Jahleel

by S. Ann Cole

  Can’t concentrate. Keep seeing ur lips.

  ——

  No can do.

  Either am in ur head or am in ur bed.

  Choose.

  __Ping__

  Sassy…

  ——

  Do u want me?

  Say yes…

  *fingers crossed*

  __Ping__

  Not going there.

  TTYL

  I was scowling at my cellphone, heading back to our booth, when I was grabbed by the arm and yanked to a corner. I raised my startled eyes up to Lion’s infuriated face.

  Oh crap.

  “What did I tell you ‘bout public appearances?”

  “I wasn’t thinking.”

  “Clearly!” he barked at me. “How much do you know ‘bout Indija’s personal life?”

  Oh Jesus, we were back to this again. Always making me feel like a high school student to bring his points across.

  “Only what she wants the public to know,” I answered.

  Indija was a world class vocalist, greater than I could ever imagine to be, idolized by each and every music artiste there is, male and female alike. Lion believed she was the epitome of what every female artiste should be, so he was forever pointing out her perfection to me. He wasn’t aiming to change me into her, no, because she was a paragon of class and elegance. I was the complete opposite—raw and intense. But he used her to illustrate how keeping one’s personal life personal positively impacted one’s career progression.

  “Right,” he concurred approvingly. “Why?”

  “Because the world’s attention is on her as a product, her music and her hard work and not on her personal life, because her personal life is none of the world’s business. Personal means personal.”

  “So you do listen when I speak then?” he patronized me.

  “I’m not a dumb twat!”

  “Then stop fuckin’ actin’ like one!” he barked back. “What happened earlier with Chad, never do shit like that again, you feel me?”

  Because I knew I acted like a dumb twat, I didn’t argue. “Yeah.”

  Nodding his head in the direction of Chad’s office, he continued, “And on to your personal life, stop bein’ a fuckin’ chicken head with those two friends.”

  Did he just call me a…?

  My hands balled into fists as I bit out, “Chicken head? You only call women you’re disgusted and repulsed with chicken heads.”

  One shoulder jerked in a callous shrug as he dipped into his pocket for his cellphone. “I call it like I see it, Kia.”

  Closing the space between us, I stepped up and chucked him. He barely budged. “Fuck you, Lion!”

  Dragging his attention from dialling on his cell, he looked at me and inquired, “Who are you?”

  “What?”

  “Who the fuck are you?”

  Spine growing stiff, chin tilted up, I answered, “Saskia Day.”

  “And who the hell is Saskia Day?”

  “World renown, inimitable, one-of-a-kind pop/rock artiste, who, in a short span of five years, is sitting on 4 Grammys, 102 other awards out of 240 nominations, two platinum albums, and a net worth of 149mil, for now—because I’m only climbing, not sliding. I have the world by the balls. Women want to be me, girls idolize me, boys masturbate to my pictures, and men daydream of me as their woman. I’ve got real talent and I work real hard for every goddamn thing I own. I. Am. Saskia. Day.”

  Three thirds of all that was said with feigned confidence, but I didn’t want Lion to think I was letting him down, so better to fake it than face it.

  He lifted his unattended hand and grabbed my face so his eyes were glaring straight into mine. “Remember that the next time you try to pull a stunt like that again. You can lose it all in a flash if you don’t watch what the fuck you’re doin’. Feel me?”

  His grip on my face tightened when I tried to move. It wasn’t to hurt or dominate me, but to discipline me as a caring guardian would, ensuring I got it through my thick scull.

  “Also remember, before you decide to jump in Chad or JK’s bed and make a complete ass of yourself—like your friend Tiara who’s sendin’ her reputation to shit when her career’s just blowin’ up—JK and Chad were born into wealth, so they can do whatever the hell they want ‘cause they got nothin’ to lose. But you’re workin’ for yours. Protect what you’ve got and strive for more. Don’t throw it all away for a fuck. It’s not worth it.”

  It’d been a while since Lion chastised me like this, because I rarely mess up. Lion was good at keeping his artistes in line and making sure there’s never any scandal surrounding our names. He wanted the music to be the focus. Even my ‘reality’ show was scripted to control the message.

