First

by M. A. Grant

  ‘Maya?’

  I growl and force my hands to my sides. ‘How do I handle this?’

  Doctor Blathe, an older woman with a gentle face that reminds me of a modern day spoonful-of-sugar swilling nanny, looks up from her notepad. ‘What exactly do you mean by “this”?’

  ‘This … thing with …’ I grit my teeth when Jake’s naked body invades my mind again. ‘You know …’

  ‘I’m not sure I do,’ she says calmly.

  ‘Him.’

  ‘Ah.’ She jots down a note and flips back a page. ‘Jake?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You can say his name, you know.’

  I blink. ‘What?’

  ‘Did you know you have only referred to Jake by name five times since our sessions began?’

  ‘Really?’ I preen a little, proud I haven’t mentioned him more often.

  ‘Yet you’ve referred to him by other nicknames or generalisations …’ Her pen dances over the pages of notes from our session, the impeccable statistics she updates after every meeting, eventually halting. ‘More than fifty times in the past three sessions?’

  That takes the wind from my sails. I sink into the comfortable chair I’ve been avoiding. Years spent dealing with my father taught me that sitting in a chair for a discussion is a sign the excrement shall hitteth the fan.

  ‘That many times?’ I ask meekly.

  Doctor Blathe gives me a moment to collect myself as she readjusts her glasses. When she makes eye contact again, I feel better. More prepared to have this conversation. Adult-ish.

  ‘Is there something about him you find yourself focusing on?’

  His fingers clasped around my wrists, pinning my arms over my head. His lips on my neck. Temple to temple, his hot breath against my neck, his low grunts in my ear as his hips piston, driving his cock into me—

  ‘No,’ I protest, a little too sharply.

  Her head tilts. Her pen raises.

  ‘Yes,’ I correct. ‘He’s hot.’

  She nods and the pen lowers. Inky bullet avoided. ‘Anything else?’

  I shift uncomfortably. The conversation really shouldn’t be going there. There’s no reason to pick apart my dislike of Jake at this moment.

  ‘What about his personality?’

  When I don’t speak, she presses. ‘Do you both get along?’

  Our conversation from this morning replays. We fought. We always fight.

  ‘You always fight with each other?’

  I refocus at her words, frustrated I had said it aloud. ‘We tend to get into heated discussions with each other.’

  She reads through my bullshit. ‘What do you mean by fight? Is it the same as the arguments between you and your father?’

  My stomach churns. ‘God, no. Jake’s not like that.’

  She scribbles something down. I clasp my hands in my lap and try to slow my breathing. Through the window I can see the sun illuminating the white foam across the waves that fling themselves on the beach. The view is one of the main reasons I decided to stick with Doctor Blathe. That, and she’d stood up to my father and told him she wanted to focus on my individual therapy rather than family sessions. It was the most polite fuck off I’ve ever seen an adult give him. Her escorting him to the door gave me an hour of me-time.

  My first small step toward freedom.

  ‘So what do you mean when you say that you and Jake fight?’

  I scrunch up my nose, unsure how to explain it. ‘We … banter, you know? He’s always got some comment to throw back at me.’ I stretch my legs out in front of me and look at my red patent heels. ‘Besides, I like pushing his buttons. He’s so …’ Sexy. Determined. Strong. ‘Precise.’

  ‘Precise.’

  ‘Total control freak.’

  She looks thoughtful. ‘You’re referring to your first meeting with him?’

  ‘That and other times too. He’s always checking up on Catherine and even me. He has an answer for everything and he never gets angry.’

  I don’t wait for her clarifying question. ‘I’m serious. Like, never. He gets intense and everything, but he doesn’t yell.’

  ‘Does his intensity bother you?’

  ‘It didn’t the other night.’

  I gulp in air, horrified to have said that aloud, and begin choking a little. Doctor Blathe waits for my coughing fit to die down before asking in the most neutral, non-judgemental voice possible, ‘Were you intimate?’

  The noise escaping me may be a word. I’m not really sure. She takes it as confirmation which, of course, it is.

  ‘Did you plan for that to happen?’

