by Weston, Dani
“Have you ever been on one that big?” Jimmy Keats’ deep voice washed over me, enveloped me, swam into all my spaces. My stomach warmed and I held back a light shiver at his words.
Business first. No, business only.
“Worst innuendo ever,” I said, lightly.
He chuckled. “I’m terrible at that kind of thing.”
“It worked…once.”
Jimmy Keats watched me for a second and I knew he was remembering that night at Filth, too. “Ever been on a bike?” I shook my head. He came around, putting his hands on the handlebars and blocking the light so that the shadow of his body fell over me. “Want to?”
“You ride motorcycles?” I asked, trying to not sound too impressed.
“Sometimes, all this can be too much--.”
“And you have to escape,” I finished for him. “Or so I’ve heard.”
“Exactly.” Jimmy straddled the shining beetle of a bike and waited for me to join him. My breath caught as I saw the shadowed expression on his face. The black bike, the jeans and shirt, his high cheekbones and his strong jaw jutted out. The intensity that I knew was hiding behind those gold-rimmed sunglasses. I did and didn’t want to join him on his bike.
The wanting won.
“You look like you’ve been riding your whole life,” I told him as I climbed up behind him.
“I have. My uncle owned a dirt bike track back in Louisiana.”
“We only have two minutes of break left.”
Jimmy snorted and didn’t bother responding. He didn’t have to. We both knew he made the rules. Jimmy passed me the helmet that was dangling from the handlebars. Then, in one swift, powerful movement, he brought the bike to life. I felt it trembling under me like an animal and I knew then why people liked riding motorcycles. It was like live wires of energy shivering through my body.
I wrapped my arms around Jimmy and pressed into his back. He peered back at me, but didn’t say anything.
A tingle ran up my arms.
Jimmy revved the motor. “Hold on.”
His grip tightened on the handles and his legs tensed up in front of mine. I pulled myself into him, held on for dear life. Dirt and leaves flew up behind us. Someone yelled something, but I couldn’t make out who or what over the sounds of the engine. In the space of a breath, we were flying.
*
I didn’t know where we were going. I didn’t think he knew either. But the desire to escape burned in us both and the only solution was the wind whipping around our bodies. Jimmy headed back the way we had come. I soaked in the mountain road, breathed in the air, so much cleaner than the L.A. smog.
For a long time we just went. All the way to the ocean. I laughed when he sped by other traffic on the line in between the lanes and grasped onto him with a screeching sound when he took turns too fast. I wanted to toss my helmet off so that I could press my cheek against his back, but even in the moment I knew better. My legs felt machine below them and warmth in front of them; the sum of us was exhilaration.
Somewhere on 101 I spied a turnoff that looked over the ocean. I pointed and felt the motorcycle slow its cagey rumbling. Jimmy crossed the highway and pulled into the dirt and gravel. We stopped sideways, the roar of the waves below us, the pounding of the surf on the cliff. I tugged off my helmet and shook my hair out. Jimmy kicked the stand down, set his helmet on the handlebars and climbed off the bike. He took my helmet, tossed it in the dirt, then reached for me.
His arms slid around my waist, just as mine had been around his, and he plucked me off the bike as though I was a dainty butterfly. Then he squeezed me into him, his forearm across my lower back, my tiptoes barely touching the ground, and pressed his mouth to mine.
The trembles of the bike were nothing compared to the shocks that shot through my body now. Jimmy’s lips were insistent, demanding. Warm and not too soft. Like he used that mouth for something important. My knees weakened, so I snaked my arms up around his neck, savoring the warmth of his skin against mine. He parted my lips and we sank into a deeper kiss, his tongue searching my mouth for secrets. My mind reeled, my body sang like a high note.
The crashing rush of ocean waves paled in comparison to the sounds in my ears. I felt Jimmy on my lips, yes, but down my spine, on my thigh, pressed against his, all the way to my toes.
