by Susan Ward
“Wrong. I ended it with him.”
Not the exact truth, but I’m not going to give Cassandra the satisfaction of thinking she’s read me and Jacob correctly. Or any part of my life, for that matter. Something about her is off-putting.
She shakes her head again, making a tsk-tsk-tsk sound.
“I’ve got to run,” I say, cutting this off.
“Do you have tickets for the ABT Gala tomorrow night?”
I nod.
“I do, too. We can meet up there, if you want to. Or I could swing by your place and give you a lift. You can bring your friend. I think I might want to get to know him.”
As I hurry down the steps, I hear her say, “Don’t forget to invite him.” I continue past Jacob and he falls in beside me in his official bodyguard style. Walking next to me with a neutral distance between us, head forward as his eyes behind his sunglasses alertly study the terrain around us.
I cautiously glance up at him, hoping he didn’t catch any of that exchange with Cassandra, but I can’t read his face. Buckingham Palace Jacob, though really, at this point it’s stupid ever to expect anything else.
He doesn’t talk to me until we’re in the waiting car.
“Are we stopping anywhere on the way home?”
The knot rises in my throat. Always the same question when he picks me up. I shake my head, not turning my face from staring out the window.
After we pull into the underground garage, he opens my door and follows me to the elevator. Inside, he takes his spot by the control panel as I stand far back, staring straight forward at the iron gate. Floor by floor we go to the top.
When the door opens again, I precede him out and down the hallway, and wait by my door for him to unlock it.
I go to the kitchen and dump my things on the large island before starting to rummage for something to eat as he waits quietly for further instruction.
Open a cabinet, slam it closed. Again. Again. He went shopping—or someone did—while I was at school, but God, why did he buy all this garbage? The guy needs to eat, but it’s like food temptation from hell. Everything I want to eat and can’t.
I glance over my shoulder at him. “I’d appreciate it if you buy stuff like this that you’d keep it in your room.”
He doesn’t look at me as he unclips his gun from the back of his belt beneath the tail of his shirt. “It was delivered this morning. Your mother must have ordered it. I’m not a butler. Talk to her if you want the list changed.”
I toss a bag of Oreo cookies onto the counter. “What I want is to come home and not find stuff like this here.”
That he ignores, and to be fair, rightly so. I’m acting pathetically. Time to pull it together. He’s doing his job and who cares who ordered the freaking food?
From the fridge he grabs a beer. “Do you have plans tonight?”
I count to eight inside my head. “No. I’m staying in.”
I watch as he pops off the cap and drops it in the compactor. “Then I’m going to consider me off the clock until morning. I’m going out later. Text me if your plans change and I’ll come back to escort you.”
Out?
My stomach flips over.
Friday night.
Of course he’s going out, just like he does every Friday and Saturday since we’ve been here. Staying out late, coming home from wherever, rapping his knuckles once on my door to let me know he’s back, and in the morning no explanation because it’s only another day at the office for him again.
Jeez, where does he go?
Is he hooking up, but slipping in before morning because he has to? He doesn’t talk about anything with me. I have no idea.
Hooking up? No, that’s not Jacob’s style. How Cassandra stared all heated up over him rises in my head. Oh crap, I wonder if he’s already seeing someone regularly.
My emotions become a jumping jumble because I didn’t expect this. For Jacob to have a life here before I do. To share this apartment for two weeks with him in practically silence without him even trying to smooth things out with me. Not caring that I know he goes out at night to prowl around. Or to sit home alone watching while he does it.
No, I didn’t expect any of this.
He stares at me as though waiting for a response, but when I go back to my food search, he leaves the kitchen and heads toward his bedroom. A few seconds later I hear the shower turn on.
I take a diet soda from the fridge, pop the top, and sink down on a barstool to stare at the enormous, vacant open space, dreading another night home all by my lonesome bouncing off the walls here.
