Jahleel

by S. Ann Cole

  The hell? Did he not realize who I was? “You’re saying I’m fake?”

  He took a sip of his drink, and replied without looking at me, “Now? Yeah.” Tilting his head to the side, he angled it to look at me without turning his body, seemingly annoyed and a little ticked. “This,” he motioned a hand to indicate my provocative pose, “is being done to prove a point.”

  Turning back to me fully now, he took a step forward and leaned into me. “I do a lot of things, Saskia, but playing games is not one of them.” Jerking his head to the left, he said quietly, “Maybe that’s where you really want to be?”

  I looked to my left where he indicated, and my breath hitched audibly. It was this feeling—this breath-stealing, mind-numbing, tongue-tied feeling that I always got whenever I saw him that made it damn well impossible for me to get over him.

  I couldn’t.

  I just couldn’t.

  At a mere glimpse of him, my heartbeat sped off on a wild race beneath my rib cage. This was fucking ridiculous!

  Why? Why? Why did I crave him this much?

  Casual in faded jeans, Timberlands, and a red T-shirt with a black skull face on the front, he was sitting on an ottoman across from Ferbie, engaged in deep conversation, hand movements and all. The strangest sight. Who the hell held deep conversations with Ferbie?

  When he set his drink down on the table between them and proceeded to move his wrist in some weird circular movement that Ferbie mimicked, I deduced they were talking about dancing.

  “I’m not sure why you’d think tha—” I turned my head back around to see that Chad had vanished. Like smoke.

  Jesus, I suck.

  Amanda was by my side at the bar in the next minute. “So?”

  “He’s just as much of a wanker as JK,” I groused bitterly.

  “What did he say?”

  “That I’m fake.”

  Bursting into laughter, Amanda shook her head. “Christ, Kia, you suck. Big time. How’d you manage to piss off a guy who’s so obviously into you, in less than five minutes?”

  “I barely got a sentence out!” I complained, wanting to laugh at the absurdity of it. “That man’s got bloody issues.”

  Amanda laughed again and knocked her knuckles on the bar to get the bartender’s attention. “Two shots of Coffee Patrón, please.”

  “Make that a double for me,” I added, and the bartender nodded.

  Arching a brow, my best friend inquired, “What’s up with you tonight?”

  “JK,” I grimaced, I inclined my head to the left. “I’m going over to talk to him. Maybe facing him with friendly expectations will help me get over him.”

  “So, you weren’t over him before, then?” Amanda teased as the bartender placed the shots down for us.

  I knocked back the first shot without a wince. “Just shut the hell up.” Down went the second one before I slid off the stool and said, “Wish me luck with this one.”

  I wove through the throngs of people, forcing a smile each time someone stopped me with some kind of gibberish. This made the short journey from the bar to Jahleel a ten minute trip.

  Jahleel and Ferbie maintained their deep discussion as I approached, until Ferbie looked up and saw me. “Aye, Ma. You ready already?”

  Jahleel glanced up, and down my body his eyes roved. Then…there it was, the look he had when I walked into his studio the other day. That lustful look: where he sank his teeth down on his full, desirable lower lip and blatantly stared. But just as soon as it appeared, it left as he slapped on a polite smile.

  Gah! That wasn’t the smile I wanted! I wanted the sexy, crooked smile he flashes at the women he sets his sights on.

  “No, no,” I waved my hand, “I just came over to say ‘hi’ to your new mate.”

  “Ah,” Ferbie stood up. “I’ve got to use the loo. I’ll leave you two at it, yeah?”

  As Ferbie vacated, I took his seat.

  Tossing my clutch on the table, I leaned forward toward the ottoman with my legs apart, elbows resting on my thighs.

  Jahleel reached forward for his drink and brought up it to his lips, but I noticed the corners of his lips twitched.

  That’s when it registered, and I looked down to take in my far too comfortable sitting position, like a guy. For a moment, I’d forgotten I was at an all-eyes-on-you function. But truth be told, this was the real me. It’s how I usually sat, or with my legs tossed on whatever piece of furniture was in front of me. Lion hated it, and never ceased to reprimand me for it. The provocative leg-crossed-over-the-knee thing isn’t me. Not surprising Chad saw straight through me. Because I was being fake; flirting only to prove a point to Amanda.

