I giggle to myself.
I finish checking my email, pay my cell phone bill online, and then check my bank account balance.
Holy shit!
The bank must have made a mistake. I have an extra $10,000 in my account. Which means my balance is $10,157.35.
Shit, should I say anything?
Of course I have to say something! I'll stop by my bank on the way back from Damien's.
I look at the clock. 9:25. Shit, I've got to go!
I log out, grab my stuff, and head out the door.
As I reach my car, I notice a blue Honda Accord parked next to it.
Shit.
I know that car.
Jared gets out of his car. He's wearing another in his endless supply of checked shirts. Cargo pants. Same old Nikes.
"Annika, I'm sorry to bother you here. Do you have a sec?" he says.
"No Jared," I say as I open my car. "I don't. I have an interview and I'm running late. And this is a little creepy. Aren't you supposed to be in work?"
He blushes and his face drops. Good job, Annika.
"I... um... yeah," he says. "Did you get the flowers?"
"Yes. And... they're beautiful. But Jared, this isn't right."
"What? What isn't right? We were together. You liked me. I thought we were... you know... falling in love."
"Jared, look I'm sorry about the other day."
"You came to my office. You wanted to make love. Then suddenly you don't. Then suddenly you hate me. I'm so confused."
God, I think he's going to start crying.
"Jared," I say, "listen to me. I don't hate you. You're a great guy. It's me. I'm the one with the problem."
Shit, the ancient it's-not-you-it's-me defense. Can't I do better than that?
"I don't know what's going on, Jared," I continue. "I'm at a weird time. I'm not going to say a bad time. Just a weird time. But it's not going to work between you and me. That's the bottom line. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come to visit you in your office last week and I never should have let things progress to where they were. It's all my fault."
"No," says Jared. "It's me. I did this. I did something to make you stop loving me. What was it? What did I do? Whatever it is, I'll change. I'll become what you want. Just tell me what to do."
What I want to say is that the way he's talking right now is the very reason I lost my attraction to him. But I can't be that mean.
"Jared," I say, "I've got to go. I want to be friends someday. But just friends. But right now, I gotta go."
"Just friends!" he says. "Just friends? I'm so sick of hearing that from girls! I've heard it all my life! Why? Annika, I've been inside you. I've been inside your body! Doesn't that mean anything?"
"Of course it does, Jared! But I've really got to go!"
I get in my car and start the engine. Jared knocks on the window. I roll it down.
"Sorry," he says. "Just... sorry."
"Me too," I say. "Take care, Jared."
"You too."
Yep, he's crying now. Tears rolling down his cheeks.
Fuck me.
I put my car in gear and drive out of the strip mall.
God, I hate myself.
Chapter 13
As I turn off Main onto Damien's dead end street, I'm frustrated beyond words. I'm ten minutes late and all I can think of is Jared's sad face with tears in his eyes.
I hate the fact that I'm the cause of that, but I don't know what to do about it.
I pull up to the elaborate stone pillar with an intercom device in its center.
"Name please?" says the same disembodied voice from Friday night.
"Annika Spenser¸" I say.
After a few seconds, the gate slowly opens. I take a deep breath, drive in, and park in the same spot as last time over by the hedge.
The last time I was here Isabella and I were leaving the party. We didn't say much on the way home. I didn't tell her about the moonlight meeting in the Roman garden. I just couldn't put it into words.
But something happened to her too.
I always know. I don't know what it was. I didn't ask because I know she'll tell me eventually. But she was way too silent on the drive home.
Two fucked-up girls. Is that a song? It should be.
I grab my hipster satchel with my notepads and head toward Damien's patio.
The estate is peaceful in the morning sunshine. No thumping music. No stacks of multimedia cubes, or whatever those things were.
And the pool is back! Right under the spot where naked painted girls bopped to mad beats. Where does the pool go?
No girls today except me. Not even in the water. All is quiet.
Hm, too quiet. Maybe he isn't up yet. Rock stars aren't supposed to rise until 4 p.m., right?
But then again, Damien Cage isn't your usual rock star.
"There you are!" he says, sticking his head out of a door at the top of a set of stone stairs. "Come on up!"
Shirtless again.
Naturally.
Gray gym shorts. Tats looking splendid in the sunshine.
I ascend the stairs and follow him in. I'm oddly calm.
"Sorry I'm late," I say. "I had to deal with a situation."
"Not a problem," he says. "I had one myself."
We are in a room that's part kitchen, part lounge. Low couches with multi-colored pillows. The kitchen countertop looks to be marble. Of course it's marble.
"Have a seat," he says. "Would you like some green juice?"
"Green juice?" I say.
"My morning power drink. It's a blend of protein powder, apples, celery, cucumber, ginger root, kale, and lemon."
Apples and kale together?
"Don't answer," he says. "I'm making you one. Trust me, you'll like it."
I watch him as he gathers the aforementioned ingredients and chops them with a sharp knife. No wasted movements. Everything exact and precise. No mess.
How do people do that? When I prepare anything, even oatmeal, I get it everywhere.
I'm close enough to see the new tattoo on his back more clearly, but I can only make out the first few words.