After swiping open my phone, I hit the icon for my mom. Ring. Ring. Great, voice mail. When I want to talk to her, she’s never there, and I could really use Mom right now.
Into the speaker, I say, “Hey, Mom, it’s Krystal. Everything’s fine. First week of class went well.” I take a breath to swallow the clog in my throat from saying such crap. “Can you call me back? I need to talk to whoever delivers food here. Oreo cookies, really, Mom?” I finger the bag on the counter. “Nice thought but don’t need them. I’m doing fine. But I miss you. Love you.”
Tears burn my eyes before I tap off the call. Fine? Oh, Krystal you are doing anything but fine, and you need to work through this fast, because you’re dancing like garbage and you’re not fooling anyone, not even Mom, with this everything’s wonderful, bright, sunny spiel.
I trace the edge of a cookie through the plastic. Oreos and Diet Coke. Weird, but Mom’s favorite comfort food. How did she know I’d need them this week?
Footsteps from the hall make me look up.
Jacob, hair in a man bun, dressed for the night. Unshaven. Nice touch. Two days’ stubble there? Scruffy. Even scruffy looks good on him.
“I’ll set the alarm before I go,” he says, stopping across the island from me, “and keep my phone on in case you need to text me.”
I plaster a smile on my face. “I won’t need to. Stay out as long as you want. I don’t have anything on my calendar until tomorrow evening.”
There, I managed that with composure. No, don’t want to let him see how easily he makes me emotional every time we go through the ritual of him leaving for an evening of big fun.
I’m still patting myself on the back when I hear the beep from the alarm being set before the front door quietly clicks closed.
My posture collapses with the escape of a tear.
Stupid, Krystal, to cry over some guy you drop-kicked away. I could have asked him to stay. And I could have apologized for what happened in Pacific Palisades long before this. Why am I continuing with this? It’s not what I want. There’s got to be a way to be comfortably neutral with a guy you’ve gone to bed with…and care about still.
Oh fudge.
Now I get to spend hours in bed, crying and imagining what he’s doing.
I start to hyperventilate.
Eleven days since we landed in Manhattan.
It’s not going away.
The ache in my stomach.
My thoughts drifting off to him.
The heaviness in my limbs that makes me dance so terribly.
Mind over matter isn’t going to fix this.
He’s in my head, in my apartment, and in my heart. This stalemate we’re living isn’t going to change a thing. It only makes me hurt more each time I’m with him.
I snatch my cookies from the counter and take them with my Diet Coke to my bedroom. Settling on my bed, I switch on the TV to watch Diana Vishneva videos.
By 3:00 a.m., the Oreos are gone and I can’t take the silence or my thoughts any longer. I’m about to call Kaley and pour my heart out to her to get a little big-sister advice on how I should deal with Jacob, when I hear the front door open, followed by the beep-beep-beep of the code being punched in the alarm, and then jump when I hear the tap against my closed door.
The click of his bedroom door is my undoing. I run into the bathroom, dropping in front of the t
oilette just before the mountain of Oreos I consumed spew from my stomach. Panting, I huddle over the bowl waiting for the spasms to end.
Slowly, I move to the sink to rinse my mouth. As I put the cap back on the bottle of mouthwash, I stare at myself in the mirror. Now I’m purging without even wanting to. Not as a practical solution to maintaining my weight. Not at my command, but because the ache in my heart has sent my body into total malfunction.
I can’t sleep. I can’t think. I can’t dance, and now it seems, I can’t even enjoy eating my rare treats. That’s what letting myself get involved with Jacob has done to me. I’ve lost control over me.
I switch off the TV, turn out the light, and try to go to sleep. An hour later, I’m wide awake, staring at the ceiling—an emotional wreck in every way.
No, not doing this one more day.
I race from my room to his, and knock once. Without waiting for him to answer, I open the door, slam it closed behind me, and lean back against the wood, staring at him.
