JAKE (Leaves of a Maple Book 2)

by Haley Jenner

  As he finishes, there’s a peacefulness in his demeanor. A sense of calm that music so liberally brings him. In that moment, in that second, I know that after saying goodbye, I’ll leave. I won’t tempt either of us to want more from this evening. It would feel wrong. I would feel that somehow, I’d be betraying Jake. How could I make him feel bad about himself again? That split second at Annabelle and Archer’s wedding when he told me what we did made him feel like he was no longer a good person…. God, that cut me. I hated that in that moment, my indiscretion, because it was one hundred percent mine, not his, made him question his honest nature. Shit, he didn’t even know David and I were still together, yet he took on the dishonesty of my actions like they were his own. As much as I refused to admit it to Jake, I knew I was taking advantage, that I had in some way brought him to a place where he misinterpreted my words. Making him see a scenario that I wanted him to.

  I move towards him as he packs away his belongings, taking one last snap of the concentration etched into his features as he takes care of his most prized possession. Looking up when he hears the telltale click of my camera, I raise my eyebrows with a smile and move to tuck the camera into the bag slung over my shoulder.

  “Who were you channeling on the James Carr song? Earlier,” I clarify.

  “Cat Power covers the song, kind of indie, slash folk rock. I guess maybe her version,” he shrugs offhandedly.

  “I’ll have to look it up. I liked it,” I offer, watching him click the lock of his case into place before standing upright.

  “Soooo…” he draws out, rocking back on his heels.

  “I’m gonna head out, J-Baby. I… thank you. For not being weirded out by my being here,” I smile gratefully.

  “Anytime, Strawb’ries. I mean it,” he urges, extending an arm to pull me into an embrace. We hug for a few minutes. Our arms twisted tightly around one another, taking solace in the moment.

  I breathe in his scent, the motor oil slightly lost which strangely disappoints me. I move my hands up his back, allowing myself to feel the muscles twitching under my touch. Finally, leaning up on tiptoes I plant a soft kiss on the edge of his strong jaw. “Night, Jake.”

  Cupping my jaw, he squeezes lightly, before pulling back. “Night, Aubrey.” We pull from our embrace, hands squeezing for a few extra seconds, prolonging our contact.

  Walking from the coffee shop feels right in the same way it feels forced. An act I have to compel my body to follow against my better judgment. Driving home passes in a blur, time spent rehashing the evening. Every shared touch. Every easy laugh. Every smooth smile. Every snippet of conversation, however small. I had more fun than I can recall experiencing in years. Fucking years. How depressing is that? But sitting in a small coffee shop, in a random town, listening to Jake sing, sharing easy conversation, I felt good. I felt at peace. I felt like I could do that forever. Travel around and hear my guy sing, take photos of him in his element and just be. I could find relaxation in living my life that way.

  Surprisingly, David isn’t home when I arrive back and unsurprisingly, I’m not the slightest bit annoyed by it. More relieved. More thankful that I can remain alone with my thoughts for a little while longer.

  I’d like to imagine that our relationship hasn’t always been this way, so disconnected and miserable. But that would be a lie. I think we fell into something, somewhat resembling a relationship and David’s too stubborn, too oblivious to admit how unhappy he really is. I know, straight up, this relationship was doomed before it even started.

  Pulling my cell from my bag, I search my contacts, searching for Jake’s name. I type a text, delete it, then type another, which I delete. My fingers hover over the keyboard on the phone trying to find words but none come freely. In the end, I hit call. It rings once, twice, three times, before his voice reaches my ears.

  “Aubrey? You okay? You get home safe?” he worries into the line, and my hand wraps around the base of my neck in affection at his concern.

  “I’m fine, Jake. I just, honestly, I don’t know why I called. I…I was going to text you, to thank you for a really fun night, but then I couldn’t find my words, next thing I knew your end of the line was ringing.”

  His soft laugh filters from my cell. “Oh, okay. I’m just driving back home now. Only an hour to go, you can keep me company for a bit. If you don’t have anything else to do…” he trails off and I shake my head before I realize he can’t see me.

