Rocked by Him (14 page)

But he teased me, his lips smiling against the soft skin of my throat even as his circling fingertip moved with maddening slowness.

I slid my own finger down between my lips, my eyes scrunching at the heat I found there.

I didn't deny myself. My finger slipped inside, hugged all around by my trembling walls. My other hand shot out against the tiles, trying to find something to hold onto.

"Oh!" I
said, my finger moving faster, stroking against the front wall of my sex even as I imagined Drake doing the same.

The hiss and splash of the shower became distant, the coolness of the shower wall against my back a faraway feeling. Even with my eyes closed, I could see Drake's face as he urged me closer and closer.

My climax came hard and fast, my walls closing in around my finger even as my whole body went rigid, overloaded with pleasure.

I imagined Drake's teeth pressing gently against my throat, his fingers moving insistently, guiding my orgasm deeper, urging every last ounce of
bliss out of my arching body.

When it ended, I sank panting to the slick porcelain floor of my tub, hot water raining down on me. A shuddering spell took me, and it took a long time for me to catch my breath.

A warm, diffuse feeling filled me. My skin flushed with heat.

Finally, I did manage to get myself clean, and my knees barely trembled after I turned off the water and stepped out. I was happy that my mirror was still fogged up so that I wouldn't have to meet my reflection's gaze. Though, as I
toweled off, I imagine that even she, my harshest critic, would be feeling pretty satisfied at that moment.

Back in my bedroom, I pulled on my favorite pair of dark-washed blue jeans from Old Navy and a plain white tee that complemented them nicely. It was kind of strange to be dressed so casually in the middle of a business day, but I stopped that train of that there. I had a towel wrapped around my hair like a tall, fluffy turban, intending to get to blow-drying and styling later.

Any further, and I knew I'd break down again as I thought about being jobless.

I even flung my curtains open and let the sun shine in. It seemed so happy and bright, so warm and optimistic. A smile touched my lips when I looked down at the traffic, that some sunshine glinted from the windshields of the taxis, trucks, and cars wandering past.

Breakfast consisted of some orange pekoe tea and a slice of dry toast. I didn't want to risk upsetting my stomach any more. And I ate quickly, wanting to get on to the next task quickly.

I found my cell in my purse, went to the living room, sat on the couch and found Drake under the contacts. Here, I met some resistance.
Call or text? Texting would be easier, I thought. More casual. I just needed to make sure everything was still okay between us.

In my text history I saw all the stuff from
yesterday and the embers of my anger glowed briefly before I suffocated them. No, none of my situation was Drake's fault. I couldn't blame him for that any more. Not if I wanted to be with him.

So I composed what I hoped was a casual message congratulating him on his show yesterday and thanking him for making certain I got home safe. After a second, I added what I hoped would be a mysterious seeming winking face and then hit send, my heart instantly beating faster.

Something chirped in my bedroom.

"What the hell?" I said, getting up from the couch.

I peeked around the doorframe. There was my bed, the covers awry. The sun still shone in, the light catching all the dust in the air. But no sign of what made the noise. The window was shut, so it couldn't have been one of those evil, red-eyed pigeons popping in to see if I had left anything to eat.

I turned around, ready to go back to the couch to await Drake's reply, when something chirped behind me.

The noise made me jump even as I spun around to discover the source. It came from my pile of clothes that I'd dumped in here after getting out of the shower. I went down to my knees and sifted through it, coming to my wrinkled jacket.

Picking it up, I looked at it. Aside from the wrinkles, I saw the bulge. Reaching into the inner pocket, my fingertips met a cool, hard case.

I pulled it out. Drake's phone! It came back to me then, getting his phone, putting it there. In all the excitement, I'd forgotten to give it back!

"Damn it, Jennifer!" I said, holding his phone in one hand and mine in the other.

This was a really smooth move, stealing his phone. I looked at it, then. It was the latest generation iPhone.

Curiosity
overcoming common sense, I hit the home button, then slid my finger across the screen. He didn't keep it locked!

As though it had a mind of its own, my thumb tapped the green text icon, bringing up my latest message. It also had all my angry ones from before. I went and sat on my bed, wondering what to do.

I'd already gone this far, hadn't I?

So I hit the little edit button and deleted all my earlier ones. I even deleted my latest one, realizing that by opening it myself he wouldn't see any new messages from me.

In my rush to go bring him back his phone, I almost forgot about my hair. It was a botched job in the bathroom, my quickly blow-drying it while pulling at the knots with a brush. It came out all poofy and wavy, like I was an '80s Madonna. My reflection raised her eyebrow at me.

"Oh, keep it to yourself," I said.

Not wanting to wait, I took the stairs down to Drake's floor. Then I stood in front of his apartment, somehow out of breath and nervous. I pushed back against the hair trying to spill down my face, then knocked.

At first, I worried that he may have already gone out. I worried that maybe he'd discovered his phone missing and had contacted Club 54 to ask if they had it. Lawrence would probably tell Drake that I had his phone.

I lifted my fist to knock again when the door opened.

Drake stood there shirtless, wearing a pair of jeans. As usual, his hair and stubble looked perfect. If he'd gotten drunk last night, he definitely didn't look
hung-over this morning. He wore a small silver crucifix around his neck, the bit of precious metal resting against his smooth chest.

I couldn't stop my eyes from straying down his body. Nice abs, I thought.

I half-expected to see tattoos of skulls or something all over his body. But, as near as I could tell, he had no ink at all. Just smooth, perfect, skin. I bet he felt warm and nice...

I shook my head, trying to get out of that daze.

He smiled at me, then rested one arm against the doorframe.

