Authors: Kristen Kehoe
There have been times over the last couple of weeks that I’ve stepped back and wondered if what I’m doing is safe, or if it’s a disaster waiting for the time and opportunity to devastate me. I never come to a conclusion on that thought, partly because I’m too happy to pick it apart for long, and partly because I’m trying not to think into the future, only of now. I know Jake feels the same.
Both of our lives were ruled by one thing before this: the desire to make someone of ourselves. Not just something, but
someone
, a name people would remember when for so long the people who mattered barely knew who we were.
Where I ruined my own life, Jake’s choice was made for him and we both ended up broken and wondering how we were going to pick up the pieces. I’d be lying if I said he didn’t make me feel more like myself than I have in a long time, that somehow who he is and who he allows me to be has shifted all of the pieces I reconstructed until I look in the mirror and actually see the girl staring back. Since that knowledge scares me, I ignore it and focus on the fact that whatever we’re doing, I’m having fun. That has to be enough for now.
“Girl, fun can never be overrated. It’s about damn time you recognized that.”
A.J. and I are standing in the back of the salon while I mix color and she flips through her phone while she waits for her next appointment to begin.
“And from what I saw when I walked in on him giving you some of this
fun
out back the other day, I can guarantee a boy like that knows endless tricks to keep a woman entertained.”
“Walked in? You mean, purposely sought us out after I told you I would be back in five minutes?” She grins and shrugs. “And I thought
you
knew how to keep women entertained,” I say with a raise of my brow.
“I do, that’s how I recognize it in someone else. With the look you’ve been carrying around the past few days, I’d bet that boy has some moves that would make me proud.”
They definitely make me something, though I’m not sure if it’s proud or just really grateful. I don’t say this, mostly because I know that once you give A.J. an inch, she won’t back down until you’ve given her everything. Instead, I smile smugly and put away the rest of the color tubes before stirring the mixture.
I listen with half an ear as A.J. chatters on about her newest lady, the place they went for dinner a few nights ago and how bad the live music was. When Liam comes in to mix his own batch of color, A.J. is flipping through our newest color additions, trying to choose a new one for herself.
“What about this?” she asks and holds out a caramel highlight next to her black and red hair.
“Too innocent,” Liam and I say at the same time and she laughs.
“Why are you changing?” I ask her and she shakes her head.
“Girl, how can you even ask that? Changing hair color is what we do for a living.”
I point to my own mahogany locks that she just updated for me. “And yet, I haven’t changed my color in months.”
“Point made,” she says with a raise of her brow.
“What’s that mean?”
I look to Liam and he holds out his hands. I look back to A.J. and she smiles. “It means your hair is vanilla because you want people to think you are, too, but we,” she points back and forth between she and Liam, “know better — as I’m betting your man does now that you’re sharing a bed. You wear boring hair to hide the fact that you’re not boring. What we still don’t know is why.”
It annoys me that she’s right, that a while ago I decided that I couldn’t be the platinum blonde that I once was because I was a different person. I chose brown because it was safe, almost sedate. I never add highlights or lowlights or an ombre, just an all-over rich color that borders on dark chocolate. Looking at A.J. and Liam, I know they understand that.
I don’t take risks with my hair because I’m afraid to take risks with my life. Yet, hasn’t the last little bit of time with Jake proved I’m more a blend of who I once was and who I turned myself into? The fact that I can now look at that person I was and not be repulsed by her, that I can remember parts of her with some affection and understanding, shows me that Jake’s opened more doors than I thought, and that I’ve locked too many.
So thinking, I smile and tap the color she’s holding. “Then get ready. I need some updating, and I want you two to do it.”
I turn and head back to my chair and I hear her laugh follow me the entire way.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Jake
I’m at the stove cooking when Cora gets home. I don’t even turn down the music (because, really, you don’t turn down Run DMC), just shout at her over my shoulder and go back to grilling the fish I know she likes so much.
My mood is high, higher than it’s been in a really long time and I’m riding the fucking wave. I threw today. Not hard, and definitely not up to the caliber of what I once considered throwing, but I fucking threw the ball. From the mound. At fifty percent. And I hit my target. Best of all, it was pain free.
The fact that I wanted to call Blue the minute I did it didn’t even concern me. I’m too far in to pretend anymore, and though I’m not quite ready to express my undying love for her (mostly because I’m not sure either of us is ready), I chose to cook a celebration dinner that was about her because that’s how I feel. Everything is about her, everything is because of her. Today was only one day throwing, but this happiness inside of me has been there a lot longer, and it started with her.