  Now seeing how monumentally pissed off he was, I realized I’ve been acting a fool for too long and he felt it was time to bring me back in line.

  “Okay,” I humbly agreed. “I’m sorry if I embarrassed you.”

  “Not me, Kia,” he exhaled on a sigh, releasing his grip on my face. “Just yourself.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “What’s with the walk?” I asked Amanda before chocking a spoonful of Haagen Daz Rocky Road into my mouth.

  Once again I was sitting in my kitchen bored and eating junk food bound to give me a few unwanted pounds. But whenever I was bored, all I did was eat.

  We were leaving in a couple of hours for London Fashion Week, and Amanda just came home, limping some, though sporting a stupid grin.

  Straight to the refrigerator, she plucked out a cold bottle of water and sucked it down in one go before answering, “Zane.”

  “Huge cock?”

  “Enormous.”

  I burst out laughing, nearly choking on my ice-cream as I remembered Zane telling me I’d never be able to handle him. If Amanda couldn’t, then I most certainly wouldn’t have been able to because Amanda could handle just about anything and anyone.

  Pointing the sticky spoon at her, I inquired, “What’s with the resident grin then?”

  “Best shag of my life. And the thought of knowing he’s mine…” She grinned even wider and started out of the kitchen. “I’m gonna pack.”

  My cellphone pinged, vibrating in a dance across the kitchen counter. Glancing at the screen, I sighed.

  Home?

  He’d never messaged or rang me back after our brief texting exchange the night before, and I didn’t bother thinking about him or Chad, not with the harsh reproof Lion had given me.

  If he was questioning my whereabouts, then he had to be back in SF.

  Yes.

  __Ping__

  Gate.

  Despite the urgent need to throw up from overeating, I shovelled in yet another spoonful of Rocky Road, licking the spoon clean before heading to the front door to open the gate.

  Leaning on the doorjamb, I waited for the sound of Jahleel’s bike but didn’t hear it. Instead, I saw the bright headlights of his red Jeep speed through the gates, swung around the water fountain with inexplicable aggression and came to a screeching halt right at the steps to my house.

  Jahleel jumped out without shutting off the engine and bounded up the stairs two at a time. As he approached, he held his arms straight, and his fists opened and closed at his sides. His jaw was clenched, hard and ticking, as he glared fixedly at me.

  The man looked enraged.

  Watching him warily, I stood straight in the doorway, unsure of what to expect.

  Jahleel marched right up to me, reached up and around to grab me by the back of my neck and slammed me up against him. Before I could register what was happening, his lips mashed down on mine.

  He kissed me. Kissed me painfully hard.

  And I couldn’t kiss him back because it was his kiss. He controlled it, manoeuvred it, and wasn’t giving me permission to reciprocate. Purposefully.

  It felt like as soon as it started, he ripped our lips apart and pushed me back from him.

  “There!” he shouted, slicing a hand angrily throug
h the humid night air. “I fuckin’ kissed you! Since you want to be kissed so fuckin’ badly, Sassy. There it is! You’re marked!”

  Then it dawned on me what this was all about: he’d heard what happened with Chad. Even so, what the hell did it matter? We weren’t together. He told me straightforwardly that we couldn’t be together! Now he was all enraged because I kissed his friend who was more than willing to give me exclusivity?

  My head was spinning. I was at a point where I was just about tired of his confusing, contradicting mind-fucks.

  Leaning back on the doorjamb, pretending I didn’t give a heck, I shrugged. “He marked me first.”

  He responded by loudly grinding his teeth, but I held my footing. “That’s what you think.” He closed the distance once more and leaned into my face, his gold eyes now a haunting dark shade. “You won’t do anything like that again.”

  Obstinately, making no promises, I declared, “I’m not yours.”

  For a quick second, he faltered, his gaze lowering to the ground, then he lifted determined eyes to mine again, “Say you won’t.”

  Voice firm and unwavering, I repeated, “I’m not yours.”

