Authors: Liz Crowe
The next night he'd asked her to go with him to his band's gig, out in the Detroit suburbs. They'd taken his old SUV, which smelled even more strongly of bleach. "What the hell, Craig, are you a clean freak or what," she'd insisted. He gave her an odd look.
"What, why," he asked as he steered his car into the bar's parking lot.
"Everything about you smells like bleach," she said. "And this car, it's like a swimming pool in here."
"That's because I swim every single day," he'd pulled his guitar case out of the back and opened the door for her to enter ahead of him. "How do you think I keep my boyish figure," he'd whispered in her ear, making her shiver.
She wanted him to kiss her again, like he had in her condo the weekend she was attacked, but he kept his distance, treating her like a buddy. Sara didn't know if she felt relieved or annoyed by it. It was hard enough ignoring Jack's constant stream of texts, calls and emails. She needed Craig to step up and be a real distraction. But he didn't oblige.
Three exhausting sets later, exhilarated and a little drunk from watching Craig perform, Sara waited while they broke down their equipment. The band "JakeLeg" did nineteen nineties and current rock covers. Everything from the Foo Fighters to White Stripes but also managed to sneak in a few original tunes. Singing duties alternated between Craig and his drummer. Sara couldn't remember a time she'd had more fun dancing to live music. The sight of the young man caressing the mike with his lips, his eyes squeezed shut as he riffed made her more than a little damp between the legs. She could see how women feel in love -- or at least mad lust -- with rock stars.
It was nearly two a.m. when they wrapped up, Craig's black t-shirt soaking wet and every female in the bar salivating and hanging around hoping to buy him a drink. Sara admired his denim-clad ass for the millionth time. She was proud of herself for going the entire three-plus hours without obsessing over Jack; wondering what, or who, he was doing.
At the thought of him, his strong body, piercing blue eyes and deep voice in her ear she shuddered and squeezed her eyes shut to expel him. She opened them to find Craig pulling her to her feet.
"Hey, you still here?" He smiling and avoided the little crush of groupies that closed in on him. "Let's go, I'm starved." He propelled her ahead of him out the door.
Sara broke her hard and fast rule about eating after midnight when she smelled the amazing odors emanating from the twenty-four hour restaurant and indulged in a greasy, loaded Coney dog. At one point, as the grease dripped down her hand past her elbow, Craig reached across the table to grab her arm and pulled her fingers into his mouth. She widened her eyes at him, as the feel of his lips on her skin sent her nerve endings singing. He placed her hand on the table, face calm, and continued eating as she stared at him, not quite believing what she'd experienced.
He finished inhaling his food, wiped his mouth and moved around the booth seat so he was right next to her. She shifted, a little uneasy with the sudden close contact, keeping her eyes on her plate as he slid an arm around her shoulders., "Sorry, couldn't resist," he whispered before giving her a chaste kiss on the cheek and moving back away.
The buzz of her phone startled Sara out of her quiet shock. Jack, with his usual post-midnight text.
"You awake?"
She stared at it then raised her head to observe the blonde young man across from her, unable to process anything except her longing to have Jack's hands and lips on her. She shut the phone off resolutely, and tucked it back in her back pocket.
"Jack," Craig inquired, finishing his soda.
"Who else," Sara pushed her plate away and sighed.
"You deserve better," he said, not taking his eyes from hers, which caused her heart to beat faster.
He is truly a lovely guy, what is your problem?
"Yeah, well, you and Blake and Rob can form a club, okay," she stood, suddenly exhausted. "But leave me out of it. I'm sick of hearing about myself."
As Craig guided her out to his truck, he kept his hand in the small of her back. She turned to him before he could open her door and put her hands on his shoulders.
"I don't want you to get the wrong idea," she started but was interrupted by a sudden onset of tears. "You are an amazing guy, and I owe you a lot, but. . . " He took a step closer, and leaned into her lips, cutting her off mid thought. Her brain buzzed as she melted into his body. His lips and tongue were insistent, forceful, pressing against and into her and her tears fell between them. She broke away, embarrassed.
He put his forehead against hers and cradled her face, running his thumbs down her he cheeks. She could feel the calluses years of guitar playing had rendered on his palms and fingers.
"I'm here Sara, when you're ready," he whispered as she closed her eyes. "But not before. I have no intention of serving as a distraction, although I'm sure it would be fun." His lips touched her nose and brushed her lips as he reached behind her to open her door. She sucked in a deep breath. His chlorine scent buried under sweat and the clinging aura of the restaurant.
Sara sat staring at her computer screen, realizing she was going to be late to the monthly all-company meeting but frozen in place by her own ridiculous dilemma.
You don't have to fight for his attention or worry he's gonna bolt at the last minute and stick his tongue down some other girl's throat while you watch.
But he isn't what you want.
She looked at her clenched fingers in her lap, then sighed, grabbed her purse and phone, and ran for the car. Hampered only slightly by the white pencil skirt she'd chosen to wear, with the aqua colored linen blouse she'd worn the day of her erotic picnic with Jack at the open house.
She remembered feeling sorry in a superior way for those simpering agents and others who would so obviously yearn for Jack Gordon's wandering attentions.
Now look at you, Sara Jane, you are the worst one yet.
She'd effectively ignored him, his texts, calls and whatever else for over a week though, and felt stronger thanks to that and her sudden realization that the young blonde gorgeous man in her office had a crush on her.
So fuck you, Gordon, and your adoring posse. I'll see you one tall raven-haired groupie and raise you a smoking hot blonde with a guitar.
