Insatiable 2

by J. D. Hawkins

  “Wait – how is that our problem? Isn’t that something that Lizzie- Ahh! I get it.”

  “Please Luce, I don’t have time for this. I’ve got five hours to find someone. Do you know anyone? Do you know anyone’s brother? Sister? Niece? Drug dealer? I just need something.”

  There’s a pause during which I can hear Luce scratching her frizzy hair.

  “I don’t know, Jax.”

  “Please, Luce. I know this sounds ridiculous to you, I know you’re judging me right now, I know you want to give me a lecture, but I care about this.”

  “Look, if Lizzie really likes you then she won’t mind if you can’t—”

  “No. No, Luce. I’m doing this. That’s it. You can decide to help me, or decide not to. I won’t hold it against you – but I’m doing this.”

  There’s another pause, and I hear Luce sigh.

  “Ok. Maybe I have a friend of a friend. Someone who does make-up on some movies. I’ll give her a shout.”

  “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. I love you Luce.”

  “Yeah, well, I love cheesecake, but I don’t think it loves me back.”

  I press a button on the wheel to end the call and refocus on driving. There’s a bartender in Beverly Hills that I’m sure has been hit on by some famous people – and I’m sure has some dirt on them too.

  I push thoughts of Lizzie to the back of my mind, but somehow they slide a little lower, and I start getting excited at the idea of pulling this off. Luckily, Brando interrupts me as I absent-mindedly start revving the Ferrari enough to attract attention – even in this part of LA.

  I listen to the sound of his New York accent as it blares through my speakers. I’ve never been so happy to hear it before.

  “Dude,” he says, triumphantly, “Malibu, now.”

  “You found someone?”

  “I never disappoint, bro. That’s my motto.”

  “Who?”

  “Get this: James Bond.”

  I jump in my seat, nearly swerving my beloved Ferrari into oncoming traffic.

  “Don’t fuck with me, Brando.”

  “No joke, bro. James fucking Bond.”

  “The one from the movie last year?”

  “Uh… no, not that one.”

  “The one from the movie with a Tina Turner song?”

  “No…”

  “Duran Duran?”

  “Ah… What was the name of the movie with the car that turns into a submarine?”

  “Jesus, Brando! That guy’s older than most of the billionaires who’ll be at the event! These women want to go on a date with a guy that isn’t old enough to be their dad.”

  “Hey, come on, dude! I did my best!”

  I take a minute to calm down. “Sorry. But this has to go right. Look, thanks, but no thanks. I’ll talk to you later, I’ve got a call coming in on the other line. Let me know if you find anyone else.”

  I hang up on Brando. I regret being an asshole to him – but if there’s one time when I can afford to be, it’s now. I hit the button on my steering wheel to put the other call on the speakers and turn my growing anxiety into a few thousand more RPM from the roaring machine.

  “Jax?” It’s Luce again.

  “Please say you have good news for me.”

  “I do. Except there’s bad news as well.”

  “What is it?”

  “My friend who works in make-up says that the chances of her getting a big name to come is about the same as getting them to remember her name right, i.e., zero.”

  My blood pressure is rising so much I’ll probably have grey hairs by the time I go to bed tonight.

  “What’s the good news?”

  “Well,” Luce starts, tentatively, “I kinda had an idea.”

  “Go on.”

  “Well, remember when I said the Dentons have been here all day?”

  I love my car. It’s fast, responsive, and makes a hell of a sound. When I slam the brakes and yank the wheel, it slides a one-eighty with all the agile elegance and sophisticated control of a wild animal. When I slam on the accelerator, it roars, and four-hundred-odd horsepower slam me into the back of my seat like I’m about to take a trip to the moon.

  “Say no more, Luce, I’m on my way.”

  The building looms into view with all the inevitability of a date with destiny (and I’ve been on a few dates with girls named Destiny). The caterers, party organizers, and entertainment are already buzzing around the place; setting up the stage and preparing for the grand event. They’re better dressed, and a little more formal than the workers I’m used to – but the sense of urgency mirrors my own.

