Beyond The Cage (9 page)

My imagination takes over. I’m lying in bed, peering up at him as he grabs my ankles and drags me toward him. I reach for my breast, teasing my nipple, fantasizing it’s his tongue and not my fingers. In my fantasy, his lips move farther down. In reality, my hand follows the trail of his lips. His finger is caressing my clit, and I’m quivering beneath him. The moment he slips his finger inside me, I do the same. I let out a whimper as our fingers move in unison. My mind switches gears and then he’s fucking me from the back – hard, just the way I like it. I circle my clit, keeping pace with his strokes. Water splashes on the floor, but I don’t care. When he smacks my ass, it pushes me to the brink. I grab the edge of the tub, biting my lip to stifle my scream.

Shit!
Snapping my eyes open, I stare at the ceiling.
Ugh
! Holding my breath, I close my eyes and sink down into the tub, allowing the water to cover my face.
Get him out of your head!
I stay under until I feel like my lungs are going to explode, then bolt upright, gasping for air. This isn’t working. I unplug the tub and turn on the shower.

When I get out, I clean up the spilled water and blow-dry my hair. Then, I pull on some boy shorts and a tank top, deciding to try out my new lotion. It’s actually pretty good. Looking around the room, I attempt to find something else to do. My eyes catch the red, glow-in-the-dark nail polish I’d bought but never used, and I decide to paint my toenails. Afterward, I pour myself a glass of wine, grab a cookie, then pack the rest in a container to take with me back to Little Sisters.

I need some fresh air. The apartment smells like cookies, candles, and lotion, so I head out onto the balcony, leaving the sliding doors open to let the fresh air in. We have a small table and two chairs set up out here where Chels and I sit, sip wine, and people-watch. There’s never much to see, though, because our grand balcony overlooks the parking lot. I plop down in one of the chairs and put my feet up on the railing, wiggling my now-glowing toes. Sipping my wine, I gaze up at the stars.

That’s when I hear it – the motorcycle.
His
motorcycle.
It can’t be! I must be hearing things.
I take my feet down and look over the railing, down into the parking lot.

Oh, my God! It
is
him.

He’s here.

It’s not whether you get knocked down, it’s whether you get up. – Vince Lombardi

I take deep, steadying breaths before stepping back inside.
What am I going to say to him? Will he say anything? What will he do?
I don’t have time to think because he’s already at the door. Carefully, I open it and stare up at him, controlling the impulse to throw myself in his arms. His black T-shirt hugs his muscles, and basketball shorts hang off his hips, making my mouth suddenly dry. His eyes travel down my body eagerly before he meets my gaze. Although it sends a shiver down my spine, I cross my arms on my chest and wait for him to do, or hopefully say, something. We stand there for what seems like ages before I accept that it’s not going to happen. I should have known.

All the anger I should have felt these past weeks comes creeping up on me. I turn and stomp away, leaving the door open. Grabbing my books from my desk, I settle into bed. I hear the door close and the lock turn. He came in. I open my notebook and start making notes. About what? Hell if I know. I sense him at my bedroom door but don’t look up. He walks in and moves across to my desk, pulling out the chair. I glance at him and he gives me a rueful smile.
It’s not going to be that easy, pal.
I turn back to my notes.

I can’t believe him! He walks in here after almost a month, no apology, no nothing, and what? He thinks we’re going to pick up where we left off? He’s got some nerve! Then he just sits there and stares at me like some sad puppy. I realize how furiously my hand is moving and stop to read through my ‘notes’. All I’ve written is everything I’ve been thinking for the last five minutes. I close the books and drop them on the desk on my way to the bathroom to brush my teeth. I should just kick him out, send him back wherever the hell he came from. When I pass by him again, he’s on his phone.
What? Message from one of your groupies?
I climb into bed and grab my phone to set my alarm. A message comes in, and I look over at him suspiciously.
Tell me you didn’t just send me a text when we’re in the same room?
Sure enough, it’s from him.

Cameron: I’m sorry.

I return the phone to its place on my nightstand and curl up under the covers.
Sorry? That’s it?
A totally different emotion washes over me. My throat constricts and my eyes burn from the tears forming there. I turn my back to him so he can’t see, trying my damnedest to fight them back, but they won’t stop. A sniffle finally gives me away. When I open my eyes, he’s crouching by the bed. A sob escapes as I turn my back to him again. I stop fighting it and allow the sobs to rack my body. He places his hand on my arm, but I pull away. Throwing the covers off, he slides his hands under me and picks me up, cradling me on his lap. I cry into his shoulder, letting him know just how much he hurt me.