We pulled apart, catching our breaths, but Jimmy kept my face close to his, moving his palms to my neck, his fingertips delving into my hair.
“I waited too long to kiss you again,” he said. “I’m not used to waiting for anything.”
“The best things come to those who are patient,” I said.
I moved closer again, a little hesitant, and touched my lips to his gently, feeling the kiss slowly. I focused on his taste – coffee and oranges – and his slowly rhythmic breathing. My hands travelled down his shoulders until they hit his waist. I slid them around to his back and pressed closer. He dropped his hands from my face and rounded over my ass.
“I couldn’t stop looking at you,” Jimmy Keats said.
“Look at me in a good way…or like, look at that roadkill on the side of the road?”
“You know that answer to that.”
“And? What does it take for a girl to get a compliment around here?”
He planted a kiss on my nose. “You’re stunning.”
“That’s all I ask. A regular stream of synonyms for beautiful tossed my way.”
“Noted. So the Cinderella moment went all right?”
I nodded. “It went all right. It was hard to let someone else take over my style, you know? But the stylist was really good. I missed my econ class, though. I can’t keep missing classes.”
Like I was, right then.
I was not supposed to be there.
I was supposed to be with my bandmates, posing for photos.
I was supposed to be getting ready to head back to classes.
I’m supposed to be emailing Local Jackson to let him know how the shoot went.
But I wanted to be there, in that moment completely, just me and Jimmy and nothing in our way. I cleared my throat and turned to look out over the ocean.
“Why do you have to escape? From what?”
He took a few breaths and looked in the same direction I did. “People think they know you. Everyone. They know what you like, what you want, what you shouldn’t be doing with yourself. It’s noise, Courtney. And it’s constant. This buzzing in my head…makes it hard to stay grounded. To always know who I am and what I want.”
“Is that what it’s like, always?”
“To everyone in this industry? I don’t know. Probably. That’s why…”
“What?”
“Why you matter so much. You’re real. Honest. I feel like we’re building something here…or can, if you’ll let us.”
I ran my fingers over the fence line. “Shit,” I said. “I can’t do this. Be this girl. I can’t abandon my band like this. They’re waiting for me back there. Standing around…” I pressed my eyes closed. Stupid, Courtney. You are such a jerk.
“I’ll make it up to them.”
I huffed in exasperation. “You can’t just make it up to them. What, send them a fruit basket? Sorry for wasting your time this morning because your bandmate can’t keep her hands off me?”
We stared out over the light blue of the sky, the deep blue of the ocean. White gulls dotted the horizon.
“I shouldn’t be here.”
“And yet, here you stand.”
“Because I want it all.”
I turned to the side and stared at him. Really studied him. It wasn’t hard to see what got girls hot and bothered. Jimmy was tall and slim. Clothes draped over his body like they were made for him. And they probably were. He moved with a quiet elegance, his shoulders strong with confidence. His lips were full and his skin like dark velvet. His eyes were searching, as though looking for the deepest layers of people. At least, the deepest layers of me. I’m pretty sure he didn’t look at everyone the way he w
as looking at me, now, though. The patient, but desirous look that made his eyelids soften and his lips part slightly.
And that was part of the appeal. Jimmy Keats, mega world music star, didn’t look at Bea or Kaitlin or any fangirl the way he was looking at me right now. He wanted my talent for his new project, but he also wanted me. And we did have something. We shared similar roots, we were growing a tenuous trust in each other. He was easy to talk to. Making music with him felt right.
“You told your grammy about me. Do you tell your grammy about everyone you see?”
“Grammy keeps me in check. She has to know everything or I get in trouble.”
I laughed. Took one of his hands in mine. Studied the long fingers. They had a familiar pattern of calluses and soft spots. Just like mine. I liked the way he called his grandmother “grammy.” It was endearing. Soft. Innocent. I wanted to tell him that, but he cut me off before I could say anything.
“Come over tonight,” he said. “Just tonight. See if you can stand me, alone, in a quiet space, for more than a few minutes without your band imploding.”
