Jahleel

by S. Ann Cole

  Opening his eyes, he turned to Krissy and told her, “I’m sorry” before striding off down the hall.

  Me forgotten.

  Because, to Jahleel Kingston, Saskia Day was no one, while Krissy was everything.

  I wanted to die a million deaths. When would I grow some sense?

  “What a fucking asshole,” Krissy’s companion grumbled, which prompted me to glance over at them for the first time since they entered.

  With coal-black, shoulder-length, bobbed hair, the friend reminded me of Amanda, the thick-legged, big booty type. Except she was unmistakably Armenian. Zane would love her.

  She tried getting up to her feet from the ground, but kept stumbling back onto Krissy and the scads of shopping bags around them. Going by the dejected expression on her face, there was no doubt Jahleel was shagging her, too—or at least used to.

  Jesus, I couldn’t take this.

  “For the love of God, Marsh!” Krissy barked in a fit of hysterical giggles.

  Feeling awkward, uncomfortable, mortified, abandoned and rejected, I shifted on my feet, not knowing what to with myself. If only I could click my heels and disappear.

  Krissy looked up at me from where she laid sprawled on the ground, but her friend was pointedly ignoring me, pretending it was no big deal having Saskia Day five feet away from her.

  Well, screw her. I wasn’t going to acknowledge some plonker who was as brainless as I was to want a fucking scumbag douchehole who was incestuously in lust with his forbidden adoptive sister.

  But I opted to be nice to Krissy—not because I cared a damn about her, but because I appreciated her not reciprocating Jahleel’s affections, and also somewhat respected her for possibly being the only woman in his radius who didn’t turn into a complete lummox over him.

  I wish I had her strength, her common sense, her freedom. I wanted to be free. Free from this captivation. Free from loving someone who would never love me back. Free from loving all wrong.

  “May I use your loo?” I asked her.

  “Sure,” she chirped in that airy, amicable voice of hers. “Upstairs, turn left.”

  Nodding, I moved off down the hall, and as I reached the staircase I remembered Jahleel saying it was Krissy’s birthday. That explained the shopping bags.

  Spinning back around to her, I forced a smile on my face even though I didn’t feel like it. “Oh, happy birthday. Hope it’s been good so far for ya’?”

  “Thank you,” she replied with a smile, and for the first time I detected something not so genuine behind it. “It has been so far.”

  As I reached the top of the stairs, I heard her friend attempting a whisper, so I stopped to eavesdrop.

  “Okay, so, I was trying my damnedest not to look starstruck—you know me and that pride shit—but, holy shitballs, isn’t that Saskia Day?!”

  Krissy laughed. “Yep.”

  Opting not to hear if they had good or bad to say behind my back, or laugh at my expense at Jahleel’s thoughtless dismissal of me, I continued on to the bathroom and locked myself inside.

  Her bathroom was impressively huge, holding both a shower and a claw-foot bathtub. Those two weren’t lacking for anything, that’s for sure. For two normal, casual people, they lived rather large and luxurious. Nothing I wasn’t used to, of course. I guess, knowing how hard I worked to acquire all I had, the easy-to-come-by lifestyle of others shocked me every time. Life had never been easy for me, I only ate bread by the sweat of my brow—not that I was complaining.

  Closing down the lid on the toilet, I sat and inhaled deeply. I had to calm myself. I needed to put an end to this. The situation was not getting better, but worse. Jahleel was far worse than I anticipated. Too much to bear, too much to tolerate, too much to handle.

  Maybe if I started dating again, I could forget about him. Maybe.

  Thing is, I never gave myself completely to any of the men I’ve dated before, because I hoped for Jahleel. And in those times, I never knew just how awful he could be, and I never considered he might be in love with someone. I was being delusional.

  Maybe, with all this sordid knowledge, I could now rationalize with myself and fight, determinedly, to move on from this inane obsession—even though Jahleel would still own a part of me.

  I could move back to Los Angeles—because he was the reason I moved here in the first place—and I could go back to being blonde, because he was the reason I went raven.