  “Sounds good. Where are you now?” Silence ensues and I pull the device from my ear, checking the connection. “Jake?”

  “Yeah. I’m here. Arlington. I’m driving past Arlington,” he grits out around a forced cough, clearing the dryness of his throat.

  “Oh,” I respond quietly, swallowing deeply, trying in vain to stop memories from our shared night to torment my mind.

  “Yeah. Oh.” His voice sounds as strained as mine. The need, the desire, affecting the sound of his tone.

  Our awkwardness sticks around for another ten to fifteen minutes, stilted conversation and intakes of breath swapped over the line until Jake is long past Arlington. Then and only then does our conversation flow easier. No longer haunted by shared desire and wanted memories. I actually don’t know if I could classify it as being haunted. Is that the right term, when they don’t frighten you? Maybe soothed. Because, as awful as I may sound, I can’t bring myself to be plagued by guilt from it. I can’t bring myself to feel regret. Only appreciation for Jake. If that makes me a monster, a hideous person, so be it.

  “I’m interested in how you, Annabelle, and Darci all became friends,” Jake laughs and I smile at his easy tone.

  “What’s so hard to believe about that?”

  “You’re kidding, right? An extrovert, introvert and the queen of ‘tude start school…sounds like the start of a bad joke.”

  I laugh loudly into the line, putting toothpaste on my toothbrush. “I think we complement each other nicely,” I retort, mock offense singing in my voice.

  “Never said it doesn’t somehow work. Just wanna know how it actually started?”

  “I wish there was a good story. We just randomly sat at the same table in our first year of school and it just kind of…. stuck. We were friends and we’d play but I think Annabelle’s dad dying was a massive moment. We were so young, but I think even so little, Darci and I understood, on some level, the gravity of that happening. Even being so young, we knew that Annabelle needed us more than ever. I felt I basically had two families. One with Mom and Stevie and then another with my dad and this friend of mine had no one. No mom, no dad. I hated that for her. It wasn’t fair. So I felt it was my responsibility to be her family. Not an obligation, but a want to protect the sanctity of what family should be. People that you have, that you can count on, whenever you need. I wanted to be that for Annabelle. So did Darci,” I finish, my toothbrush forgotten on the side of the sink as I lose myself in my words. “Hmmm, I’ve never told anyone that before. I think Annabelle would know, but I’ve never vocalized it.”

  Jake’s quiet breathing echoes through the line and I wait patiently for him to say something. “I’m so happy she had you. Has you,” he corrects himself. “God, I was so young, barely a toddler when it all went down. Even though it’s impossible that I could’ve been there for her, I still feel I should have. I feel better knowing that she had that fierce friendship from you.”

  I appreciate his words. Like Darci, he’s one of the only people who truly understand the depth of emotion held within my friendship with Annabelle. An understanding only felt because he feels it too, maybe greater than I do.

  “From my recollection, even so young, Archer was around then. He was good for Annabelle then too,” I recall.

  “Shit. I don’t even remember that. Annabelle mentioned it once or twice and they bring it up every so often. In all honesty though, I don’t think Annabelle really likes thinking too far back. Brings up too many memories of how far Archer fell into himself, how broken he was all those ye
ars ago.”

  “Not just Annabelle, the guy was intimidating as all shit,” I laugh, drawing memories of his broody glares.

  Finally throwing my toothbrush into my mouth, I brush my teeth as I listen to Jake talk. He reminisces about a moody teenage Archer and we laugh at his memories. He shares stories of he and Annabelle tormenting a drunk Archer. Drawing on his passed-out face. Locking him out of the house. Hiding from him, causing volcanic meltdowns when he realized he couldn’t locate Jake. “This one time, he was so mad, he actually stormed over to Gran’s place, banging on her front door, blind drunk at some ungodly hour. There Annabelle and I sat on Ma’s porch, hidden, while Gran tore him a new one. Fuck, I wish we had it on video. Never, and I mean never, in my life have I ever seen Archer so, I don’t know, awkward. Repeating, yes Ma’am, no Ma’am, to everything Gran threw at him. Annabelle and I sat in our hiding spot, giggling uncontrollably until Gran called us out. Eventually we folded out of the dark and I could’ve sworn I saw murder in Archer’s eyes. Gran sent Annabelle straight to bed and told Archer to take me home. Shit, I ran so fucking fast across that lawn, straight up to my room and under my covers. I thought he was gonna kill me,” he laughs, and I return it, so entertained by the image Jake is painting in my mind.