“Why?”
“Because I told you to.”
My back bristled, but then I caught the hint of a smile at the corner of his eyes. Jimmy Keats always got what he wanted. He knew people said that about him. He found it funny. “I don’t do very many things other people tell me to.”
“No, I didn’t think so. That’s part of why I like you. So, instead, come because I’m asking nicely, like a good man should. Come because you want to.”
I let go of his fingers and ran my hands along the white fence again, spreading my arms as far as I could, leaning over the top of the barrier and imagining what it would feel like to launch myself over, to be weightless through the air. I placed one foot on the bottom board, then the second. It was a little tough to balance in my sky high heels, and I wobbled slightly.
Jimmy came behind me and put his arms around my legs.
“Dammit. It’s the one thing that I don’t like.”
“Holding me?” I said.
“Oh, I like that. I plan on doing more of that. But I don’t like heights.”
“You’re afraid of heights?” I laughed a little, delighted in this tidbit of knowledge. “If I fall, you’ll have to come with me.”
“You won’t fall. I’ve got you.”
“Are you sure? I could be falling right now.”
The air between us thickened as the words sank in. They surprised me, the quickness of the words, the way they scurried into the conversation when I hardly expected them. How they were honest, too. I turned and looked at Jimmy to gauge his reaction. This was dangerous, mixing emotions with business and I knew it to the core. Even if it wasn’t common sense, I’d studied it in my business classes. Avoid, avoid, avoid. And, to make things worse, friendships were involved. Which meant I should have taken the words back, right then. Pretended they didn’t mean what I was sure they did mean. Laughed them off, gotten down from the fence, demanded he take me back to my bandmates.
He studied my face for a minute and it was all I could do to not look away. What was he thinking? I wanted to ask him so badly, but I also didn’t want to know.
So I didn’t let him talk.
I turned my whole body around on the fence, put my arms around his neck and kissed him slowly, knowing there was only him in front of me and nothing behind me. I ignored his hands on my back and imagined that the things holding me to the land were his lips. Everything in my brain screamed that this wasn’t right; every part of my body sang that it was so, so perfect. Jimmy held onto me with a fierceness nobody else ever had. He claimed my mouth, my thighs, the curves and edges of me like he knew I wouldn’t—couldn’t—say no to him.
And that was part of the appeal of Jimmy Keats. No one said no to him. He didn’t have to wait for a yes. It wasn’t something he was used to, in his other life. But in his moments with me, he understood there was the possibility of no, but pursued anyway. I wanted someone like that, someone who pursued, who, in the bedroom if nowhere else, took over.
I sat on the fence and nibbled on Jimmy’s bottom lip for a second, then pulled away when the sun was too bright to ignore anymore.
“How long do you think we’ve been gone?”
“I don’t know. An hour, maybe.” He kissed my nose.
“I have to get back.”
“I thought you never should have come in the first place.”
“That, too. Bea’s going to be mad. Really mad.”
“Why did you come then?”
I made a motion to step down from the fence. Jimmy placed his hands around my waist and lifted me off like I weighed nothing. When I’d found firm footing again, he left his hands on me.
“Because I wanted to. I…want to try.”
The relief that filled his face buoyed me. He was sincere in how much he wanted this, too. Then, he grinned. “I like a woman who goes after what she wants.”
Jimmy handed me my helmet and I slipped it back on my head. He started the bike and, with one long, last look at the ocean, we joined the 101 traffic once again. When we got back to the clearing, it was empty. The only sound, after Jimmy turned off the engine, was the ringing in my ears and birdsong.
My heart sank.
Why did I keep insisting on ruining everything for everyone?
“Take me home,” I told Jimmy.
The ride back to Delta Gamma felt heavy. Too long and too quick, at the same time. My insides twisted with shame, but regret stayed hidden behind my desire for Jimmy, and I wondered if that made me a bad person.
When Jimmy stopped the engine in front of the sorority house, I slid off and held the helmet out to him.