  I’m back out of the chair. This is too complicated to talk about while sitting. ‘No. Of course not.’

  Although I’ve been wanting to jump his bones since I met him.

  ‘We were at the same bar. He saw my ex bothering me and took care of it. Then we talked and had a few drinks and one thing led to another …’

  Like the best night you’ve had with a guy.

  ‘Did you want to repay him for helping you out of an awkward situation?’

  I stop, concentrating. ‘Okay, that never entered my head until you just said it. So I’m going to say no.’

  She nods and puts her pen down again. ‘Do you intend to see each other again?’

  My laughter is strained. ‘We have to see each other again because of Catherine. But if you mean will we have sex again, no.’

  ‘You seem very sure of that.’

  ‘Damn right. It was …’ Amazing. Mind-blowing. Perfect. ‘A mistake. A really big mistake. We both agreed on that.’

  ‘And if you change your minds?’

  Something low clenches at the thought. ‘Umm …’

  The pen raises again. I throw a desperate look to the clock. I’ve got another ten minutes in this session. Doc’s a bulldog. She won’t let this go, not now that she knows what’s actually bothering me.

  ‘Maya?’

  I groan. The chair beckons. Might as well settle in …

  ***

  My muscles ache as I climb into my truck and start it up. Late last night our crew got a call about a small fire at an abandoned house. Turns out it wasn’t so little. Once we’d put it out, it took a while to get back to the station and pack away the equipment. I took the time to clean up so I didn’t smell like smoke when I showed up to meet Cat.

  The radio warns me I’m a half hour late to Cat’s brunch. I call while driving towards the small café she picked, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel while I wait for her to pick up.

  A deep, masculine rumble greets me. ‘What the fuck do you want, asshole?’

  ‘Shut up, you prick. Put Cat on.’

  My best friend and roommate, Dallas Miller, gives a bark of laughter. A second later, Cat’s breathy voice asks, ‘Jake?’

  ‘Just left the station. Sorry I’m late.’

  ‘Were you on that fire last night?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘You’re safe?’

  The worry in her voice hurts. She tries so hard to pretend like she’s okay with my job but I know she gets scared every time there’s a fire televised.

  ‘I’m fine. It was a little one. No injuries.’

  She breathes a sigh of relief. ‘Good. Dally wouldn’t let me watch the newscast.’

  I can only imagine how well that must have gone for my poor friend. Fortunately, Dallas has always had my back. ‘Yeah, he’s a jerk like that.’

  ‘You’ll be here soon?’

  I’m almost downtown. It’s going to be a bitch to find parking, but Cat loves eating at Clean Your Plate. It’s a mom-and-pop place with a set menu of simple, good food. Their brunch is the best, with buttermilk pancakes, perfectly crisped hash browns, and whatever kind of meat you want for your side. Dad liked it so much it became our family’s weekend breakfast stop. Even my mom grew to enjoy that tradition. Today’s the kind of day they should be around to celebrate with us …

  I drag myself out of those memories. There’s
no way I’m going back to that place. ‘Five minutes or less.’

  ‘Hooray! See you soon!’

  An open parking space waits for me about a block away. I lock up the truck and start my trek. Spring’s finally arriving. A light breeze carries the scent of the ocean and the sun’s rays fall warm on my skin. Maybe this year I’ll finally get off my ass and try surfing with the guys from the station. It’s been years since I’ve been out on the waves.

  I’m reaching for the café’s door handle when a pair of red shoes step into range of my lowered gaze. A warm hand brushes mine and there’s a mumbled apology as we both jerk back. The skin of my hand tingles and a sense of foreboding hits. I raise my eyes.

  Familiar brown eyes hold mine.

  ‘Really?’ Maya complains at the same moment I mutter, ‘Dammit.’

  We stay there, frozen at the door, eyeing each other. There’s no reason to ask why we’re both here. This has all the earmarks of my sister’s plotting. Maya crosses her arms over her chest and shifts her weight back.

  The move pushes out her breasts. I should try to help it, but I know her body now. My eyes drift from her chest to the tantalising curve of her hips, mostly hidden by the cut of her bright sundress. Her long legs stretch for miles, enhanced by her high heels.