  Maybe, if I reversed everything I’ve ever done because of him and let go of all the pointless hopes and dreams, the obsession would fade too. Sometimes I wondered if obsession was an incurable illness, if it was actually a phenomenon, or if it was all illusion—dreaming while awake.

  Curling my feet up on the toilet, I wrapped my arms around my legs, dropped my chin to my knees and started singing an acoustic version of Christina Aguilera’s Ain’t No Other Man.

  Singing was the one thing that could calm my wild thoughts and jumbled emotions right now, and I needed to be calm and relaxed so I could leave this house with some dignity, even if it was feigned.

  So I sang and sang over and over again, holding the long, endless trebles, pouring out all my frustration, hurt and pain. By the time I was through it the fifth time, I was feeling much better.

  Strength regained, I turned on the tap and splashed some water onto my face and rang Thomas.

  “Thomas,” I said, when he answered the phone, “Come get me. I’m at—”

  “I’m parked only a block away, Miss Day.”

  A block away? Then I remembered the tracker in Ferbie’s phone which I still had with me. Of course Thomas would track it once he realized I’d left without protection. “Okay, I’m coming.”

  By the time I was outside, Jahleel’s sports-bike was gone. He’d left without making sure I had a ride home. Or maybe he forgot about me altogether.

  Unzipping my belt-purse, I took out a Davidoff, lit it up, and inhaled a deep drag just as Thomas pulled up to the curb.

  The tranquillity the nicotine produced was instant.

  Krissy was in a heated quarrel with a drop-dead-gorgeous man I recognized as Trevillo Nelson, a rotten real estate mogul. Her man, I assumed, because parked beside them was a brand new red Audi TT wrapped with a bow. Birthday gift, it seemed.

  Hmm, this must be what ticked off Jahleel while I was in the bathroom and why he left.

  A revengeful smirk danced on my lips as I revelled in the knowledge that someone was causing Jahleel hurt as much as he caused mine’s and others. Where there’s smoke, there’s always fire, no matter how small the flame.

  I sucked in another drag of my cigarette, feeling a fuck of a lot lighter and freer by the second.

  This is the last time, I told myself as I sauntered off and slid into the back of my waiting vehicle.

  I. Was. Done.

  Chapter Nine

  Another failed attempt at self-induced pleasure, I removed my useless hand from my knickers, pressed both palms to my face and stifled a scream in them.

  In abject defeat, I kept replaying the scene of the best sex I ever had—with a rock star I dated before I dated the tiny dick actor.

  Best sex ever on his tour bus, and also our last sex together as I broke up with him right after we climaxed.

  Tex, an undeniably hot and irresistible rock god. His cock, tongue and nose were pierced. He wore eyeliner and was inked from neck to wrist.

  He was the one man who I thought, and hoped, could win me over and eradicate all obsessions of Jahleel—because he was so great in bed, and I thought of nothing or no one else when he was inside me.

  But that bubble was fleeting, as all of a sudden, all the things I loved about him, that drew me to him—the tats, the eyeliner, the piercings—became repulsive to me, and my Jahleel-craving returned hard. So I broke up with him.

  He loved me madly, and I thoughtlessly broke his heart. For a while, he turned into the male version of Taylor Swift: every other song he put out was about me. Either raging how much he ha
ted me, how much of an abusive bitch I was or crooning how much he loved and missed me.

  Blah.

  Sexually repressed, I blew a long-winded breath, feeling like I was losing my goddamn mind. I needed a man. I couldn’t continue like this. A woman, same as a man, needed to release herself from time to time, and sadly, self-pleasuring and B.O.B’s didn’t work for me.

  Jahleel, of course, was out of the question. And even if he was in the question, he wasn’t available, as he was hung up on his sis.

  A week had passed since he callously left me at his house. A week since I swore off him. And a week since I spared not even a minute of my thoughts on him—patting myself on the back for that one.

  Work helped to keep my mind busy and occupied, and when I wasn’t working, my brain was too tired to think, so it rested in sleep. Thus, thoughts of Jahleel A-hole Kingston were non-existent. Of that I was glad. I called that progress.

  Nevertheless, I was still sexless, miserable and frustrated.