  I start jogging towards the entrance, scanning around in the hope of finding Luce or her Hollywood producer extraordinaire, Mr. Denton. Instead I find the one person who can help me that I don’t want to meet.

  “Jax!” She looks startled for a moment, before her default man-eating shark expression takes over again.

  “Jacqu- Sorry, Mrs. Denton. Is your husband around, by chance?”

  “My husband?” She pulls herself to her full height, throwing her head back and her breast implants forward. “Am I not ‘important’ enough for you?”

  Great. She’s still in full-sass mode. I decide to put my best foot forward. I smile, and let her catch me staring at the bulbous tits bursting from her leopard-skin dress.

  “That’s a hell of an outfit.”

  She glares at me through her Betty Boop eyelashes.

  “Say that again.”

  I gulp. This woman was intimidating enough when I didn’t want something from her. Now that I need her, she’s fucking terrifying.

  “I said you look like a real tiger in that dress.”

  The smile she shoots at me could only be learned from a vaudeville villain.

  “The last time I gave you a chance to kiss my ass, Jax, you turned me down pretty firmly. You want something, don’t you?”

  The thing I love most about older women is the same thing I hate about them – there’s no bullshit.

  “Yeah. Actually I do.”

  “Well ask me nicely then.”

  I look around, hoping that Mr. Denton or Luce is around so that I can make this a whole lot easier, but all I see are people in formal dress running around with their eyes forward.

  “The actor that was supposed to be auctioned off tonight can’t make it. I need a Hollywood star to replace him. I figured that Mr. Denton being such a popular producer…”

  Mrs. Denton tuts and shakes her head, milking my desperation for every last drop.

  “You want me to help you? We’re already letting you hold your event here, Jax. We can’t organize it for you as well.”

  There’s a note in her purr that’s teasing. She’s going to milk this, but she’s not holding off totally. There’s a deal to be made here, but I’ve got to be careful she doesn’t ask for the one thing I can’t give, the thing I’m reserving for Lizzie, the entire reason I’m running this wild goose chase.

  “I just need a lead, a number, an introduction. I’ll do anything.” She looks me up and down, as if I’ve already put myself up for negotiation. I hold my hands up in the international sign for Stop. “But I can’t do that. However much I need this. The whole reason I’m begging is a girl. The same girl that stopped me from having the time of my life with you last time.”

  She laughs. “Well if you’re not even offering that, Jax, what are you offering? That’s pretty much all you have, darling.”

  “Anything, Mrs. Denton. Name it. I’ll design you another building. I’ll hook you up with a guy even better than me. Shit. I’ll put on a dress and sing you happy birthday if you want. Just name it.”

  She twists her smile into something approaching kind, then looks over my shoulder.

  “Your car. I want your car.”

  I look back, as if the Ferrari will already be gone.

  “No. I paid for that car with the money I made from the first building I owned. That car’s taken me across America and b
ack. To you that’s just a car, Mrs. Denton, to me that’s the only sentimental thing I own. It’s my memory bank, my scrapbook. It would be like giving you a part of me. Not the car, Mrs. Denton. Please.”

  Her collagen lips purse themselves into a defiant wall.

  “You said name anything. It’s the car or no deal.”

  It’s not even a choice, when it comes down to it.

  Chapter 10

  Lizzie

  “Lizzie!” screeches yet another overly-dressed privileged woman as I try to sprint across the party as elegantly as possible in my silk evening gown.

  “Hello!” I smile back, hoping she’ll let me through, but giving up when she steps in front of me.

  “This is a wonderful event! So refreshing! I had no idea this building was here – and we live nearby!”

  “It’s only just been finished,” I say, hoping she’ll pick up on the urgency and let me pass.

  “Well it’s really a treat. Whoever created it is certainly talented.”