  My mouth goes dry from the memory of those legs tightening around me when she screamed out my name—

  ‘You done?’ Her tone is caustic, but some sick part of me likes it. Likes knowing I got under her skin.

  Too bad for her righteous indignation that she’s staring at my dick when she says it.

  I manage a smirk, hoping it hides my awkwardness. ‘I am if you are.’

  She flicks her eyes up. ‘Are you going to be like this the entire meal? Because if you are, I think I may just take off now.’ She turns.

  ‘Hey.’ I reach out, snagging hold of her wrist. She spins back and I’m not sure who’s more surprised by my move. ‘I’m not trying to piss you off, okay?’

  She doesn’t struggle. Doesn’t even move. Holding her seems wrong, so I drop my hand and stuff it in my pocket.

  I take a breath and say, ‘Look, I get that this sucks, but we can make it work. I want to make it work.’

  Her stance relaxes a bit and she throws a quick look at the door, as if she’s worried Cat will jump out from behind the door and discover us. ‘I guess so. I mean, we can’t disappoint her.’

  I nod. ‘Truce?’

  She tosses her head as she inspects me for deception. Her thick, tightly-curled hair bounces from the movement and the sunlight glitters over the rich chocolate strands. I guess whatever she sees meets her standards because she finally nods and agrees, ‘Truce.’

  I pull open the door and let her lead the way inside, focusing on anything but the sway of her hips. It’s one meal. If I’ve survived the last eight years by controlling myself, I can survive this too.

  ***

  Doctor Blathe’s words haunt me while I step into the café. It’s okay to feel uncomfortable around people like Jake, who prefer an ordered existence, but avoiding them too often will negatively impact the life you’ve chosen to lead. There has to be a balance, Maya.

  I blow out the air that wants to stay trapped in my lungs. I thought about telling her I chose to become an actress because the bohemian life I’ll probably lead lends itself to avoidance behaviours I’ve spent most of my life using. That would have led to a much longer session though. An awkward session that would make me feel even more off-kilter than I do now.

  Like the sight of Jake standing there in worn jeans and a tightly fitting shirt with his station’s logo didn’t already do that.

  Until his fingers had wrapped around my wrist, I’d been able to keep up the charade that he was nothing more than a big mistake. But that simple touch sent my mind back to my bed and I couldn’t do anything. No freaking self-preservation instincts at all.

  He’s a few steps behind me and I can feel his eyes on me. I should get pissed at that, should tell him to stop checking out my ass, which I’m sure he’s doing. The problem is I like it. I actually like having him react to me …

  Catherine’s high pitched squeal of delight distracts me from the traitorous thoughts my overactive libido is trying to discuss with what little part of my rational brain is left. She’s waving wildly and I’m not the only person in the café who’s grinning at her.

  The sight of the tiny, willowy blond next to a heavily tatted man who has lightly wrapped an arm around her shoulders to keep her from bounding out of the booth is something I’m used to. Wherever Catherine goeth, Dallas Miller is not far behind.

  I’m actually fond of Dallas, which is funny considering he’s Jake’s best friend. I’m not sure how those two men don’t get into fights all the time. Their personalities are exact opposites. Where Jake’s controlled and boring, Dallas is relaxed and funny. The only thing that seems to really connect them now, after the death Mr and Mrs Jacobs, is Catherine. Jake’s main goal in life is to protect her and Dallas must be in agreement with him.

  ‘It’s about time you got here,’ Catherine says as Jake and I sit on the opposite side of the table. ‘We were about to order you something disgusting.’

  Dallas snorts and Catherine turns on him, her nose scrunching as she attempts to stare him down. She can only hold the glare for a few seconds before she cracks a smile. Dallas shakes his head. ‘Good try, brown eyes. Almost got to ten seconds that time.’

  She sticks her tongue out at him. He responds by flicking some of his water at her.

  Trapped on the inside of the booth’s bench, I cast a sideways glance at Jake, wondering if he’s noticing their interactions. Freshmen year Catherine told me how she had the hots for Dallas, but he’s never seemed to reciprocate her affection. I mean, he flirts, but that’s nothing new.