  There was someone who could possibly rectify this sexual frustration, but I didn’t have his digits, and I couldn’t even ask Ferbie for it because he wasn’t on speaking terms with me.

  When I’d returned from Jahleel’s that day, Ferbie was sulking for whatever reason. He then stopped speaking to me altogether; I later found out through Amanda that Jahleel stopped linking with Ferbie, period.

  I made it even worse when I told him we were moving back to L.A. Yelling that I was selfish and unfair, he stormed out of the house and I hadn’t seen him since.

  I knew, however, that he was currently checked into Palace Hotel, because I had trackers on him, and I managed both his and Timberly’s credit cards, as they stemmed from one of mine. Plus Ben was keeping a tail on him, so I knew he was alright.

  Reaching for my cellphone from the nightstand, I hit up Lion on WhatsApp.

  Saskia: You got JK’s mate’s cell #?

  Lion T’mar: Yeah…?

  Saskia: Send me

  Lion T’mar: Y?

  Saskia: Wadda u care? You’re in Dubai! Just send me.

  Lion T’mar: K. But don’t do anything STUPID!

  Saskia: Am 25. Am allowed 2do STUPID stuff.

  Fuck fame!

  Lion sent Chad’s digits without further reprimand and I programmed it into my phone, my thumb hovering over the call option as I contemplated what I would say to get him in bed with me before the night’s end.

  A light knocking sounded on my bedroom door, and I looked up with raised brows. No one came to my floor. Not even Amanda. It was the one request of privacy I insisted everyone in the house respected. Intercoms were wired throughout the house, in case of urgencies or emergencies. So there was no need for anyone to ever come knocking on my bedroom door.

  Before I could move to find out who was so presumptuous, the knob turned, and the door swung open.

  My heart skyrocketed, blasting a crashing hole through the ceiling.

  Jahleel.

  He strolled into my bedroom as though it was the most normal thing on earth. As if he slept here, in my room, every night and was only returning home.

  “What the fuck?!”

  “Shhh,” he shushed me, pressing his forefinger to his lips.

  “Don’t shush me!” I snapped, jack-knifing up in bed. “You’re in my bloody bedroom!”

  Like a lion strutting proudly in the jungle, he crossed the wide span of space towards me, dressed in all-black: jeans, plain tee, biker jacket and Timberlands, dog-tag dangling on his chest. His facial hair had grown some, but instead of making him look bummy, he looked extra yummy.

  Hell and damnation. I was doing so well, so well, for the past week. Now this sonuvabitch just had to walk through my goddamn bedroom door!

  “You continue to shout, your guards will hear and throw me out on my ass.” Pausing for effect—because he was so fucking good at this—he dipped his chin and asked, “You want them to throw me out, Sassy?”

  This guy deserved an award solely for being him, for existing. “H-How?”

  “I admit,” he held up his palms in surrender, “I use Ferbz to my advantage sometimes.”

  “He’s come back home?” I asked hopefully.

  Jahleel nodded. “Did some moves, splits, back-flips, moonwalks, the whole works, while Ferbz hummed the Mission Impossible tune. Easily slipped past your men in the pool room. We bad.”

  Wondering if he was being serious or facetious, I stared at him open-mouthed, but when his lips twitched at the corners, I knew he was messing with me.

  “Don’t make me laugh. I don’t like you very much,” I angrily responded, sliding back down under the covers as I remembered what I was up to before he came in. My knickers were still wet.

  “I know,” he admitted humbly.

  Coming up to the bed, he sat down on the edge and leaned back on the headboard beside me.

  He was being so casual as if he did this a million times. Not even looking around the bedroom, as though he’d seen it all before. No, he was looking down at me.

  “I came to apologize for the other day. I shouldn’t have left you there like that. But a ton of shit was going on in my head, and I probably would’ve taken it out on you, so I left instead.”

  “Really?” I shrieked incredulously. “You break into my house to apologize? You couldn’t just, uh, ring me? Text, even?”