  An image of Jax flashes into my mind and I shove it away, almost scowling as I do so.

  “He is, but he’s a little unreliable. I wouldn’t ask him to build something for you unless you have plenty of time.”

  “Oh really?” she says, touching her wrinkled neck. She leans forward as if about to feed me a rumor. “Say, whatever is happening with the auction this evening? I rather had my eye on you-know-who,” she giggles.

  “Ah… We should have somebody lined up. It’s a surprise!” I say, laughing in the hope that she’ll buy it.

  “Well,” she says, not buying it, “I hope I’m not disappointed.”

  I nod politely and motion to step past. “I should check on the catering.”

  At the kitchen entrance, Linda stops me.

  “Five and a half hours, Lizzie. Looks like your boyfriend has left us in the lurch.”

  “He is not my fucking boyfriend,” I hiss, with a spite that’s been building up in me for hours. “He is about as far from being my boyfriend as it is possible to be. If my boyfriend is here,” I stretch one hand to my left, “then that cocksucker is over here,” I stretch my hand to the right. “In fact, if I ever see him again, I’m going to—”

  I’m interrupted by the whoosh of the party’s chattering changing direction. I spin around to see everyone’s backs, and a gentle clapping rise in volume until it becomes eager applause.

  Linda clumsily stands on a table, and beckons me to join her. I pull my long gown up and climb up beside her, hoping that nobody turns back around and catches an eyeful of my panties.

  “What were you saying you were going to do to him?” Linda says with a smirk.

  It’s Jax, and he looks amazing in his tuxedo. It looks so good I could lick his clothes off him. It takes me a few seconds to notice the guy next to him, the one in the white tuxedo, the one straight out of the superhero movie that’s been #1 at the box office for the last three months running, the one the entire party is looking at and cheering on, while he gives them appreciative nods and waves, flashing that trademark dimpled grin – like Hollywood stars do.

  Linda gasps. “Is that—?”

  “Yeah, it’s Jax,” I say, interrupting Linda.

  “Not him, the guy next to him! How the hell did he get him to come? Are they related? Jesus, I can barely tell them apart. We may as well have auctioned Jax off himself.”

  Jax’s eyes meet mine and I smile. I wish there was something else I could do – sometimes a smile isn’t enough, sometimes you’re so overwhelmed that you feel like you’re about to explode, sometimes you want to do more than just smile, but for now, it’s enough. Jax smiles back, and nods. Then his gaze shifts to something behind me, and his face darkens.

  I turn around and see James making his way toward me, dressed in a freshly pressed dark suit. He has a bouquet of red roses in his arms and he looks good—great, in fact—but I can’t believe he showed up. Even though I’ve been talking about this event nonstop for days, I hadn’t actually invited James to come (we both agreed it wasn’t his scene, and that the party would run too late for his early-morning work schedule). And with our breakup this morning, I figured I wouldn’t be seeing or hearing from him again.

  But here he is now, smiling up at me. With a dozen red roses, and an apology in his eyes. The thing is, I don’t want an apology. I don’t want James. I want Jax.

  I spin back toward Jax, but his back is to me as he cuts through the crowd, heading for the exit. He’s leaving.

  “Jax!” I yell, but he can’t hear me over the cacophony of voices in the room. He’s disappearing amid all the shifting bodies, and I’m losing sight of him with every second.

  I climb off the table, ignoring the fact that James is standing off to the side with a confused look on his face, and start pushing my way desperately through the crowd. Jax must sense something, because he pauses in the hallway and turns around, and I weave my way around one last throng of partiers and stumble against him.

  “Jax, wait,” I say. “Where are you going? You just got here.”

  “You look like you’re all set for the night,” he says. “And I just made a deal with the devil that I have to go close. I’ll see you around, though. Good luck with the auction.”

  I grab his arm and pull. “But I’m not set—James and I broke up, this morning.”

  He stares at me for a moment, the words sinking in. “You did?”