  Switching off the lights in the house, I walk towards my bedroom, crawling under the covers and pulling them tight. “Did he follow you?”

  “What? No. I don’t know if he was too drunk to manage the stairs or if he just didn’t care enough to give a shit. Whatever the reason, I was grateful.”

  “How old were you?” I ask, wanting to keep him talking.

  “Shit. I’m not sure. Annabelle must have been fifteen, maybe sixteen. So take a few years off for me,” he pauses for a breath. “Josh died shortly after and that took him away from us.”

  Swallowing at the emotion in Jake’s voice, I pull my covers up to under my neck. “It also brought him back. In a way.”

  “Yeah,” Jake agrees quietly. “I guess. I’m home now, Aubrey. I should probably go. Thanks for keeping me company.”

  I smile widely into my cell. “Anytime, J-Baby. I mean it,” I repeat his earlier words and hear his snort of laughter.

  “Night, Strawb’ries.”

  I close my eyes at the endearment, breathing deeply. “Night, J-Babe.”

  It’s not the only time I visit Jake at a gig. We convince ourselves that we’re doing nothing wrong because Jake doesn’t technically invite me, he mentions he’ll be close by to Annabelle and unbeknownst to her, she filters the information to me in conversation. I should feel guilty for using her friendship with Jake to allow me closer access to him. Should anyway. There are times when I choose to remain invisible, concealing myself in the background. These are the moments when I know I’d push it further if I got too close. I see the disappointment in his eyes when he thinks I’m not there. The fact that the look of dejection on his face can affect me so heavily, eases my guilt, knowing that avoiding contact at that point was the right thing to do. All I do is cause him pain and I wish more than anything he knew I wasn’t worth it, all the heartache he puts himself through.

  Mostly I seek him out though. I listen to him sing. Sometimes I take my camera and take shot after shot of him doing what he loves. I fill up the memory on my phone too. It’s dangerous, having so many photos of him, so easily accessible to David. Maybe if I think hard enough on it, I want him to find them. I want him to end it. Put me out of my misery, because then, I wouldn’t have been the one walk away. Figuratively anyway.

  We laugh, we talk, we share about our lives; past and present. We connect. Which, if you ask most people, is more dangerous than it just being sex. The emotional attachment is the concerning one, and that’s the part I crave most. The connection I don’t hold in my current relationship and the one I long for. I ache for the support, the guidance, the ability to talk about my life and have someone interested. Someone invested in what I have to say. Someone who actually cares about me, about my life.

  We discover we have more in common than just an intense physical attraction. Our music tastes overlap, his more diverse. We both agree that Annabelle’s obsession with commercial countdowns is painful. I’m surprised to find, like me, watching movies is a hit and miss for Jake. Similarly, our preference being towards TV shows. Both concurring the ability to really know a character in a TV series is far more fulfilling than within a two-hour timeslot of a film. He reads, typically only biographies of people he finds interesting or would have had an impactful or fulfilling story. He couldn’t give me too much more information on that, explaining that there was no real rhyme or reason for his choices. He shared that he doesn’t remember his dad. That sometimes he wishes he did, even just a snippet. He confides that he’s almost sought him out numerous times, but always backtracked, coming to the conclusion that if he did so wrong by Janie, he actually didn’t want to know the guy, even though he was definitely curious.