  Flashing that heart-stopping crooked grin of his, he slid down from his sitting position and stretched out beside me on his side. He extended his arm and rested his head on it as he fixed his eyes on mine. “Okay, you got me. That’s not the only reason.”

  Jahleel Kingston was lying next to me, in my bed. Insouciant, like he belonged. A week ago, I hated him. Five minutes ago, I was about to call his best friend over to shag me. And even though I had convinced myself I was doing it because I needed sex, I knew, deep down, I only wanted to spite him.

  But now here he was, with those unreal gold eyes, that amazing hair framing his face, and those tempting lips I still wanted to feel on mine. Here he was, reminding me he was who I longed for, he was who I wanted, he was who I belonged to.

  “What else, then?”

  “Well,” he dragged out. “For the past five days I’ve been in the Big Apple working with Ray Phillips. For the past five days I’ve been moody, a supreme dick to my team. For the past five days I’ve been craving something, something I can’t quite put my finger on.

  “For the past five days, I kept hearing an acoustic version of Christina Aguilera’s Ain’t No Other Man playing over and over in my head. For the past five days, I’ve been thinking about nothing, nothing at all…” he trailed off as his gaze lowered to my lips, which were now parted and hustling for breath, then he brought his gaze back to mine and breathed out, “…but you.”

  My breath came in sharp exhales as I fought to pretend I was unaffected, but it was barely working. He heard me singing in Krissy’s bathroom? I wasn’t even singing loud, so he had to have been standing outside the door, listening.

  “Breathe, Sassy,” he soothed, a faint smile on his lips. “Breathe.”

  Busted.

  Taking a deep, calming breath, I asked, “So, what are you saying?”

  “I’m not sayin’ anything,” he replied faster than I could think. Right. He didn’t want me to get the wrong idea. “Just wanted to see you for a second…to figure out if you’re what I’ve been craving.”

  Turning over on my side, I tucked my clasped hands under my cheek. “Am I?”

  “Not sure.”

  “I want to be…”

  Emitting a long, deep sigh, he remained quiet for a long while, watching me. “Maybe…I can give you some of me.”

  “Some?”

  “Not the way you want, though.”

  “You mean, like commitment?”

  “Definitely not that,” he demurred with a firm shake of his head “But I mean, I can be…friendly with you, I guess? Just not intimate.”

  “What would be the bloody point of
that?”

  “To feed my own selfishness?” he whispered warily. “I like your company, Sassy. And I love havin’ you on my bike.”

  “But you don’t wanna shag me?”

  “No.”

  Flipping over onto my back, I tossed my hands up in exasperation. “Un-fucking-believable!”

  “Don’t think I’m not attracted to you, Sassy,” he put in. “I am. You got no fuckin’ idea how badly I’m attracted. But if I go further, I’ll hurt you. I know me. I will.”

  “You sleep with everyone without giving a flying fuck that you’ll hurt them, no?” I shouted. “Just say it. Just say you’re not attracted to me and stop lying to make me feel better.”

  “Everyone,” he echoed, sounding offended.

  The truth offended him? He didn’t like hearing out loud that he was a man-whore?

  Jahleel reached a hand out to my face, pressing his palm gently on my cheek. When I turned to face him, he held me in his stare and asked with a serious expression, “Why, then, do you want to be one of many?”

  Not knowing how to respond, I only stared back at him.

  Of course, I knew I was a prat for chasing down one of the biggest womanizers I’ve ever met. I mean, who does that? Sensible women would run in the other direction—unless they were groupies or doormats. And with how I’ve been behaving of recent, I might as well fall under one of those categories—doormat, no doubt.

  With Jahleel pointing it out, it came clear how dumb I was. He was giving me foresight into the future and giving me an out, sparing me from heartbreak, and I was in an apoplectic rage about it.

  Sighing, I reached out and trailed my fingertips along his incredible jawline. His facial hair was smooth and silky instead of scratchy. He was damn well perfect. “Okay. I understand.”

  As I was about to move my fingers over his lips—lips I’d never get to kiss—he caught my wrist. “This is intimate touching,” he whispered. “You have no idea what a simple touch like this could lead to.”

  Oh, God, this was going to be hard.