  But it was too late to act coy now. Jahleel would just be all the more amused if I adjusted my sitting position now, so I remained as I was and waited for him to swallow his smile.

  When he lowered the glass from his lips, I spoke first, “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Shoot.”

  “Ferbie’s my brother, and I love him dearly,” I began, “But for the life of me, I can’t understand what you see in the fella. No one, and I mean no one, has ever held a conversation with him for more than five minutes, if that long.”

  Jahleel chuckled, one coming so deep from his throat, it vibrated and caused caressing waves to surge through me, making me sigh with longing. “He’s got talent and he’s got depth.”

  “D-D-Depth?” I sputtered with much incredulity.

  He nodded, and he was serious as he went on, “You just gotta know how to pick his brain. Ask the right questions to make him dig deep and force him to think; activate his lazy brain. It takes patience. But he’s excellent at followin’ instructions, and he catches on unbelievably fast.” Looking down at his glass, he smiled, “You just need to get him to stop saying ‘Aye’. Seriously, who the fuck says ‘Aye’ except for Christopher Columbus every time he discovers new territory?”

  I could see him fighting to hold back a laugh, maybe thinking I’d take offense to it. But when he glanced up and saw me biting down on my lip to hold in my own laugh, we both laughed. I had no idea why Ferbie spoke the way he did.

  “Were your parents drunk when they named him?”

  For some reason, I didn’t take offense to his question, because it didn’t feel like he was making fun of Ferbie’ slowness. I could tell he genuinely liked Ferbie, and was having fun as a good friend or family member who loves him would. A good-natured tease.

  “Maybe,” I said, looking away. “They were drunks.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Uh huh. My sister’s name is Timberly.”

  “The fuck?” he laughed.

  “Then there’s my name—Saskia.”

  The laugh I expected never came, and when I shifted my gaze back to him, he was staring at me with that look.

  “Saskia is one of the sexiest names I’ve ever heard.”

  Except you mispronounced it five years ago…

  His stare dropped to my mouth. “And it suits you…more than I think you even know.”

  Aiming to remain calm, I moved my gaze from him once more.

  The look I’d always wanted from him, always dreamt of, I was finally getting it. But, it was too much for me to handle. Too intense. Too demanding. Too probing. He was a lot. A fuck of a lot. And I was just one girl.

  In that moment, it dawned on me that even if I won him, I wouldn’t be able to contain him. He was a beast, and I didn’t have the skills to tame him. I guess, sometimes, it’s better to just look, fantasize and don’t bother touching.

  He cleared his throat. I heard it. The ice clinked in his glass. I heard it. He tried to pull my attention back to him, but I kept my eyes off him, fighting to avoid that penetrating gaze.

  Until he spoke. “Chad’s here, you know.”

  When I warily slid my gaze back to him, he’d leaned forward on the ottoman, mimicking my position, elbows dropped on his knees as he watched me intently, not giving me a break from his stare.

  All of a
sudden, I didn’t want to be the subject of his stare. Bloody hell, it was unnerving! I’d been begging for it, pining for it, and now I couldn’t handle it. Not even a small percentage of it.

  “I know,” I croaked. Digging for a stronger voice, I cleared my throat. “I spoke with him a while ago.”

  “You’re his type.”

  “I wish,” I scoffed. “He thinks I’m fake.”

  As if he was expecting a different answer from me, he sniffed and turned his gaze out to the crowd, the skin around his eyes tightening. “Want me to talk to him for you?”

  He bit the words out, as though they were hard for him to say.

  The hell?

  “Yes, actually.”

  “Saskia,” a deep voice called from above me.

  I glanced up to see my good friend Zane Zekiel towering over me. Cocking his head, he regarded Jahleel with a frown, seemingly trying to put face to name. “JK, right?”

  Jahleel flipped up the deuces fingers in acknowledgment, and I bit my lip to stop from smiling like a teenager with a crush. He was such a hot show-off in everything he did. His cockiness didn’t make him detestable; it made him even hotter and personable.

  “Ah man, my ears hurt from hearing your goddamn name so much. Even in the fucking locker room,” Zane griped, reaching out to shake his hand. “You should probably have your own reality show or something, man. You’re like the single Scott Disick.”

