Jahleel

by S. Ann Cole

  “I have a six months tour coming up soon,” I started off in my strong, self-assured, ‘I’m-Saskia-Day’ tone as if I most certainly knew what I wanted. “I need to change things up a bit. There are a few songs that aren’t exactly fan favourites that I think would ultimately do well if I amped them up with gripping dance performances on tour.”

  No idea if what I just said even made sense.

  Jahleel raised his eyebrows as he rubbed his chin. “Yeah, I’m thinkin’ we probably should’ve talked more about this before I agreed to take you on.”

  Oh Jesus, so I guess all I said was a load of bullocks. “Why?”

  “We’re talkin’ about a six months tour here, Day,” he replied in an incredulous tone, as if I was daft. “You got your own dancers for me to train for this tour?”

  Uh oh. I really didn’t think this through. What the fuck was I doing? God, I was such an idiot.

  Taking my silence as a ‘no’, he continued, “My team here can’t go on tour with you. We only do 30-day or less tours. However, you could contract some of my other dancers who’ll be up for touring. That’s the better option.”

  “Okay, we can do that,” I said thoughtfully, masking my idiocy with feigned superiority.

  His golden gaze narrowed as he studied me for a minute too long, not lusting, no, just scrutinizing. “I’ve cancelled on you three times before, and I might do it again, because I get the feeling you’re not exactly sure what you want and I have too much on my plate to wait around while you figure it out. Plus I hate to believe someone of your status would waste time messin’ around. I have zero tolerance for bullshit. Celebrity or not.”

  “Pardon?”

  Ignoring my hand-on-hip attitude, he continued on as if I’d never spoken. “Because I have to audition dancers suitable for your tour, I’ll use today to test your fluidity, coordination, and your ability to follow instructions correctly so I can determine just how serious you are about this.” He tapped one long, masculine finger on his lower lip as he watched me for another minute, then, “You cool with that, come with me out on the floor. Not cool, then you’re free to go.”

  I looked up at him with disgust on my face (even though that was so far from the truth), “Anyone ever tell you you’re an arsehole?”

  He responded with a deep, caressing chuckle that slid over me like silk, and I melted just from that sound. Right then, I wanted, just had to have…him.

  “No. But I have been told I’m an asshole. On a daily basis.” He paused to lick those delectable lips. “I’m an asshole with reason, so the same lips that curse me, always end up praising me, eventually. Not gonna kiss your ass, if that’s what you’re expecting. Believe it or not, I make less money with celebs than I do with my regulars. Celebs come and go, they rise fast and they fall hard. But regs, regs are constant and steady. Celebs are just good for publicity, and I’ve got all the publicity I need. So I kiss no one’s ass. People find me, not the other way around.”

  He took a step forward, entering into my personal space, and leaned into me so close, I held my breath so I could feel and hear his. He smelled like sweat, bike exhaust and some earthy cologne being overpowered by something else I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Fuck, I wanted to fuck him until I smelled just like that. I wanted to feel his weight on me, his skin against mine, his hands on—

  “Wanna use those pouty lips you just cursed me with to sing delicious, dripping, deserving praises to my name one day, Sassy? Then follow me.”

  By the tail end of that sentence, he was out of my face and walking out to the centre of the dance floor.

  Two things, my breathing was far beyond erratic as I once again lost control and allowed him to make a fool of me in front of others. Second, he called me Sassy.

  He gave me a frigging nickname.

  If that wasn’t progress, I didn’t know what was. So, against my better judgment, I followed.

  Remember when I said I was weak and dumb?

  I still was.

  Chapter Four

  To my sweet surprise, the newbie dance tutoring went smoothly. For the most part, Jahleel was professional, as he dropped jokes from time to time to make me relax. But other times, he instructed me to do the most awkward moves, from snake arms to pop and locks—moves made, I believed, strictly for his entertainment.

  ‘Cause Lord knows I had not one rhythmic bone in my body.

  But, even though I knew this, I did his silly moves all the same because I loved his laugh. Without a second thought, I would change professions to become a comedienne if it meant I’d get to hear that sound every day.