  “Say. You. Won’t.”

  He wouldn’t make promises to me, but he was trying to force me to?

  Cheesed right the hell off now, I stomped my foot for emphasis as I yelled in his face, “I’m not fucking yours, JK!”

  Suddenly his hands came up and cupped my face, and I flinched, anticipating another hard and aggressive hold. But this time, his touch was gentle as the pad of each thumb sweetly caressed my cheekbones. Tipping my chin up, he slowly lowered his lips down to mine and kissed me… soft and promising, here but absent, felt and unfelt.

  I had no idea what it meant.

  Anger gone from his voice, he softly entreated, “Say you won’t, Sassy. Say you’ll wait. Please.”

  Sighing, I gave in, because, let’s face it, I didn’t stand a chance. “Okay, I won’t. But,” I added, frowning, “what am I waiting for?”

  As he was about to reply, he abruptly turned and began coughing violently. He tried to control it, but the coughs kept coming, each one harsher than the one before. He finished bent at the waist, palms on his knees, taking steadying breaths in and out.

  Worried, I put my hand on his shoulder, softly inquiring, “You okay?”

  Shrugging me off, he used one hand to push me away from him. He straightened and got out, “Gotta go,” before he immediately began coughing again.

  Afraid of getting pushed again, I stood grounded and watched as he jogged down the steps and drove off one-handed while coughing into the other closed fist.

  “Well, that was entertaining,” Amanda laughed from behind me. “A bit anti-climactic, though, don’t you think? Pretty sure that’s not how it happens in romance novels. He was supposed to storm off like an ‘alpha badass’, no? That exit was way too mortal-like for my taste.”

  Turning, I glowered at her, but she quickly held her hands up in surrender, grinning from ear to ear. “But hey, who am I to talk, right? I’m so thoroughly fucked, I can’t even walk straight.”

  I struggled to not laugh, but her grin was so wide, I couldn’t help it, and we both ended up cackling.

  The next time I thought about Jahleel was five days later—within the very second I landed back on U.S. soil on our return from London Fashion Week.

  The whole time I was in London, I was too busy-bodied and tired, with a helluva dinner meetings and parties to get through, and much catching up to do, so I was never spared a second to text or call him.

  On the other hand, he didn’t try calling me either, so why sweat it, right?

  When we got home, everyone was tired, cranky, and grumbling about jet-lag as they dragged themselves off to bed. But I was restless and suffering from insomnia, plus it was a mere five minutes after eight.

  I wanted to see Jahleel. I really wanted to see him. But I tried ringing him for about an hour to no avail.

  My fingers twitched for a cigarette, but I had to stay disciplined and keep to one a day, with my tour coming up.

  Next, my lips tingled at the memory of Jahleel’s kiss, both the hard and the soft. Oh God, I wanted to be near him.

  Frustrated with the entire world and my own pathetic life, I rolled out of bed and donned a white Peace tracksuit, dragged on a pair of brown Ugg boots and slung my messenger bag across my shoulders.

  Thomas spotted me coming down the stairs and set his mug of coffee down on the table, heading out the door before I was at the bottom of the stairs. By the time I was outside, he was holding the Phantom’s door open. “Where to, Miss Day?”

  “I have no idea,” I mumbled as I slid in the back. “Just drive.”

  Except I did know where I wanted to go, and apparently Thomas did, too, because he drove me directly to Jahleel’s house.

  Was I that transparent?

  Jahleel’s house was dark, not even the outside lights were on. But both his Jeep and bike were parked in the driveway. Maybe he was out with his friends or…

  Retrieving my cellphone from my bag, I messaged him.

  U shagging?

  Around five minutes passed with no reply, and I was just about to tell Thomas to take me back home when the phone pinged.

  Y?

  ——

  I want 2c u

  __Ping__

  Bad night

  ——

  Y? U shagging?

  __Ping__

  D word is ‘fucking’

  ——

  Am British, arse!