  Jahleel took his hand and shook it once. “‘Cept I still got my balls intact.”

  Zane laughed out, then turned back to me and joked, “Don’t tell me you’re crushing on him, too?”

  More like obsessed, infatuated, un-fucking-hinged.

  But remembering who and where I was, I released a, “Pfffft,” being sure I kept my eyes on Zane and not Jahleel.

  At that, Jahleel stood up with an, “I’ll leave you two”, then slipped off into the crowd.

  Zane took his place.

  Zane Zekiel was a MVP, 4-time Championship Ring holding pro basketball player. Dark-chocolate complexion, hazel-brown eyes, and muscles as hard as steel. I met him at a party like this when I’d first come to the U.S., and he was the coolest person. We exchanged phone numbers so we could chat through IM and sometimes when he was in SF, he’d come to visit me and we would drink booze and talk crap for hours.

  “Zane.” I grinned widely. “The man who’s a man.”

  “I still don’t know what the hell that means, Saskia,” he chuckled. Passing his eyes down my body, he nodded in approval. “Looking damn good, too.”

  Mockingly, I waved a hand and tossed my hair like a conceited French tart. Crossing one leg over the other in a slow, provocative manner, I tipped my chin up with an arrogant tilt. “Ohhh, Mr. Zekiel. Youz knowz howz to makez a womanz blush, eh? Stopz flirtingz with me. Now, shoo shoo, s’il vous plaît.”

  Zane tossed his head back and howled in laughter, as he was wont to do whenever I kept up antics such as this. “Faking a French accent with a British accent is the single sexiest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  Uncrossing my legs, I laughed along with him.

  Zane leaned in, “No offense, but you’re not my type, Frenchie. I mean, you’re fucking hot, no doubt. But, like, white guys’ hot. For shit’s sake, I’m black, six feet six, with an eight and half inch dick that’s five inches in width—you couldn’t handle me. I like my women with a big, round ass, thick thighs, D-cups and no gag-reflex…you know this, Saskia.”

  “Nowz you makez me cry, eh?” I mock sobbed. “You bad, bad man.”

  “Cut the crap, crazy,” Zane laughed again, shaking his head. “Look, I want you to set me up with someone.”

  “Who?”

  Inclining his head to the right, he nodded over to the bar where Amanda and Twana were talking and laughing. “That girl you’re always with.”

  “Manda? She’s my bestest.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed, staring across at her with a ravenous expression. “I’ve been watching her for a year now; how she moves, her attitude, you know. I’ve been keeping tabs. And I’ve decided, I want her. For myself.”

  “A year? Really?” I gaped, disbelieving. “You could’ve just asked me, you know.”

  “You would’ve been biased.”

  “True,” I conceded, nodding. “However, I’m not sure it would work with you two.”

  Dragging his eyes from Amanda at the bar, he looked curious, “Why?”

  “Well, she’s kind of, um, dominant,” I spared. “A man eater.”

  Zane dipped his head and smiled to himself, then looked back over to the bar. “I’ve gathered that much. That’s why I want her.”

  “Uh…o-kay?” I dragged out. How weird. Most men run from Amanda, carping that she’s too commanding.

  “She lives with you, right?”

  “I’d be a mess if she didn’t. She’s the pep in my steps.”

  “Great. Make the link, babe.” Standing up, he leaned over and gave my cheek a peck. “You’re awesome, Saskia. Love ya.” Then he was gone.

  I watched him with a smile as he walked off into the throngs of people, until the sight of Jahleel wiped that smile right off my face.

  Perpendicular to where I was, he sat on a stool at one of the high tables, around twenty feet away from me, and Tiara was perched on his right thigh, yapping off with expressive hand gestures, as though she were spilling her heart out, pleading, begging. Jahleel’s arm hung loose around her waist, but his eyes were fixed on me.

  Seemed he’d been watching me and Zane, and now his arsehole face was on.

  Tiara still blabbered on until he raised his forefinger and pressed it against her lips in a ‘shh’ gesture. As her shoulders relaxed, she turned her face up at him, and I could tell she was sighing dreamily. Who wouldn’t?