  One would think our semi getting along would’ve quelled my nerves some. On the contrary, each time we danced too close to each other and his hands so much as brushed my skin, I got so close to hyperventilating, I would call for a time-out and run outside to suck down a Davidoff and calm my nerves.

  Back from one of my breaks, Jahleel was explaining the basics of the triangle zone, moving from left to right then forward then a step back to the left again, never leaving the allotted triangle area, when the studio door opened. A lull fell over the room as the loud chattering from Amanda, Amy and Jamie died as they ogled the person who just walked in.

  He was a tad taller than Jahleel’s six one height, with more of a slim, lean build rather than pounds of muscles. Shoulders wide, hips narrow, arms long. In all-black, he was wearing close-fitted jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt dragged up at the elbows to show his artsy tattoos on both forearms, and a rosary chain around his neck. Dusty blonde hair was trimmed into a rocker haircut; the sides and back faded low and the front long and tousled, the longer strands falling into his eyes.

  He was a sight to behold, and without a doubt, scorching.

  When he walked up to Jahleel in a smooth swagger, Ben and Thomas started approaching, but I shook my head and they retreated.

  Hot Bod gave a respectful chin lift as he reached us and handed a disc case to Jahleel. He looked back to me in the same second he registered who I was. One corner of his mouth crooked up as he acknowledged me vocally this time, dragging out a, “Saskia Day…”

  Before I could reply, Jahleel addressed him, “All the mixes on here?”

  “You got it,” Hot Bod’s eyes were still on me.

  Jahleel eyes shifted between Hot Bod and me. I saw this from the corner of my eye because, frankly, I couldn’t take my gaze off Hot Bod. He was…intriguing.

  With a faint sniff, Jahleel mumbled, “Lemme check to be sure everything’s on here. Won’t have a repeat of the last time.”

  He jogged over to his laptop and inserted the disc while Hot Bod continued to stare me down. In the next second, Amanda was at my side, hand stuck out to Hot Bod, her head tilted to the side—the tilt she reserved for flirting.

  “Hi there, I’m Amanda.” Her eyelashes did that fluttery thing, “And you are?”

  Finally pulling his burning gaze off me, Hot Bod turned his head to Amanda and licked his full, kissable lips. “JK’s ride or die.”

  It was quite possible I heard the hard-as-nails Amanda sigh like a gold-haired fairy-tale heroine, but I couldn’t tell for sure.

  “So, what do you do, JK’s ride or die?”

  His lower lip got trapped between his teeth as he chuckled to himself. “Multitalented.”

  As his obsidian dark eyes shifted from Amanda, they landed back on me, and he tilted his head to the side this time, examining me.

  An intense silence stretched between us three, until he gave a slow smile and sexily dripped, “You know, I used to date this girl, she was extremely carnal. We had this strong sexual connection to each other, all sex, and there was this one thing about her that drove me wild: whenever she was deeply, unapologetically turned on, even by other men, I could tell…”

  Trailing off, he dipped his head, smiling to himself as if wondering whether he should continue with his bold and inappropriate overture. For heaven’s sake, how did I end up in the middle of this?

  “How?�
� Amanda prodded, all eager and impatient.

  Keeping his head lowered, he raised just his eyes to mine, and it was such a fucking turn on, my breath caught and formed a lump in my throat. “Because her nostrils would flare in such a fascinatingly erotic way, around the rims would be flaming red…” Drawing a breath through his teeth, he breathed out, “Just like yours are doing now.”

  Holy fuckaroo!

  Was I that obvious? Some boy-toy rock star I’d dated told me that same thing: that my nostrils flared whenever I was turned on. Oh hell and damnation, I needed to get a hold of myself.

  Next, he took the leap and went there. Lifting his head, he stared at me dead on and asked, “Are you deeply, unapologetically turned on by me?”

  Sucking in my cheeks, I flicked my gaze over to where Jahleel was still hunched over his laptop. His head was down, fingers moving over the keyboard but, somehow, I knew he was both listening and watching without being obvious, because he was too focused on what he was doing. I stared long enough to see if he would sense me watching him and glance over at me, but he didn’t. That confirmed my suspicions. He was waiting, listening for my answer.