  I nod vigorously. “Yes. He came here to apologize, I think, but it doesn’t even matter anyway, because the thing is—the problem is—” For some reason I’m stumbling over my words now. Why is it so hard to just say what I feel? “I didn’t want him. I want you. I mean, I want to be with you, too. Maybe we can make this work.”

  He takes me in his arms and looks deep into my eyes. If we were ever going to reach a point where words weren’t necessary, this is it.

  Our faces draw close, and we kiss. It feels like the first time – and it is. This kiss means something. This kiss is the kind you give someone who you care about. It’s slow, gentle.

  We part slowly, like half-waking from a dream, and I take Jax’s hand so that I can lead him away from the bodies, away from the noise and the auction that’s about to start.

  I pull him until we’re out of view. Until the sound of the party is just a distant throb. We’re by the pool, the LA skyline sparkling beyond the rolling hills. I spin around and look at him.

  “The pool,” he says, his voice softer and more wistful than I’ve ever heard it. “You know, pools always remind me of you now.”

  I smile. “That’s why I brought you here. Now what’s this deal with the devil you were talking about?”

  His face freezes, and then his gaze is everywhere but on me. “I, uh…I had to call in a favor to get that actor here for the auction.”

  My eyes narrow. “What kind of favor?” It better not be what I think it is.

  Jax gulps. “Remember that night we had in the Ferrari, looking out over the city lights while I taught you how to use that mouth to its full potential?”

  “Yeah...” My voice is ice.

  “Well, we won’t be having any more of those. I mean, until I get a new Ferrari.”

  It takes a second to hit me, and then my jaw hits the ground. “What?! You gave up the Testarossa for—for me?”

  Jax only nods.

  “But you love that car. That car is you. It’s everything to you.”

  “Not everything,” he says, pulling me tight against him. Jax stares into my eyes and I can’t look away.

  There’s a weirdness in the air. The good kind of weirdness. It’s the one you get when you’re doing something for the first time. The strangeness of exploring something big and exciting and new.

  I open my mouth, about to say something, but before I can wake my brain up from this sleepy dream his hands cup my face, and he brings his lips to mine.

  We kiss for what feels like an eternity. For the first time in my life I feel like I’m becoming whole. L
ike everything we’re feeling is the same, like our lives are only just beginning. When the distant chatter of the party gets louder, and the lights on the outside stage crackle on, we pull away from each other; changed.

  “So?” Jax says, our eyes continuing where our lips stopped. “What do you say? Are you gonna give me a chance now?”

  I look up at his face, knowing that it’s the last time I’ll look at him in this way. The last time I’ll see him as dangerous, as not-right, as just potential.

  The last time I’ll see Jax and not be able to call him mine.

  For once, I get to smirk. “Only if it’s my turn to be the teacher.”

  THE END

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  Read on for a sneak peek at Eve Jagger’s HARD:

  RYDER

  CH. 1

  There are two smells in the world I love more than any others: a woman right before sex and this warehouse right before a fight. They’re different, of course. There’s nothing like a naked, wet, waiting woman, the scent of her skin salty with sweat but sweet at the same time, like swimming through an ocean of roses. The warehouse’s odor is far less pleasurable, phantoms of last round’s knocked-out teeth, bruised faces, and aching bones making the air heavy, grimy, stifling, like the smell of fresh dirt. But both are thrilling and unpredictable and make me want to explode.

  Even when it was me in the ring a few years ago, my ribs about to get punched, my knuckles about to crash into someone’s cheekbone, the smell of this place would intoxicate me. Facing off with a guy whose sole intention for the next several minutes is to pummel you into submission is as terrifying as it sounds. And as exhilarating. The policy of bare-knuckles brawls is no shirt, no shoes, big problem standing right across from you. But all I had to do to calm myself was take a big inhale of this warehouse air, let the molecules seep into my lungs, into my bloodstream, and I won every match.

  I always win.