Jacob is awake, reclined on his bed, wearing only pajama bottoms, and staring at his phone. Everything inside me erupts.
“I can’t take this anymore. I said a stupid thing. I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry. Will you stop walling me out now?”
I’m breathing like I’ve finished a marathon by the time the last word tumbles out, hugging the door for support more than anything else, but damn it, nothing. He doesn’t even look at me.
My legs give way and I sink down to sit on the floor.
“Why don’t you quit?” I bemoan, shaking my head and running my fingers over and over through my hair. “You can’t enjoy this either.”
Silence.
I spring to my feet and dart to the bed, grabbing the phone from his hand, so distraught I don’t notice his startled expression, or that I’ve ripped earbuds from his ears.
“I’m sorry. You have every right to hate me after how I treated you, but I don’t hate you. I like you. It scared me knowing you were coming here with me. I’d worked so hard to stay emotionally detached and out of relationships. I tried to explain in Malibu why I can’t be involved with a guy right now, but it’s too late. We are involved and I can’t pretend it away. So I would really appreciate it if you stopped hating me now. OK?”
I wait, shaking, for a ridiculous length of time as he stares up silently at me. Calmly, he lifts his phone from my hand. “I don’t hate you, Krystal. I never have. I’m not doing anything to deliberately upset you. I’m doing my job.”
“Your…job…is…to…protect…me.” Each word comes out a sharp staccato on a ragged breath. “I don’t feel protected. Not at all. How can I feel that way if I don’t even feel like you like me?”
Those gorgeous hazel eyes meet mine. “Then you’d be wrong. I care about you. I’ve never tried to hide that from you.”
I drop heavily on the bed beside him, staring down at my fingers. “Then can you tell me what the hell we’ve been doing the last two weeks, because I can’t stand it and don’t know what it is?”
He scooches back, sitting taller against his pillows. It puts more space between us as well.
“It’s what you asked for,” he says quietly. “What I’ve been hired to do. I’m an employee, Krystal. We are back to exactly what we were before Malibu. It’s what you said you need and what I have to do.”
I hear sniffs and realize they’re mine and that I’m crying. “I can’t take not being at least your friend. Do you have to rub in my face every night that you’re going out, having a great life, and seeing girls? I’m still a little raw—”
“Seeing other girls? Is that what you think?” He rakes back the hair from his face, frustrated.
“Well, why else do you go out alone all the time?” I accuse. “Don’t pretend you’re not going to clubs and doing things.”
He leans into me so close that only a breath separates our faces. “You’ve got to help me out here, Krystal. What the hell do you want me to do? You say you don’t want to get involved with me. I get your reasons. I respect them. I back off, and now you’re doing the jealous girlfriend routine. I don’t owe you any explanations, remember? I’m nothing to you—no, wait, that’s not accurate. My greatest appeal was that you’d never have to see me again. That’s all I’m doing. Making sure you see as little of me as possible in this fucked-up situation.”
My flesh feels covered in blisters by the time he’s through and it takes me a moment to realize he didn’t deny that part about clubs and other girls.
“So you are seeing someone else already?”
He shoves off the bed.
“No.” His posture slowly deflates and he has that heart-melting, vulnerable-Jacob look about him. “I don’t go to clubs. I don’t see other girls. I leave to keep myself away from you. Sometimes I see a movie, but most of the time I just walk and see the sights. I go out at night so I don’t mess up again and things will be how you want them. Jesus Christ, I hate not talking to you and it’s agony knowing you are down the hall from me, but I crossed the line once. It didn’t work out well. It’s better for us both if we keep things this way.”
My heart is beating so rapidly by the time he’s through it feels like I’m having an attack. “The only guy I’ve ever been truly interested in is you, Jacob. And no, this isn’t working out well. I don’t think it’s better to keep things how we are.”