“Keep it. You’ll need it tonight. Nine.” He revved the engine and shot down the road.
I saw a curtain fall in the front window and caught a swath of familiar hair. Standing on the front porch, I chewed on a nail, just standing there, afraid to face Bea and what I’d done to her.
She opened the door like she lived there. She practically did.
Her eyes swept over me, taking in my disheveled hair, my smudged lipstick, the helmet in my hand. Then she looked in my face. I braced myself for her anger. Her disappointment. Her harsh words. I deserved them.
But that’s not what happened.
“It’s okay, Court.” Her expression was soft. Her voice, even softer. “It’s okay to like him. It’s okay to test things and see where they go. It wasn’t cool of you to take off like that because you didn’t know that the shoot was wrapping up anyway. But he did, so I guess that makes it half okay. Just…don’t screw us over, okay? Otherwise…I hope it works out.”
My emotions sprang up like a geyser, flooding me with grateful warmth. I flung myself into Bea’s arms. “Thank you, Bea. You are amazing.”
“I know! Now get changed. You still have classes, today.” She ushered me in and we went to my room.
“What do you mean, the shoot was wrapping up anyway?” I asked as I changed out of my leather pants and into jeans.
Bea gathered my textbooks and stuffed them in my backpack for me. “They didn’t want to do the group shots out there, so we have to go to a studio tomorrow.”
I stopped pulling the sparklies from my temples and looked at Bea. “Same time?”
She didn’t meet my eyes. “A little later, so that’s good, right? Sleeping in.”
“But that means--.”
“Right in the middle of classes, I know. I tried to argue the point, but there wasn’t a lot of flexibility. Duncan said they’d already had to call in a favor to book the studio at such short notice.” Bea handed me a letter sitting on my desk, seemingly thankful for a reason to change the subject. “Oh, mail call!”
I glanced over the envelope. No return address, but it was addressed with my name and the Delta Gamma house address in beautiful, curving handwriting.
“I never get real mail. Fun.” I slid the flap open carefully and pulled out the single card insid
e. Five words in the very center of the thick, cream paper:
Stay away from Jimmy Keats.
10.
If I’d thought I understood a racing heart before, it was nothing to how I was feeling now. I sank into my desk chair and flipped the envelope over. No return address. I studied the postmark over the stamps. It was mailed from a Los Angeles post office.
“You look sick,” Bea said. “What’s wrong? Is your family…?”
“They’re okay.” I passed the note to her without comment. Bea read it, checked the envelope, just like I had, and pulled out her phone.
“Are you calling the police? I’m not sure we have to go there, yet.”
Bea shook her head, searched her phone silently for a few moments, then shoved her screen in my face. “Look at her eyes. Just look at them. Tell me that isn’t the face of a crazy person.”
I took the phone and studied the photo of Julia Wood, Jimmy Keats’ ex-girlfriend. It looked like she was leaving a fitness club. Her hair fluttered around her cheeks and she was glaring hard at whoever was taking the photo. She looked intimidating, for sure.
“You think she sent the note?” I pressed the back button on the phone’s browser and scrolled through the other photos of Julia Wood. She looked polished in most. In the ones she was smiling, she looked friendly and sincere. I thought back to meeting her at Jimmy’s on the night of the party. Sure, I was a little jealous, but other than that, I couldn’t remember any weirdness coming from her end. I made a skeptical face.
“I don’t know, Bea. I’m pretty sure one unflattering, candid photo isn’t enough to accuse her. I’d probably be pissed if the paparazzi was following me around, too.”
“When it follows us around,” Bea said, distractedly. She took a few steps away from me, then spun back around, her finger in the air like she was some kind of Sherlock character. “We know the note was sent from L.A. She’s in L.A. And it had to be sent from someone who knows who you are, and where you live. She was at the party and obviously saw the way Jimmy was looking at you. The rest…anybody at that party could have overheard us talking about UCLA. Or Duncan could have told her where you live.”