  Dallas is better than Belgian chocolate. A woman gets one tiny taste of him and she’s ruined for life. He’s gone through plenty of women, none for any real length of time. Catherine knows this, but she still can’t resist him. She’s got plans for some kind of happily ever after with him, plans I can’t even begin to comprehend. I mean, who wants to be in a committed relationship at our age? We’re about to graduate from college. The best is yet to come. Besides, commitment is nothing more than a slow death. Mom and Dad’s marriage proved that.

  Despite all of those truths, Catherine’s mind is made up. She’s working all her charms on Dallas and seeing them in person right now, I wonder if it’s starting to work. There’s definite heat between them, something I can’t quite put my finger on but can sense in the air. Someday, all that smouldering tension will catch and the fireworks will go up brighter than the Fourth of July.

  And judging by Jake’s focus on the menu, he will never even notice.

  ‘Well, tin man,’ I joke while snagging one edge of the menu from his hand. I peer over his shoulder at the selection. ‘What are you having?’

  ‘Tin man?’ Jake frowns at me and tugs on the menu. My grip tightens.

  His frown deepens to a scowl and he leans in toward me to growl, ‘Look at your own menu.’

  ‘There wasn’t one here,’ I argue.

  I don’t realise how close our faces have come until I see the flecks of gold and near-black in his eyes. Dark blond stubble shadows his chin and cheeks, the first sign he’s off-shift. And even twisted in frustration, his lips are to-die-for …

  ‘Jake …’

  The soft whisper of his name falling from my lips shocks us both. His fingers curl tighter against the menu and his jaw clenches. Despite all the earlier protestations and promises to myself, there is nothing I want to do more in this moment than close the distance between us …

  No, no, no! We are not going down this path again!

  I clear my throat. ‘Jake,’ I repeat, steadier this time. ‘Share your damn menu.’

  ‘No,’ he replies curtly, snapping it from my grasp.

  He misses my glare thanks to his intent focus on the staples in the ce
ntre fold. Catherine, cued by our sharp tones, looks away from Dallas, sighs, and hands over hers. I accept it, one look confirming what I want. Catherine, Dallas, and I chat for a few moments until the server arrives. She takes our orders with warm efficiency. Catherine’s having French toast, Dallas an omelette, and me a pancake breakfast platter. Jake is … well, Jake.

  ‘Two egg whites, scrambled. Whole wheat toast, the fruit cup, and some orange juice, please,’ he requests, handing his menu over.

  I make a face and Catherine laughs.

  ‘What?’

  Jake’s leaning back in the booth, watching me with irritation.

  ‘The whole point of going out for breakfast is to splurge,’ I inform him, taking a sip of my water.

  ‘I am splurging. I never take the time at home to make just egg whites.’

  ‘Oh, my God, you are the most boring man alive.’

  The hurt flashing through his eyes is only there for a second before he covers it up, but that second was long enough for me to see it. I almost wish I hadn’t let the insult fly.

  Then he says, ‘Too bad impulsive splurges sometimes lead to awkward mornings.’

  I gape at him. He did not just say that in front of Catherine.

  She pounces on it. ‘Awkward mornings? What’s that supposed to mean?’

  Jake ignores my horror and lifts his glass. ‘Remember how I went to Travis’s party the other night?’

  Dallas nods. Catherine is still too busy watching me for any sign of explanation.

  ‘Well, we were sitting there, having a good time, and there was a party going on. Some kind of celebration thing.’ He takes a sip of water. ‘And guess who’s sitting there on a bar stool?’

  ‘You?’ Catherine asks, eyes widening as she looks at me.

  I groan and try to jump into the story, cutting off Jake before he really screws us over. ‘It wasn’t a big deal—’

  ‘That asshole who bumped into me thought it was,’ Jake says, cutting me off. ‘What was his name again? Richard?’

  ‘Richard?’ I squeak.

  ‘Isn’t that the name of the guy you started making out with? I should have asked.’ Jake shakes his head and frowns. ‘But I guess there wasn’t really any chance. Kind of hard to have a conversation when your tongue is down someone’s throat.’