  Trying to gain some control over my hormones, I retreated a step back from the anchor-heavy intensity levitating in the air. “You always this forward?”

  Hot Bod’s gaze shifted over to Jahleel and back to me, then back to Jaheel. He nodded to himself as he came to some sort of internal conclusion he chose not to reveal. Instead, he reached over, pinched Amanda on her cheek and winked at me, stating, “I’m just Chad.”

  He turned and swaggered back through the doors.

  “Well, fuck me sideways,” Amanda said, all breathy. “That was some guy. Talk about fearless. The temerity…”

  “I need a smoke,” I reached in my back pocket for my Davidoff cigs and lighter. As I power-walked through the door, Ben and Thomas promptly followed behind.

  Burning two cigarettes back to back, I lounged outside Jahleel’s complex longer this time, eying the single paparazzi across the parking lot doing a sloppy job at acting like he was just another normal dancer milling in and out of the studio.

  The security at the studio was tight for such a casual place. There were three burly men who patrolled the lot round and round as well as security cameras, one being right above my head where I leaned against the wall smoking. Also two men manned the security desk.

  It made sense that he took precautions in ensuring his renowned clients felt safe in their environment, which might be the reason that particular paparazzi lurked outside the parking lot, as the securities must have eyes out for them.

  My three mates came outside when I was on my second cigarette, no doubt wondering what was taking me so long. Once they noted I was okay, they started their yap yapping about which guy of the Hot Pack they’d screw without a second thought.

  I wanted to hear none of it. I was overwhelmed, I was underwhelmed, I was confused, I was aroused, I was a fucking mess.

  I was someone, someone dammit! With a name and millions. My crap, I needed to get it together. How did I get Jahleel to notice me, to want me, to come at me like Chad did?

  For the most part, he went from polite to arsehole to professional to arsehole again. He wasn’t constant, which made it hard for me to know if he was feeling me or not. With his variable persona, I didn’t want to flirt to end up embarrassed and pathetic if he rebuffed me.

  Flicking the butt of my last cigarette to the ground, I tossed a handful of Tic Tacs in my mouth and sucked them until they melted, getting rid of the horrid tobacco scent before I turned and re-entered the building, the chit chattering following behind. I swear these girls never stopped talking. They talked about everything, and it all ended up meaning absolutely nothing.

  Me, I wasn’t big on talking. I did better with expressions and actions. The most people heard from Saskia was during my interviews where I was required to talk or when I was in the studio— where I loosened up and went wild.

  As we entered the dancing room again, my mood took a nosedive for the worse—a mood I couldn’t point my finger on; maybe anger, maybe jealousy, maybe irritation, maybe frustration… not sure. But I knew for sure I was glowering.

  Jahleel stood in the middle of the room with a petite blond. She couldn’t be more than five feet one, with a wicked low haircut and a smile that shined brighter than a bonfire on a camping night. Her lips were impossibly red and her eyes were an unusual shade of blue.

  If Jahleel hadn’t been looking down at her with a softened expression on his face, I wouldn’t have felt threatened. But, that look…

  It wasn’t the look he’d given me in the mirror earlier, and it wasn’t the look he’d given Water Girl. No, that was a different look: one of longing, warmth, tenderness and, dear God, love. The expression transformed his countenance to an extent where no one would ever believe an arsehole existed behind that face.

  No, no, no, no, no!

  I thought…I thought he wasn’t attracted to blonds. My hair, my lovely blonde hair, I dyed it raven black for this dude! Have kept it raven ever since. So much so, that not many people didn’t know I was actually blonde and not raven-haired. Most people thought raven was my real hair colour. Now he was dating, and possibly in love with, a blond?

  God, I wanted to kill myself. Such an idiot. When would I regain my senses? I needed him to give me back all he’d fucking stolen from me—my heart, my brain, my common sense, my strength—so I could move on living my fabulous life of being rich and famous, and stop dogging around over some dude who’ll probably never notice me.