“You left. Y-you just l-left!” I stammer through my tears.

Gently, he rocks me and strokes my hair. He shifts his position, lying on the bed and settling my head into the crook of his arm. His other arm curls around my waist, and he pulls me against him. There, lying in his arms, I shed my tears until I fall asleep.

My alarm jerks me awake. He’s still here.
How the fuck did I get on top of him?
I sit up and flatten my palms on his chest. His erection is currently trying to poke a hole through the crotch of my panties. Sweet Jesus! I scramble off him and silence the alarm. My exam is in two hours; I can’t deal with him right now. I leave him in bed and head to the bathroom. While I’m brushing my teeth, I think about what to do with him. I
did
say I was going to give him time to work out his issues; it just took longer than I expected. What if he hasn’t? He hasn’t said why he’s here, just that he’s sorry. I open my cabinet, searching for the extra toothbrush I know I have in there. Guess I’ll return the favor.

I find him sitting at the foot of the bed. As I pass by on my way to the kitchen, I place the toothbrush next to him. I usually drink coffee, but I think I need some tea to calm my mind. Chelsea is a big tea drinker and has all different kinds. After putting the kettle on, I rifle through her stash. Peppermint…that should do. He walks up as I’m adding sugar to my tea, and I raise the cup with a questioning look. He shakes his head.
Fine
. I take my seat around the island and he sits across from me. I sip the hot liquid slowly, desperately trying to calm my nerves. It’s hard when he’s just sitting there staring at me. I finally give up and jump out of my seat. He rises, too, blocking my path. I step to the left, so does he. I try going right, so does he, giving me a ‘you can’t avoid me forever’ look.

“I can’t do this with you right now. I have to go.”

Reaching up, he brushes my hair out of my face, and his fingers briefly touch my cheek. The contact sends a chill up my spine – the good kind.

“You can meet me back here around eight and you can say, or not say, whatever you need to then.”

He nods, kisses my forehead, and leaves. I watch as he walks through the door, praying he shows up tonight.

***

I take a deep breath as I walk out of the building. Four years of hard work just came to an end. Well, an end for this part of the journey. Med school, here I come! I need to call Chels. I fish my phone out of my purse and see I already have a message from her.

Chelsea: Done yet?!

Jasmine: Yup! Just got out. Time to partaaay! Lol.

Chelsea: Seems like you’re in a better mood?

Jasmine: I guess… Guess who showed up at our door last night.

Chelsea: He didn’t??!

Jasmine: He did. Even stayed the night.

Chelsea: What did you do? Did he say anything?

Jasmine: Nothing happened. We slept. Can you believe dude sent me a text sitting 3 feet away? 2 words – I’m sorry.

Chelsea: Asshat. That’s it? He’s gotta work harder than that!

Jasmine: IKR? I’m meeting him later to see what he has to “say”.

Chelsea: Ok… Call me later.

Jasmine: K.

“Jasmine?”

I turn to the voice and see a cutie from my Physiology class heading my way. He’s the picture of an all-American jock, with blond hair and blue eyes to boot.

“Hi, Damon,” I greet him with a smile.

“Hi. So…last one, huh?”

“Yeah. Glad that’s over.”

“Listen…” He trails off awkwardly.

Uh-oh…here it comes
. He’s been trying to ask me out for months.

“A bunch of us are going to Rebel tonight to celebrate. You and your friend should come.”

“Thanks, but Chels is out of town and I have other plans. Maybe another time?”

His shoulders droop in disappointment. “Sure, no prob. See you around.”

He gives me a weak smile and walks away. As I head to my car, I can’t help but wonder why I don’t just kick Cameron to the curb and find a nice guy like Damon.
Because I don’t want ‘nice’, do I? I want hot, sexy, irresistible, gives-me-chills, awesome in bed, strange, mysterious, dangerous, won’t-talk-to-save-his-life, all around fucked-up. Maybe I’m the fucked-up one.

Shit. I need to get my fucked-up self to work.

After work, I stop by the apartment to pick up the cookies before heading down to Little Sisters. The moment I walk in, I’m reminded of why I come here. My mood is instantly improved when I’m met with bright smiles and cheerful greetings.

“Look what I’ve got,” I say in a sing-song voice, jiggling the container with the cookies.

“Walk this way first, sugar.”

“Don’t be greedy, John.” I give him a sideways glance.

“Yeah, plus everyone knows
I’m
her favorite,” Bernie says.

“You’re
all
my favorites.”