  Our conversations are always fulfilling; whether they be surface information or deeper. I prefer the more meaningful ones, really getting to know him as a person. Being given an insight into this person I seem unable to step away from. I enjoy that maybe more than anyone else, I know things about him that he keeps most private. That above everyone else in his life, Jake chooses to share certain things with me. Only me. That he trusts me enough for that. These moments make me question the doubt that weighs heavily within my body. It fires hope that I shouldn’t really afford myself. It’s dangerous and in the end, I know, this attraction Jake seems to hold for me, will waste away and I’ll be left with less than I had before. Because when Jake eventually tires of the conditional love I can offer him, not only will I be alone again, I’ll be nursing a broken heart.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Jake

  Four months. Sixteen weeks. One hundred and twelve days. Merely an estimate, but four months is how long it took for us to give into temptation. Physically anyway. Really, we’ve been testing the limits of our friendship for months now. Dangerously so. I’ve convinced myself that, that’s all it was. Friendship. Yeah, I want her. I have feelings for her. Strong ones. Feelings that I don’t doubt are reciprocated. But I’ve let myself believe my own lies. That what we’re doing isn’t wrong. That we aren’t balancing on the precipice of cheating, again, by being in one another’s company. That the emotional and intellectual connection we’re building, strengthening, every time we see each other, is okay.

  In actuality, we know everything we’re doing is wrong. That could be the only reason that we keep it secret. The reason we live in our bubble of self-acceptance of our behavior. Not daring to mention our harmless coffee catch ups or extended phone conversations with our friends or family. Knowing questions would be asked, eventually. Questions we know we’d never be able to answer truthfully. It’s better this way, living in our personal snare of deceit. This way we can pretend, even moderately, that our actions are honest.

  This act continued for four months before we gave into it all. Again. Before we took that small shift that skyrocketed us well over the ledge of conscience. I wish I could say there was a major factor. A moment that had one of us needing some form of affection, of being in a place that lowered our ability to say no. That we were hurting and took any sliver of intimacy we could grab hold of. But there wasn’t. Truth be told, we drank too much. We tested the boundaries with one too-many too intimate touches. Allowing more than a brush of our lips, joining them for just a moment or two longer than appropriate. The sweep of a tongue, lips connecting to a neck. Moments that were allowed because, here in this small town, far enough away from home, we’re invisible. Just a guy and girl passing through, sharing a few brief kisses and private embraces.

  I wish I could say one of us had the resolve to put a stop to it spiraling. I’d be lying. Once we’d given into the taste, to the relief of it all, stopping would have been impossible.

  We crash into the hotel room with a flurry of hands yanking at clothes. Lips bruis
ing onto any part of free skin available. Needy groans and intoxicating whimpers shared as Aubrey gives me her mouth for the first time. Teasing my piercings with the flick of her talented tongue, driving me to fucking insanity. She works her mouth along my length as though she is starved of it. Like she’s imagined this very moment in her mind, over and over again and was dying for it to come to fruition. Her heady moans every time I leak onto her tongue have my cock throbbing in her mouth, readying itself to explode down her throat. I want that. More than I want my next breath. I want to watch her throat swallow down what she does to me. Allowing something from deep within me enter her in every way possible. For that intimate part of me, to stay with her, even for the briefest time.

  “Aubrey, fuck me.” I drop my head against the wall, straining to keep the feeling alive, for just a moment longer. “Baby, I’m gonna come.”

  “Mmmmm,” she moans around my length, taking me deeper.

  Groaning hoarsely, I tilt my head forward to watch her, every nerve in my body tightening, readying itself to shatter into her welcoming mouth. Her hooded eyes meet mine, just before she winks, sending me soaring over the perimeter of my release. Aubrey laps it all up, smacking her lips together and offering the tip of my cock one last flick of her tongue before standing up and kissing my mouth.

  Changing our positions, I push her back into the wall, deepening our kiss. Patting the sides of her thighs, she understands my silent demand, wrapping her legs around my waist as I lift her. Our height difference is perfect, allowing me the exact access I crave. My incessant need for her doesn’t seem to ease. Even after just being brought to a mind-blowing orgasm only minutes prior, my dick is hard and prodding steadily at the damp space between her thighs.

  "Shit. My cock’s been hard for this exact moment for months, Aubrey. Fucking months."

  Her hand skates down her stomach, in between our bodies to pull her panties to the side before grabbing my hardness and sliding it over her over sensitive clit. "Ahhhh... Me too, J-Baby. I think about it all the fucking time. I need it so bad," she cries, positioning me at her slick entrance.