  Taking hold of her chin with his thumb and index finger, Jahleel pulled her face to his and kissed her. A delicate kiss on the lips. The kind of kiss bound to mislead her and make her believe he wanted more from her.

  When he drew back, she threw her arms around him and hugged him hard.

  Over her shoulder, his stare found me again.

  Arse.

  Flicking up my middle finger at him, I scooped up my clutch from the table and stood up, deciding I needed a smoke.

  This man’s attention was all I’d ever wanted. And now that I was getting it, the feeling was overwhelming and bittersweet. Because just like that, he switched from an ace guy I could converse with to a spiteful, detestable bloke.

  As I moved off, I glanced back at him to see that devilish crooked grin on his face, the one I wished for earlier. Continuing his taunt, he lowered his head and kissed Tiara’s bare shoulder with those coveted lips, while his golden gaze speared me.

  Maybe it was the Coffee Patrón mixed with the Nuvo that started to wear on me, or maybe I was getting used to his arsehole-ism, I don’t know, but, carelessly, I turned around in the midst of the crowd and flipped him the bird again. Then, crossing my forearms, I slammed them down on my thighs in the good ole WWE ‘Suck It’ slam.

  Jahleel cracked up on Tiara’s shoulder, and I bit back a smile. I’d never seen him show so much teeth before.

  When Tiara pulled from his embrace and tilted her head back to watch him, I pivoted away and resumed my strides, no longer pissed off.

  Jahleel Kingston was screwing with me. Revelling in it. And the stupid, muddleheaded side of me was turned on by it.

  Chapter Seven

  There were no more ‘run-ins’ with the Kingston A-hole for three weeks, as I’d left SF for extended promo trips to Los Angeles, New York and Miami, doing a string of interviews, appearances and guest performances, which temporarily ridded my thoughts of all things Jahleel Kingston.

  It wasn’t until our group of sleep-deprived, overworked groaners collapsed in our private jet that someone mentioned his name, and I groaned from an entirely different kind of pain.

  Twana was scowling at her computer screen as if it repulsed her. She and Lion were co
ming back to SF with us for a week. A tad more laid back from the craziness of L.A, Lion had begun to love it there. But he couldn’t move there as I did because he managed quite a few artistes, and with L.A being the base of everything for stars, he deemed the one hour back and forth ‘too much of a hassle’.

  Maybe it was, but I was in the same place as Jahleel Kingston, so I could care less about the hassle.

  “Can you believe they’re considering this fucker JK to replace Andrew Lucas as judge on Dancin’ 2da’ Beat?” she said, all riled up.

  Twana loathed Jahleel with a bitter, bitter passion and got irritated whenever his name came up—or anything about him, actually.

  Lion nodded, looking as tired as I felt, eyes closed, head resting back against the seat. “Hmm. I heard.”

  She gestured to the laptop screen with her long, acrylic-nailed fingers, which were painted a loud commotion of colours, her many gold bangles jingling on her wrist. “But, why?”

  “‘Cause he’s good at what he does, T,” Lion sounded annoyed. “Be quiet, will ya? I’m tryin’ to get some sleep here.”

  Amanda was fast asleep next to me in the seats across from Lion and Twana, while I was curled up in a C under a blanket, with one eye closed and the other peeking over at Twana.

  I, too, wish she would shut up. One, because I wanted to sleep. And two, because I’d been doing so damn well not thinking about Jahleel until she blasted his name.

  “I-I just don’t understand,” she continued, genuinely and inexplicably pissed. “Why is he so popular with everybody? What’s the big deal? He’s just a damn dance choreographer. I don’t get it.”

  Lion’s eyes popped open at that, and he wasn’t pleasant. A hungry man is an angry man, yeah. But a sleep-deprived man will bite like a fucking shark if you don’t let him sleep.

  “Because he’s shoving his non-famous dick down a lot of famous throats, that’s why. Why are you so popular, T?”

  As she grappled for an answer, he supplied it for her, “Because you’re fuckin’ me.”

  “That’s different.”

  “No, it’s not. Leave him alone, and shut the hell up so I can get some sleep.”

  “He’s the biggest fucking asshole,” she retorted. “I didn’t think I could hate anyone so much.”