Walking around, I pass out cookies and napkins, making small talk.

“Jazzie, where’s that handsome fella of yours?” Delilah asks.

Is he my fella?
“Off doing whatever it is he does, I guess.”

“When are you gonna bring him by again?” Stella asks excitedly.

“Calm down. Your heart can’t take all the excitement.”

Stella motions to the men on the other side of the room. “Look around, honey. He’s about all the excitement we’re gonna get.”

“When’s he going to marry you?”

I turn to Grace, unable to hide my shock. Okay…that caught me off guard. The other ladies nod and watch me with hopeful expressions.

“It’s way too early to be talking about marriage. I barely know him.”

“My Henry and I, God rest his soul, married after two months. We had fifty-eight wonderful years.”

“Yeah, well, at least Henry spoke, Delilah.”

“Yeah, what’s the deal with that?” she asks.

“I wish I knew.”

“Don’t worry about it. You’re a good girl. It’ll all work out. Especially if you make him these cookies.”

I smile as everyone nods in agreement. “Thanks, guys.”

I’m in higher spirits by the time I arrive home. I’m also in a much better frame of mind to deal with Mr. Jackson. I head straight for the shower because he should be here any minute. Hopefully.

When I step out of the shower, there’s a knock at the door.
Is he early?
I wrap my towel around me and make my way to the door.

“Who is it?”

No answer. Just another knock. I roll my eyes.
This dude
…

I crack the door open and peek through the space. My mouth falls open in shock. Oh, he’s standing there, all right. Dressed in a suit....a frickin’ suit! It’s simple – black suit, white shirt, black tie but…dear God, he looks like strawberries dipped in chocolate and covered in whipped cream. The thing fits him like a fucking latex glove. The last button on his jacket is undone and one hand is shoved in his pocket. In the other hand, he’s clutching roses…red roses…a whole lot of red roses. He’s flashing his sexy smile and, as usual, I want to throw myself at him. I don’t know how I’m doing it, but I restrain myself. I open the door all the way in order to improve my view. His smile fades and his eyes become cloudy, the ‘sell my soul’ look taking over. It shakes me to the core, and I want to beg him to pull me into his arms.
Shake it off, Carter!

“You look…”
gorgeous, beautiful, fucking hot!
“nice. Where are you off to?” God, he smells good! He hands me the roses, still staring. “Thank you. Are you going to come in?”

He steps inside and closes the door, finally looking me in the eyes.
Did he get all dressed up for me? Let’s see.

“I didn’t know you had plans. I would have –”

Shaking his head, he cuts me off, pointing to himself then to me.

“You and me?”

Nod.

“Where are we going?”

He just smiles. Nothing else. I take a deep breath.

“Fine. You put these in water while I get dressed.” I hand him the roses. “There’s a vase in the cupboard under the sink.”

I start thinking about what I’m going to wear as I walk to my bedroom. By the time I get to the closet, I’ve decided on my white, spaghetti strap cocktail dress with the gold-embellished empire waist. I place it on the bed and also reach for my strappy gold heels and clutch. I find underwear then head to the bathroom to fix my hair and makeup. I’m actually excited. This is our first
real
date. When I’m done with my makeup, I put my hair half-up, half-down, fastening it with a gold clip. I twirl my finger in the strands at the side of my face, giving them a little curl. Perfect. Now to get dressed.

I return to the living room to find him sitting on the couch. Looking over as I enter, he jumps out of his seat, mouth open in awe. I can see it in his stare that he approves, but it would be nice to hear it for once.

“This is the part where you tell me how beautiful I look.”

Something flashes in his eyes that looks like disappointment – not in me, but in himself. I give him an encouraging smile even though my brain is telling me I shouldn’t feel sorry for him. He raises his hand to my cheek, and I close my eyes as he strokes it with the backs of his fingers. I breathe him in slowly. He smells amazing – woodsy, like freshly cut cedar. I force my eyes open, trying to clear the fog in my brain.

“This should be an interesting night. Let’s go, Mr. Jackson.”

When I lock the door behind us, he bends his elbow and offers me his arm. Again, I smile despite myself. I wrap my hand around the crook of his arm and we walk along like a Victorian couple.

During the drive to wherever it is we’re going, I indulge myself and glance over at him every couple of minutes. He’s just so goddamned gorgeous! I can’t even stay mad at him. I know he’s noticed; he smiles every time I do it.

“So…what have you been up to?” I break the silence.

Translation – ‘who have you been fucking?’

He shrugs.

“Training?”

Nod.