She smiled at herself in the rearview mirror, glanced at the text Craig had sent her saying he'd save her a seat, and zoomed across town. When she breezed into the large hotel conference room, her eyes were immediately drawn to the nearly six-foot woman with a sleek curtain of black hair in fuck-me pumps and a designer-style suit standing in the middle of the room. She was laughing, in an obvious "notice me" sort of way and had a well-manicured hand on the arm of the man in front of her.
Heather. Great.
The room filled up, everyone eager to hear more about Jack's downtown project. She grabbed coffee and a yogurt and glanced around; ignoring the woman she'd caught with Jack, trying not to see where he was at the moment when she came face to face with Blake.
"Jesus," she declared, nearly spilling her coffee. "You scared me."
He stood with his hands in his trouser pockets, his hair still wet from a shower, observing her. "What?" She demanded. "Why are you here?"
"Nice to see you too," he put an arm around her shoulders and kissed her temple. His solid, comforting presence made her smile in spite of herself. "I got a personal invite," he said as he gazed around the room. "From Jack." Sara started and stepped away from him. He shrugged. "His building is a block from our place, so I guess he thought I might want to know more." He waved at someone across the room. "I'm gonna stand at the back and take off after his little dog and pony, I'll catch you later." He gave her shoulders another squeeze and strolled away.
Sara kept scanning the room, smiling and chatting with a few colleagues, on a mission to find Craig. Cathy came up behind her and propelled her towards a middle table. "Over here Sara," she said. We've got a spot for you." Sara let herself be guided and got a little thrill at the sight of Craig smiling at her. He pulled a chair out and she reddened as she sensed everyone watching
.
She caught Val's smirk across the table and stuck her tongue out at her.
Greg Stewart stood at the podium and cleared his throat, which brought some semblance of quiet to the noisy room. Sara congratulated herself on having not looked for Jack as she peeled the lid off her yogurt. At that moment, she heard him, his deep laughter first then his voice.
"No, you call me when you have a real offer," he clapped some poor woman on the shoulder and Sara watched her redden at his touch. Her own thighs clenched and her scalp tingled but she chided herself on her body' involuntary reaction.
Come on Sara, Jack is not all that. . . .
She smiled weakly at Craig, not really seeing him, as New Sara whined in her ear.
Oh yes. He is. And you know it.
The eyes of about every single female in the room followed his broad, blue wool clad shoulders as he made his way to the front, stopping to speak to a few agents but completely ignoring Heather who shot him a look of combined fury and desire. She took a deep breath, kept her back to the podium, and continued eating, trying her very best to calm her pounding heart.
Craig moved his chair a few inches nearer hers and she felt her pulse slow down. Her throat unclenched enough to swallow a few bites of un-tasted yogurt. She told herself she'd stay turned away until Jack's little show was finished. The table went quiet, and Greg greeted his agents, reviewed a few upcoming dates, including their annual fall picnic before introducing "the man who needs no introduction." The room buzzed with anticipation.
Sara rolled her eyes at Val whose eyes stayed fixed on the podium. They all waited for Jack's latest details and power point of condo floor plan options, prices and retail opportunities. She heard him thank Greg, make a joke that she couldn't hear for the buzzing in her ears. Letting her gaze rest on her brother, who leaned against one of the back doors, coffee cup in one hand, eyes neutral and trained on the man he hated. Sara saw Blake frown then stand up straight his mouth hanging open as room simultaneously erupted in noise. She clenched her freezing hands in her lap, forcing herself to stay turned away from Jack and his screen.
"What the. . ." she heard Craig mutter and saw Val stare at the screen then at her, pointing her finger at the screen behind Sara's back. She couldn't process the noise and had no idea why everyone was so worked up. Had he flashed a naked photo of himself up there or something? She wouldn't put it past him.
The distinct sound of dozens of females sighing in unison finally made her turn. The buzzing in her ears increased as she gazed on her own name, flashed up on the screen in enormous letters. Sweat prickled her upper lip and her knees shook as the room narrowed to a tunnel connecting her eyes with the deep blue ones of the man at the podium. If it were possible to feel someone shooting daggers into her chest, she'd be dead twice over from Heather's glare.
"Sara Jane Thornton." The screen screamed in red letters. "Will You Marry Me? Jack"
By sheer instinct, she swiveled her head around to face her brother, still standing at the back of the room, mouth no longer open; dismay in his bright green eyes as he looked straight at her. She slumped back in her seat, as her face flushed red and her heart started its erratic rhythm again.
It felt like hours passed before someone tapped her shoulder. Craig, eyebrows raised in question and gaze flat, nodded towards the front of the room. She looked at him, adrenaline rushing through her veins and stood on wobbly legs. Jack had not spoken once. He stood, hands in his pockets and watched her, ignoring the buzz and clamor he had caused in the room of two-hundred-plus professionals. She glanced over her shoulder at Blake, glared at Jack, then once more at Craig who leaned back in his chair, legs stuck out in front of him, a nonchalant look fixed firmly in place.
Sara barely remembered walking the twenty feet or so up to the front, willing her heart to slow, her body to stop overreacting so she could formulate an appropriate response to his over-the-top, public proposal. Her mind and heart reeled. She felt the green monsters of nearly every female in the room pressing down on her, and realized she had to walk right past Heather to reach the front. Each step brought her closer to the man she had confessed her love for a few weeks ago, but whose very presence now made her want to stab him with a dull pencil.