  Gaining a bit of resolve, I marched towards them, making no effort to conceal my irritation as I narrowed my eyes on Little Miss Blondie. I planned on being a complete bitch, I did well at that sometimes, but before I could get a snarky word out, Jahleel asked, “Ready to go again? Or do you have another pack of cigarettes you got to empty?”

  Dragging my glower from Little Miss Blondie, I looked at him and my resolve shattered into smithereens as another piece of my heart chipped off and floated towards him. He was wet with sweat as if he’d been dancing during my extended smoking break, and strands of his hidden hair peeped out of his beanie.

  God, he was so much, so amazing, so wanted, needed, so desired. By me.

  In the midst of my lusting, I noted something had changed in his eyes and in his voice when he asked me that question; it made me prefer the arsehole part of him more than this part. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but he seemed bitter, irritated, and inexplicably pissed—maybe at me or at himself, I couldn’t tell.

  Inhaling deeply, I contemplated asking him what I did wrong, why he hated me, and why did he have to be such a jerk, but I exhaled on a sigh, and instead said, “Nah. Done for the day.”

  He stared back at me with such unhidden hostility, that I half expected him to blast me with a big ole ‘get the fuck out!’

  Unable to sustain his glare further, I slid my gaze to Little Miss Blonde. “You must be JK’s girlfriend, yeah?”

  “No,” she laughed cordially. “I’m Krissy.”

  I’ve never felt so relieved in my entire life, but I didn’t let it show. I wanted to hug, kiss and give this girl a million pounds just for not being JK’s girlfriend. However, Jahleel obviously had feelings for her, which meant she was still a threat. “And Krissy is…?”

  Krissy opened her mouth to answer but Jahleel jumped in with more douchebaggery than before. “Krissy’s just Krissy.” Arching a caustic brow at me, he bit out, “You weren’t clear just now. You’re done smokin’ for the day, or you’re done practicin’? Which?”

  If he were anyone else, I would’ve told him to fuck off eons ago, find something to sue him for, lie on him and screw his career over because he had, honest to God, begun to piss me off. But I was a glutton for pain, so I did neither.

  Though I did manage to hiss out, “Both.”

  The hiss made him smile; it was the first sign of irritation I’d showed all day. As if satisfi
ed that he’d provoked me, Jahleel said nothing in response, and an awkward silence hung around the three of us, while his eyes studied my face making me all the more self-conscious.

  Shoving my hands in the back pockets of my jeans, I contemplated just turning and leaving, seeing that I’d just declared I was done for the day.

  I wanted to go, but I wanted to stay. I hated Jahleel’s hostility towards me and had an urge to run, but hostility was better than being ignored…so I longed for more.

  I was more frustrated with myself than before I came here. Even when he was being a douchebag, I craved more of him. So, instead of walking out, I grappled for a lie to extend my time.

  Casting a glance over my shoulder, I checked to see if my mates were still in drool mode. They were. Perfect. I turned back at Jahleel. “Ma’ mates back there…say they’ve heard about ya’ and want to see ya’…dance.”

  Jahleel’s smirk deepened, almost resembling a smile. He knew I was lying, but he wasn’t calling me out on it.

  Remaining purposely staid, I stared back as though I were telling the dead truth. He finally shrugged and tossed over his shoulder, “Jason Derulo’s Breathing.”

  Unbelievable, he was actually going to do it. Even though he knew it was a lie, that I was the one who wanted to see him dance, he was still going to do it. In all honesty, I didn’t expect him to. This dude was unreadable as words written in water. He fucking confused me.

  Walking backwards, he hauled his T-shirt over his head and tossed it at Krissy, flashing a crooked grin at her. Except for when Jahleel laughed at my dancing, his smile was a rare occurrence, I noticed. But I understood why.

  Grins such as his could cause fatal heart attacks in women. A combination of extreme sexiness, extreme arrogance, extreme flirtatiousness, extreme taunting…it was just a truckload of extremes. To simplify, his rare but mesmerizing grin could cause serious heart damage in weaklings, like me, if flashed too often.