He clenches his fingers like I’m driving him crazy and his jaw tightens as he stares at me, shaking his head. “Tell me what you want, Krystal. But don’t act like you’re interested in me if you’ve going to kick me to the curb because you’ve changed your mind, again, about what works for you. I’m not sure I understand what it is you want from me.”
“I’m not sure I know what I want either,” I say, even as heat spreads through my body, pushing me toward him. “I only know I don’t want what we’ve been since Manhattan. We could start by being how we were in Malibu when we’re alone in the apartment and you don’t have your job to do. Other than that…” I leave that deliberately unfinished.
His eyes grow opaque. “I can’t be a fuck-buddy with you, Krystal. I don’t do that, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”
I’m about to say neither do I, but the words stick in my throat with the startling realization that that’s what Daryl was to me and I’ve never wanted anything more than that until Jacob.
“No. I want to pick up where we left off in Malibu. See where it goes. But I need to go slow. This is new for me.”
“This is new for me, too, how I feel about you.” His expression softens. “We can go slow.”
We are both sort of frozen, bodies close without touching, staring at each other with an expectant type of feeling. Is he waiting for something from me? I’m not sure.
“Can I assume what we’ve been doing the past eleven days is done? Can we start being friends again?”
“I’ve never considered us anything less, Krystal. In fact, more. Much more.”
“Me, too,” I murmur, afraid and vulnerable, wishing he’d make some kind of move.
I sit staring at his room, unsure what to do next. We’re in a better place than we’ve been since we landed in Manhattan. Maybe that’s enough of a step for one night.
“I’ll get out of your way.”
I’m halfway to standing when Jacob’s arms close around me and he lowers me to the bed.
Part Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
“Krystal”
Three years later
With every thrust, Jacob shudders beneath me as his hands run my body. Light flutters of fingertips punctuate his hungry mouth devouring my breasts. I slam down, taking his length rough and deep, and his eyes widen as his head tilts back on the pillow.
His fingers close on my hips, stilling me, and I can feel his legs coming up, knees bent. He plunges into me and suspends us there, his cock thick and pulsing inside my throbbing and clenching walls.
Again.
&
nbsp; Another moan comes from his parted lips as he moves to cover my taut nipple with his lips.
My thighs lock into his sides, squeezing, squeezing, and I plant my hands on his chest, holding him beneath me on the pillow.
Slowly, I roll my hips. The quivers run the surface of his arms, and he’s pulsing there, trying to move in me, but I won’t let him.
“I love you, babe,” he moans, shimmying so his cock does a slow circle inside me. “Stop torturing me.”
I ease up, freezing with only his tip in me. “Men.” I jerk down and halt with half his length in me. “Weaken.” I drop until he’s balls-deep inside me. “Legs.” I clamp my thighs with brutal pressure against him.
He laughs through choking breaths, easing up on one arm and planting his hand on my ass. “Then…don’t—” He pants and tries to thrust. “—start things in…the morning.”
He uses his hand on my backside and takes control, pumping into me until I let go of my climax.
“Oh, Jacob, that’s good,” I whisper, my head swaying. “Harder, baby. Harder.”
He plunges in and out of me like a man possessed, and maybe he is. I know he’s my obsession. The feel of him, taste of him, his shallow breaths with airy words coupled with the carnal moves of his body that blend with quiet tenderness. How I take him and he takes me. How we devour each other, in and out of bed. My thoughts, his thoughts. My life, his life. His being, my being…
He buries himself deeply within me. “Krystal,” he screams out, spilling into me, then the rapid flexing of his hips slowly ebbs as he melts onto the bed and I melt onto him.
Kissing and smoothing my hair, he murmurs, “It’s going to be OK, babe. We have each other. We’ll always have each other, no matter what happens today.”
It doesn’t surprise me that he’s read my mood. That he knows what this was about. Why I woke him two hours ago and all but sexually attacked him.
I run my cheek along his chest, feeling his pulse against my flesh. “You’re supposed to resist when I try to take you on days I have auditions.”
