patience. I’m running low after the night I spent tossing and turning on Jessica’s hard bench. And to think she didn’t even bother to say hello this morning.
I don’t know what I expected from her; she behaved exactly like she had three years ago. She gave me one small, intoxicating taste of her, and then she took it all away.
I need to keep Matt happy if I want him to do this for me, so I try to go easy on the grump factor.
“You're never in the mood,” Matt says before he pauses. “There's a joke in there… Something something married guy walking into a bar.”
“Ha-ha. Yeah, that's funny,” I say without much mirth. “Can we move on?”
“Jesus. You want something from me, you need to sweeten me up first, man.”
“Look into a woman called Jessica Lake, will you? She's a high school teacher here in Ashbourne. She won't be hard to find. There's only one high school in town.” I ignore Matt’s bad jokes.
This is urgent and I need this done now. It's a matter of life and death. Well, potentially, at least. I know Jessica's being hunted by some people and she's
scared. It's not a big stretch to assume that she's in mortal danger.
“Whoa, hold your horses,” Matt says. “Who is this woman? Is something weird going on in that town?”
“I don't have time to explain. Just do as I say. Please, Matt. You know I wouldn't have asked you if it wasn't important.”
Matt looks in the distance, beyond his webcam. Just when I think the video on the screen has frozen again, he says, “Jessica Lake, huh? When do you need her info?”
“Today. Right now. As soon as humanly possible.” I know he has to break a few rules to accomplish what I’m asking of him and it's not an easy decision. He could be putting himself at risk. I say, “Thanks, Matt. I really appreciate it.”
“Fuck. You're not getting mixed up in anything dangerous, are you?” Matt’s face is filled with concern and chagrin. “I’ve been telling you, man, this lifestyle of yours, with the traveling all the time and the fucking different women all the time, it's not sustainable. You can't keep doing it without running into problems eventually. What happened? You slept with the wife of some asshole? The girlfriend of some gang leader? The daughter of a corrupt town mayor?”
“Dude. I told you I don't have time to explain. Can we please just skip to the part where you're finding things out for me?” I stop myself from making a comment about how my life isn't a soap opera. It dawns on me that the position I’m actually in is just as ridiculous, so I shut my mouth.
“Okay. What do you want? Her criminal records, bank statements, tax filings, last Google searches?”
“Anything you can find. But most importantly I want to see what's on her phone.”
“Got it,” Matt says. “I’ll stop everything and work on this. I’ll call you when I have something.”
“Thanks, Matt. I hope your work won't suffer too much.”
“Eh, most of what I do isn't that important. Mr. Tanner has seen his mistress twice this week alone, so I already have a bunch of incriminating pictures for his wife. And don't tell Mrs. Potts, but I don't think we’ll find her poodle.”
I can't help but smile with amusement as the call ends and Matt’s face disappears from my computer screen.