  __Ping__

  U r living in America now & here we say FUCK & ASS

  ——

  K. Whatever. U ‘fucking’?

  __Ping__

  No

  ——

  Well, I *want* 2c u…

  Plz.

  There was a long pause before he replied:

  Told u it’s a bad night. Awful.

  But if u insist…

  Remember where I live?

  ——

  Already outside :-)

  __Ping__

  K. Door’s open.

  I told Thomas he could leave then slipped out of the vehicle and sailed up the dark driveway. Somewhat giddy, I had a lot of ideas running through my head of how this night could turn out in my favour.

  When I turned the lock and opened the door, the house was so dark I couldn’t see my own hand. Fumbling for my cellphone, I turned on the flashlight app and shone it along the walls for light switches.

  One was right next to where Jahleel backed me up the last time I was here. I flicked it on and the hallway illuminated.

  No sign of Jahleel.

  Ambling down the hall, I took the right turn I knew would lead into the living area. This room was dark too, but with the light pouring in from the hallway, the switch was easy to locate.

  That’s when I spotted mortal-Jahleel, balled up on one of his humongous red sofas, a thick red blanket covering him from the neck down. He looked half-dead, his face pale, his nose red and aggravated, his eyes vacant and droopy. His mouth hung lax as he breathed though his mouth.

  The coffee table was drawn up to the couch within reaching distance, and it was littered with tissues, empty water bottles, cough syrup, Nyquil and aspirins.

  Seeing Jahleel like this was a little hard to take in. I was used to him being all hot, sexy alpha male, exuding sheer arsehole-ism. Now here he was, sick and locked up by himself in a house darker than midnight, without so much as moonlight shining through the windows.

  “Jesus, JK,” I whispered as I knelt down in front of the couch and pressed my palm to his forehead. He was burning up. “How long have you been like this?”

  He opened his mouth to speak, then weakly lifted a hand from under the blanket and touched his throat.

  “Thirsty?”

  He nodded.

  “Be right back,” I pushed up from the floor and rushed to the kitchen.

  The entire top row of his refr
igerator was stacked with FIJI water, yet he was thirsty. Nabbing two bottles, I returned to kneel in front of him.

  He was too ill to hold the bottle himself when I tried handing it to him, so he motioned for me to bring it to his lips. He drank until the bottle was half-empty, but he had to stop to breathe deeply through his mouth.

  As I pulled the bottle away, he slapped my wrist and beckoned for more. I wanted to laugh, but I figured the moody Jahleel Kingston wouldn’t take that too well, so I put the bottle back to his lips and watched him quaff the other half.

  “Like an oasis in the fuckin’ desert,” he breathed, closing his eyes and settling deeper under the blanket. “Thank you.”

  “You’ve been thirsty for a while?” I asked him, brushing a damp lock of hair from his sweaty forehead.

  “All day.” He had no voice, literally breathing out his words.

  “You haven’t had anything to eat or drink all day?” I asked in disbelief.

  Concentrating on breathing through his mouth, he didn’t answer, he just laid there listless.

  “I assume you have the flu, yeah?” Probably picked it up when he was traveling for work.

  “Since I got back.”

  “You’ve seen a doc?”

  He barely inclined his head, looking like he was on the verge of falling asleep. But not having eaten anything all day, maybe even days by the looks of things, he could very well be dozing off to eternal sleep.

  “Gave me a shot…Said to get lots of rest and drink lots of fluids. But I keep gettin’ worse…Weaker…Can hardly walk…Stuck here.” He took another deep, through-the-mouth breath. “Feels…like I’m dyin’.”

  Tracing my fingertips along his sharp jawline hidden under days of facial hair, I spoke past the dryness in my throat. “It only feels like you’re getting worse because you’ve been taking medication without eating.”

  A miserable sound came from his throat as he pushed my hand away. “I just want…to get better. Tired of feelin’ like this.”

  There were a heap of questions I wanted to ask. For starters, where the fuck was Krissy when he needed her? But I figured it was best to get some food in his system first.

  “Would you like some soup?” I asked, even though it didn’t matter what answer he gave because no way in hell was I leaving until he was better.