I hear her heeled footsteps trek across the floor and then nothing, so I know she’s slipping out of those heels, an act that has me turning around to watch because my new privileges include watching her dress in the morning, and fuck if there’s anything sexier than watching her wrap the package I’ve had my hands all over the night before. Knowing I’m going to get to watch her undress everything twelve hours later is a turn on I never expected.
Only, when I spot her, she’s still wearing her heels and her skin-tight black jeans and light denim button down she paired them with today, and I’m no longer staring at her legs, I’m staring at her.
Her hair is lighter, but not, like she took the ends and dipped them into liquid gold, blending and drawing it out until her normal chocolate locks fade to a gentler, more caramel brown. The contrast is stunning and for the first time since we met, I feel like I’m seeing the true Cora.
Those secrets she always wears are still there, but this time rather than hiding them I feel like she’s challenging me to unearth them. When I just continue to stare, she cocks a hip and leans against the counter and I feel myself go rock hard. I’ve had this girl at least twice a day, every day for the last fourteen days, and it’s still not enough.
“I think you might be burning your fish,” she says and it takes me a minute to comprehend her words. With a curse, I turn and grab the spatula, flipping the two filets and smirking over my shoulder as I grab the second pan and shake the arugula.
“I like your hair.”
She smiles a female smile full of power and secrets and walks to the fridge, still wearing those shoes that make me want to drop to my knees and thank the man who invented them. Grabbing me a beer, she gets herself a mini bottle of Pellegrino and brings both over to the stove.
“I’m glad. I have to say, it was nice to have someone to make an entrance for. Are we celebrating?” she asks and points to dinner. I nod and take the beer from her, lowering the heat under the pans for the last few minutes of cook time. “Anything in particular?”
“Let’s get this out of the way first,” I say and grab her around the waist. She doesn’t resist; rather, her body flows easily into mine and the rhythm we’ve developed together. My hand anchors in her shirt at the small of her back, forcing her to press even closer, an act to which she responds, gripping my shirt in the same spot, arching her back until we’re driving each other nuts.
“I didn’t think you could be any more beautiful,” I tell her between small kisses. “I was wrong.” And then deeper, deeper until we’re both breathing hard and I have to pull back or risk dinner while I pull her to the ground and finish what I just started.
We stand, breath heaving, staring at one another. Her grin comes first, and then mine, and before I can stop myself I lean in and give her a friendly kiss, one that says something different than the devouring I just handed her.
“Why don’t you set the table, then we can eat and you can tell me what inspired this change?”
She nods and, after a beat, leans in to kiss me. Neither of us acknowledges that this is the first time she’s done something so simple when it’s been unprompted, but I’m smiling as she grabs two plates and walks out.
~
Dinner is edible, more than, which is pleasing, and for a bit we sit and eat, both of us going through the wind down of our day that’s become as routine as sharing a meal. The step we took earlier in the month cemented what we were already building toward, that this relationship is just that, and I can’t describe how it feels to know this awaits me at the end of the day.
When our plates are clean and the table cleared and Blue has her fancy coffee from the foreign machine that sits unused if she’s not home, I grab another beer and her hand and pull her to the couch.
“Spill it. What’s with the new hair?”
She shrugs and settles into the corner while I sprawl on the cushion next to her, throwing my arm over the back. “I don’t really know. I wasn’t planning on it, but then I got to work and A.J. and I were talking and I realized that I’d left my hair that color for too long. Like I was trying to convince myself I’m one dimensional, but I’m not.” She sips from her coffee. “I guess that sounds stupid.”
I sip from my beer and shake my head. “Actually, it sounds dead on. You went through something and changed who you were, but that doesn’t mean that you can forget her. Or that you should,” I say and watch her nod slowly.
“I think I came to that realization at some point in the last week,” she murmurs and I slide my eyes to hers. For a beat they hold and in them I see everything I feel. I nod and then she smiles, slow and easy, and I want nothing more than to freeze this moment and live inside of it forever.
“Now you,” she says. “Even in your appreciation, you didn’t know my hair was changing so I know dinner wasn’t for that. Spill it. Why were you ready to celebrate?”
“I threw today.” I barely get the words out before she’s cheering, grabbing my hand and almost spilling both of our drinks as she lifts them up in victory.
“Oh my gosh, Jake, this is huge. I should be cooking you dinner, what are you doing spoiling me when it’s your day? We should have had steak. And French fries.”