"To be yourself in a world that is..." something something something.
Doesn't matter. His back muscles are poetry in motion as they move as he plops the items in the blender. I get a flash of sinking my teeth into them.
Tingle.
Oh, here we go again.
He flips the switch. The blender is loud as the ingredients swirl together. Things are definitely turning green in there. Must be the kale.
He goes to the refrigerator and takes out a handful of green grapes. He puts them on a plate.
Then he takes out two large glasses from a cabinet. He shuts off the blender, removes the lid, and pours the thick concoction into the glasses. He walks over and hands one to me.
His finger touches mine as he does so.
Tingle.
"To health," he says.
"To health," I say and we clink glasses.
He sucks down a mouthful of the stuff.
I'm a little skittish so I take just a sip. But it's surprisingly good.
"Mmm", I say, "I'm kinda surprised. Not bad."
"I just worked out," he says. "So I want to replenish my nutrients. Kale has a ton of nutrients and almost no calories. Let's go into the other room."
He walks out, taking the plate of grapes with him. His leg muscles are amazing. Bet he did legs today. I get up and follow.
Now we're in a proper living room, with a view of the ocean. We're looking down on the pool/Friday night dance floor. Two white leather sectional couches face each other with a Cedarstone coffee table in between.
"Sit," he says as he places the plate of grapes on the table.
I sit. I sip.
He sits. I stare.
His shoulder muscles look like they're trying to bust out of his skin. His forearms are amazing too. He has a nipple ring on the right side of his chest. That's new too.
The
n I reach his eyes. They're looking at me.
Oh God, he's smiling.
Tingle.
I cross my legs and tug down on my skirt.
"Grape?" he says, motioning to the plate.
"Sure," I say, reaching down to take one. I feel his eyes on me, watching me, drinking me in.
"So, Annika Spenser from MiamiImproper.com," he says, "what kind of situation did you have to deal with this morning?"
Oh God, I had forgotten about that. Shit, now it's back. Should I tell him?
"Um... " I say, "ex-boyfriend situation."
He turns with his glass, raising an eyebrow.
"Really?" he says.
I look down.
"Yeah, I was... mean to him last week. It's... oh, you don't want to hear this."
"Yes, yes I do. How could you possibly be mean to anybody?"
"Well," I say, "I was um... horny... God, I can't believe I just used that word with you... sorry..."
"It's one of my favorite words so it's okay. Go on..."
"So I was... horny... and went to his office for a... um..."
"A quickie," he says matter-of-factly as he sips his green juice. He takes a grape and eats it. His arm muscles flex as he does so, tats stretching nicely.
Tingle.
"Um, yeah," I say.
"So what happened?" he says.
"I broke his heart. He loves me... or so he says."
"How old is this guy?"
"Twenty-four. He's a developer." I reach for another grape.
"Real estate?"
"Ha. No, web. He writes code." I eat my grape.
"Oh." His eyebrows go up. "Were you his first?"
I think about it.
"I'm not sure," I say, "but you know, now that you mention it I think I was. How did you know that?"
"Is he into Star Wars?" He reaches for a grape.
I laugh.
"Yes, but he prefers Star Trek."
"What's his name?" He eats his grape.
Why is he asking me this?
"Jared," I say.
And why am I telling him?
"Where does he work?"
"Lightpak," I say. "They're a packaging company downtown. Or maybe they're a design company. Never did get that straight."
"Uh-huh," Damien says as he finishes his green juice.
An alarm bell goes off in my head.
"Why?" I say. "You're not going to have him killed or anything, are you?"
Damien laughs.
"Yes," he says, "I'm Don Corleone Cage. I send my thug Clemenza all the time to whack the exes of girls I fuck."
Fuck?
"Um..." I say.
"I know, I know," he says. "We're not fucking yet, but we will."
An excitement rises within me. But the feminist in me rises too.
"That's pretty damned presumptive of you."
"No," he says, still in his matter-of-fact voice. "It's actually pretty normal. Everybody fucks everybody. And if they don't, then they're missing out on life."
"I'm not sure if I go along with that."
"Doesn't matter. It's the way things are. Most of this planet has a big stick up its ass about whose parts are going into whom. It's just parts. Penis in vagina. Tongue in asshole. Fingers in mouth. Mix-and-match. Throw in some belly buttons, a handful of nipples, some tummies and toes, and you've got some fun. Not enough people do it and that's why they're miserable and try to stop others from doing it. More people need to let other people lick the lint out of their belly buttons and get their assholes stretched."
We both reach for a grape at the same time. Our hands touch.
With his head down, he gives me another Lord Byron underlook.
Tingle tingle tingle.
I take my grape and eat it, not breaking eye contact with him. The world diffuses a little, going slightly fuzzy.
"What about love?" I say.
"Love is amazing," he says. "Love is awesome. Love is the greatest thing in life. Why do you ask?"
"Um... because we were just talking about sex and..."
"And? Two different topics. You can fuck someone you love. Or you can fuck someone you don't love. You can even fuck someone you hate with the passion of a thousand violent hot suns. And enjoy it. Not to mention you can love someone and never fuck them."
I take out my notepad and pen.