Again, impure thoughts entered my mind. I thought about what happened in the shower, and I found I couldn't look him in the eye anymore, as though he'd be able to see my little fantasy about him drawn plainly on my face.

"Hey there. You doing okay?" Drake said.

"Fine, just fine.
Thanks."

In the meantime, all I could think about was getting out of there. I just wanted to
hand him his phone and retreat back to my apartment.

I shoved my hand into my pocket and pulled his phone out. I offered it to him.

"That big bouncer gave me this. I forgot to give it back to you last night..." Last night, when I'd pretty much begged him to sleep with me and he'd refused.

The
embarrassment burning my cheeks got hotter.

"Thanks..." Drake said, taking his phone.

I turned to leave. "Okay, see you later. Bye!"

He caught me by the arm, his fingers gentle. I squeezed my eyes shut. Don't think about his damn fingers!

"Don't go yet, Jenn. I really want to thank you for helping out yesterday with... you know. It was big, really big."

"It was nothing, really. Look, I really need to go do... something.
Maybe some other time?" I said, trying to free myself from his grip while still not facing him. My face felt so hot it was a wonder the hallway wasn't bathed in red light. And his touch! I really didn't need him touching me right then. It did things. Made me think about things and want things one shouldn't think about and want in the hallway of an apartment building.

"Come in. I have coffee. And also the best cure to a hangover ever.
Really. You won't regret it."

I knew that I probably could, and would. But that didn't stop me from accepting. He waved me into the front hallway of his place. It looked like the same layout as mine, with the bedroom ahead and the kitchen and living room off to the left. He had the hall light on with the kitchen lights off, sunlight coming in through the windows.

I followed him into the kitchen, watching the muscles move in his back and wishing he would put a shirt on. Traveling in his wake, his cologne eddied past me.

"Coffee, see?" he said, indicating a pot of it on the counter before flicking on the lights. The coffee did smell good and fresh.

Plain magnets on his fridge held various flyers and posters for rock shows that happened all the across the city for various bands. Drake leaned back against the counter, the movement tightening and emphasizing his abs. I quickly turned my attention to a poster of a band called The Flying Heads which had apparently played a show in the park a couple months ago.

"About yesterday..." Drake began.

"Don't worry about it, really. I'm just glad I could help," I said, not really wanting any more of yesterday's memories tickling my fancy, "What's this about a hangover cure you told me about, anyway?"

"Ah, yeah.
I was kind of hoping you would cook me up some eggs. Maybe some bacon?" Drake said. He glanced over at his stove as though to say, "There it is."

It shocked me so much my mouth couldn't even drop open. Only my eyes expressed my true feelings. It felt like I couldn't open them any wider. An indignant rage for women everywhere began roiling in my stomach.

And still that smile tugged at one corner of his mouth.

"Oh, man. You believed me, didn't you?" Drake said. He then laughed so hard he had to lean forward and support himself with his hands on his thighs. His skin flushed as his amusement grabbed hold.

"You... You were joking?" I said, fighting the urge to put my hands on my hips.

"No. Get over there and cook me breakfast," Drake said, unable to keep himself
from laughing.

"You ass!"
I said, ready to leave.

He saw my intention and reached out, lightly grabbing my wrist as I turned around.

"No, really. Greasy foods are the best. And you haven't tried bacon until you've had mine. Stay, please. Don't go. I won't tease you anymore. I promise."

I relented, and he showed me to the small, oval breakfast table in one corner of his kitchen. It was a bit of an oddity, looking like it would be better suited in the breakfast nook of a middle-aged woman
’s house than in a guy whose rock band was verging on greatness.

Drake opened a drawer beside the fridge and pulled out a long white apron, which he put on and then tied at the back, leaving his arms and shoulders bare. I kept sneaking pe
eks at his body from the corner of my eye, watching his lithe arms maneuver the frying pan while he put strips of bacon into it.

Soon, the bacon started crackling and my mouth watered.

"That table's my mom's. She gave it to me when I first came here. Said I needed some good furniture to start me off," Drake said, using a fork to flip the bacon.

"Ah. That explains it. Do you justify this table to every girl you make bacon for?" I said.

Said bacon hissed and spat. Drake just snorted and shook his head.

Had I really just brought up all the girls he got together with here? Had he sat them at this table, in this seat?

Had he made bacon for them? I wanted to stand up, away from it. But they'd probably been all over the place, hadn't they, those girls? I tried to remind myself to not be jealous. He wasn't even my boyfriend! Why was I acting like a jealous freshman?

Not long after, Drake set a plate with four juicy, tender-looking strips of bacon in front of me and all thoughts of abandoning the table fled my mind, replaced by the desire to gobble down all the food.

I was two strips in when I saw Drake watching me. He had yet to touch his bacon, and he still wore that spotless white apron.

"What?" I said, feeling a self-conscious heat rise up into my cheeks. I swallowed.

"About yesterday..."

"Forget about it."

"No. I can't. I won't. Not a lot of people have helped me. I had to make myself what I am now. This table? My mom gave it to me, then never helped me again. Not even when I was two months late on the rent and about to get evicted...

"So I've had to rely on myself, mostly. It really did mean a lot to me. If you hadn't been there, I don't think there would have been a show. I guess what I'm trying to get at here is: thank you."

Drake held my eyes for a few moments, waiting to see if I got the message, before finally picking up a strip of his own bacon and shoving it into his mouth.

I pinched my final strip of bacon between thumb and index finger, looking at the greasy meat on the plate.
The show? He wanted to thank me for getting him to perform? Nothing about our little dalliance on the dressing room couch, then. Was it nothing to him? Because it wasn't nothing to me.