I laugh and pull her into my lap, cutting her off as I press my lips to hers. I’m so fucking happy it’s unreal, and when she wraps her arms around my neck and drives her fingers into my hair, I know it’s bigger than the milestone I hit today. It’s her, she’s my happy, my sunshine, everything that’s pulled me from the dark and saved me the past few months.
“You’re the first person I wanted to call and tell,” I say as she leans back and smiles at me. “But then I thought this was too big for the phone and wanted to wait until you got home. Your hair distracted me.”
“Well, I’m not sorry about that, but this is big, Handsome Jake, and it deserves major attention. We have to celebrate. Let’s go dancing.”
“Dancing?”
She nods, already scrambling up. “Yeah, dancing. Let’s get done up and go out, find some music and some people and celebrate the fact that you just threw a fucking baseball.”
I stand and follow her as she starts walking toward our bedroom, shedding her shoes as she does, starting on her denim shirt next, and then the shirt beneath it. When I get to the bedroom, she’s naked except for a red lace bra and the jeans she’s skinnying out of to reveal matching panties and I can no longer think.
“Does that sound like a good idea?”
I nod, aware that I’m no longer hearing her but would agree to anything so long as I could watch her peel out of her clothes for the rest of my life. When she stills, I look up at her and she raises a brow. “Are you even listening to me?”
I shake my head and she laughs. Then I grab her and toss her on the bed, craving her in a way that no other thing in my life comes close to mimicking.
~
Two hours later, I’m showered, dressed, and having a beer in the kitchen while Yogi eats his dinner and I wait for Blue to finish primping. She called her two friends from the salon to meet us, explaining to me that I needed male companionship and Liam was actually a big baseball fan. Since I didn’t care as long as Cora’s there, I nodded and came out to wait.
My phone rings and I take it out, frowning when I see my dad’s name light up the screen. Swiping my finger across it, I set my beer down.
“Hey, Old Man, how’s it goin’?”
“Old man, is it?” His voice is scratchy but sounds mostly steady, which means he hasn’t had enough to drink today to make this conversation painful. Exhaling a tense breath, I smile and pick my beer back up again.
“Well, I guess if thirty’s the new twenty, forty can be the new thirty, which means at forty-five you’re not that old.”
“Smartass,” he says, and I can hear the affection. “What are you doing? Still living in that hippie city and chasing the pretty girl?”
I called my dad the first month I was here to let him know about my move, and then about Cora. I didn’t give details, but I suddenly wish I had so I could have him give me advice — another odd desire as I haven’t asked anything from my dad since I was fifteen and it was clear he could barely cope with his own life. But right now, able or not, I need fucking clarification. Whatever I’m doing with Cora has changed me, but who I am hasn’t changed, as if that makes any sense. She feels like my center, but today I was reminded that my center is baseball, and it may be mine again soon. Which means leaving Cora.
When my dad repeats his question, I come back and laugh, swallowing down the rest of my beer in one gulp to clear my throat of the fear that’s suddenly sitting there. “Yeah, still living in Portland, still chasing the pretty girl, but she lets me catch her now and then to reward me.”
He grumbles something on the other end and, because Cora steps out at the same time, I don’t hear him clearly. She smiles as she sashays forward, fully aware of the picture she makes in the skintight, shiny black pants that fit like a second skin and end in skinny black heels with silver studs and a million straps that crisscross up to her ankles and let her red toes peak out. Her shirt is black lace and sleeveless. It should be modest in the way it fits her to her hips, leaving only her toned arms bare, except it’s not because I can see everything beneath it, right down to the straight black piece of fabric that’s confining her breasts while still offering a tempting view of that lace covered cleavage. Jesus.
Her lips are pinker, her eyes darker, and everything in me is hard as a rock. My dad’s still jabbering and I tear my eyes away from her mouth to meet her eyes while I listen.
“How’s the elbow?”
I nod and then realize he can’t see me. “Good,” I croak out and Cora smiles, stepping closer until her perfume, an exotic scent that’s barely there until you’re close enough sneaks out and wraps around me.
“Hey, I’ll call you tomorrow, okay? I’m just about to head out.”
“Take care of your arm. Throw ‘em hard, Jake.”
I soften slightly at the sentiment — the same one he’s always given me as a goodbye or good luck. “Always do,” I respond and click off.
“Who was that?” Cora asks and I shake my head.
“I don’t know. Wow. You look… wow.”
Her smile is all female confidence and satisfaction. “You’re pretty wow yourself.” Then she holds out her hand, no hesitation, no uncertainty, and I lace my fingers with hers. “Let’s go celebrate you, Handsome Jake.”