Just behind him, several yards away, Gloria is practically on her tipt
oes, trying to peek past him to see what we’re about.
As if reading Gloria’s thoughts, or mine, Jake glances over his shoulder and then back at me. “Would you… like me to take you home? We can leave out the back so no one can see us. I’m not parked far.”
I want to laugh. People have already “seen us.” But it’s a sweet thought. I did drive my own car but… “Sure,” my mouth says before I can get ahead of it. “That would be good.”
When he smiles, I almost want to kiss him, and that’s the most ridiculous thought I’ve had in recent memory. So I take my hand off his arm, out from under his hand, and go to retrieve my purse instead. I’m not kissing Jake Ferry. Not yet, anyway.
I probably look as nervous as I feel on the way back to my place. Every time I try to start up a conversation, the words get stuck in my throat. Maybe I just don’t want to pop whatever illusory bubble I’m actually in right now. Maybe I’m worried I’ll say the wrong thing. This isn’t one of my talents—making nice with someone I very recently would have had killed if I thought I could get away with it.
I probably could have gotten a two-for-one deal on him and Gloria both.
So instead I drum my fingers on my knee and stare out the passenger-side window. We slow down at one point, well before we get to my building, and I realize that Jake is pulling up to a drive-through juice bar.
“I know just the thing,” he says. “This place makes a great herbal bubble tea for stress and anxiety. They’ve been here for a few years. Nothing gross, either—you’ll like it.”
“Oh, okay,” I say, like an idiot. “Um… thanks.”
A few minutes later he hands me a drink, and I give it a taste test. Herbal hoodoo isn’t really my bag. Western medicine for me, thanks—I’ve seen Mama go through everything from Reiki to acupuncture to six-hour chakra realignment workshops, and that’s not even including the laundry list of “miraculous” herbal supplements she’s tried.
I don’t know if this herbal thing is going to do anything for my nerves or not, but it’s delicious and that right there is medication enough for me. “Thank you,” I tell Jake. “It’s really good.”
“Glad you like it.”
All the way home I expect that any moment he’s going to make a move. And, honestly, if he did this would be his lucky night. Who knows why, other than the fact that it’s been ages since I got any, but I’m primed for it at this very moment.
He doesn’t, though. Jake Ferry is, mysteriously, a perfect gentleman all the way home, even up to the point where he walks me to my door. I work the key into the lock while he keeps a lookout for any danger, I guess, and when I’ve got it, push it open a bit and then turn to lean on it and watch him. I will him to make some kind of a move because I am not going to be the one that goes crawling after him like some puppy.
“I hope you feel better,” he says, instead of taking me upstairs. In fact, he takes a step down, and looks up at me with those smoldering eyes. They stay on mine, which, in this dress, has to be an act of will worthy of Viking ballads. “Have a good night, Janie.”
“Yeah,” I say, numb with need, taking in his cheekbones, his square jaw, his ruffled hair. His broad shoulders. “You too.”
A last smile, and then he’s gone, and I’m rushing inside to get ahold of myself.
I’m in the elevator, totally alone—except for whoever eventually watches the security tapes—before I sag against the wall and let my breath catch up to my racing heart. Heat surges between my legs, and I’m swirling away in thoughts of Jake Ferry, of his large, warm hands, his soft-looking mouth and… whatever else he’s got to work with.
By the time I get to my floor, I’m ready to ooze out of the elevator and leave a trail all the way to my apartment door. I rush to get into my place, shaking slightly until I can finally unzip my dress and recline on my couch, my fingers quickly working to get Jake out of my mind—or deeper into it, depending on your point of view, I suppose.
Flicking and stroking myself, I imagine those eyes looking up at me from my wet pussy as he laps at me, his tongue teasing me, and I can already feel the growing heat and tension beginning to build and—
As if he can hear me thinking dirty thoughts about him, my phone chimes loudly from inside my bra and I jerk my hand away from my sex like I’ve been caught by my grandma. It’s Jake. How did he even get my number? Never mind. There’s probably some billionaire boys’ club you just dial up like 411.
“You getting some rest?” he asks.
I roll my eyes. “Something like that. Trying to relax. Unwind.”
“Good. Sorry. Just thinking about you.”
Just thinking about me? I half wonder if he’s jerking off in his car the same way I was about to rub one out. “Don’t think too hard,” I text him. “Dangerous to drive one-handed.”
Once I hit send, only then do I realize what I’ve just done. It’s a long time before he texts me back.
“Fine now, both hands on the wheel.”
I get the image of Jake in my mind, stroking himself while he imagines me in the passenger seat, rubbing my clit for him. The image comes unbidden, out of nowhere, and with it comes a pile of misgivings. Do I really want to get sucked in by Jake Ferry? Everything he does comes with strings attached—Reginald Ferry’s strings, whether Jake means it or not.
No… it’s better if I don’t. So, I won’t. I turn my ringer off, and put my phone on the table facedown.