"Are you going to put this in the book?" he says.
"It's your book," I say. "Do you want me to?"
He looks out at the ocean and plops a grape in his mouth.
"Yes," he says.
"Speaking of which," I say. "I haven't agreed to write your book yet."
"Did you get the deposit?"
"The what?"
"The ten thousand dollars I sent you. Check your bank balance."
"Oh my God, that was you?"
"Yes. And that's just 10% down. For writing the full book I'll pay you one hundred grand."
Did he just say one hundred grand?
I giggle, then compose myself.
"Thank you," I say, "but you barely know me. You haven't even read anything I've written. How do you know I can write a book?"
"I read your review of Scandal, the TV show," he says. "That was pretty good. I agree. Shonda Rhimes is incredible. Amazing plot twists."
"No, seriously. How do you know I can write your book?"
"Because I know talent when I see it. It's in the eyes. I had several ghostwriters come here with samples of their work. Big names. Lots of experience. But behind their eyes they were only in it for the money. You have passion behind your eyes, but it's all locked up. I've decided to free it from whatever is trying to control it."
He leans back, tilts his head, and smiles at me.
I'm at a complete loss for words. He's read me like a book. He apparently doesn't need words.
My gaze drifts down to his gray shorts. I swear I see something move.
Tingle.
"Change of topic," he says. "Ask me a question."
I don't have to think too hard.
"What's with Jasmine?"
He laughs and eats a grape.
"I knew you were going to ask me that. Jasmine worked for the Anna Price Agency. Anna Price and I had... creative differences... so I let her go. Jasmine stayed on."
"I thought your public relations manager after Anna Price was Jason Everton. What happened to him?"
Damien smiles and doesn't say anything. Just holds his gaze on me.
"What?" I say.
More smiling and gazing.
"Oh my God!" I say.
"There it is," he says.
"I'm so stupid. Jason Everton is Jasmine Ryder, isn't he? I mean, she?"
"I knew you'd get it without my telling you."
"So she transformed... sorry if that's not the right word... while working for you."
"No, not the right word. I like blossomed better."
I laugh.
"Did he... sorry, she... just come to work one day in a dress?"
"No, she always knew she was just better as a girl. All I did was encourage her independence from what others thought. I had been teaching her how to seduce women, but it wasn't working. Now that she's a girl, she fucks more girls than she can handle. Because she's sexually free."
"Jasmine is straight?"
"No, she's a lesbian."
"But I... um... "
"She likes girls. With the exception of one guy."
A strange image flashes into my head.
"You have a relationship?"
"Yes. She's my public relations manager."
"Has she had surgery?"
"Breast implants, but that's all."
"So she has a..."
"A cock, yes. A nice big one."
An alarm bell goes off.
"Have you ever...?" I say
"What?" he says. "Fucked? Of course we have."
"Are you bisexual?"
"No, I only like women. Jaz is a woman."
I stare at him a
little perplexed... and maybe bothered?
"Look," he says, "I know it's hard for many people to wrap their heads around this but a straight man who has sex with a woman, whether or not she has a cock, is still a straight man. Even if he gets fucked in the ass occasionally, which is highly pleasurable regardless of what gender you find attractive."
"No," I say, "I actually do get it. I'm very open-minded. My best friend Isabella is a little bit of everything. If it's human and moves, she fucks it. I'm even a little iffy about the human part."
"She was the dark girl you were with at the party?"
"Brazilian Colombian mix."
"She would have been perfect for me say five, maybe seven years ago. Nowadays I look for something different."
Hm. Should I pursue this train of thought?
"Different?" I say.
"Yes," he says. "Like I was saying, something behind the eyes. I can't quite put it into words. She has to have a certain something. When I saw you, I just knew you had it. Plus the glasses are fucking hot. Do you like it up the ass?"
I feel myself blush.
Part of me is not sure if I'm down with his smug assertiveness.
But another part of me loves his smug assertiveness and says Let's just get to the fucking, shall we?
"I... um..." I say, "I'm not quite sure if I... um..."
"Yes or no?" he says.
"No."
He laughs, almost hysterically.
"Then we have some work ahead of us."
I gulp. Mouth dry. I take a sip of my green juice.
"So how do you have sex with Jasmine?" I say.
"That's kind of personal, isn't it?" he says.
"You just asked me if I like it up the ass."
"Just kidding. She fucks me. I fuck her. She does this amazing thing with her foreskin. I'm circumcised, she isn't. She takes the tip of her cock and puts it right to mine. Then she squeezes her shaft, wrapping the entire head of mine in her foreskin. Now it takes a very sexually free man to do that with a girl. And she is a girl, cock or no cock. Have you ever fucked your friend Isabella?"
My right leg twitches.
"No," I say.
"Why not?" he says.
I get a flash of diving down onto Isabella's pussy while she's all painted like she was on Friday night.
"Um..." I say.
"Do you find her attractive?" he says.
"Um..."
"You do. You know you do. I tell you what... you need to fuck her. In fact, that's your first Cage Session homework assignment. You need to lick your friend Isabella's pussy. And ass."
Skylar Cross - [The Cage Sessions 02] Page 4
