He hands Jake a shot of amber liquid, clinking the glass with the one he’s holding, and they both down the liquor in one smooth drink.
They both holler and laugh, the one guy backing away and announcing, “Jake Theopolis, ladies and gentlemen.” He makes his way back to a gorgeous, exotic-looking brunette, one of the few “other” women here. It’s obvious by the way he looks at her and then bends to kiss her that he’s very much taken.
The crowd cheers again, but not nearly as much as they do when the top of the cake pops off.
I’m not surprised when a beautiful blonde arises, wearing nothing from the waist up but pasties. Gracefully, she climbs out of the cake and slinks her way down to Jake where he’s seated in the chair. That’s obviously the hot seat.
Behind them, another girl jumps up in the cake, this one a brunette who is also wearing only pasties. After she climbs out, another arises, making me wonder how much room there is inside that cake. But I don’t wonder for long. While the blonde is busy with the guest of honor, the only male in the room who looks like he’s really not interested, the other two girls get about their business—mingling. I see the brunette’s eyes scan the crowd and come to a screeching halt when they reach Jet. She visibly veers toward him.
With her loose-hipped walk, she struts straight to Jet. I feel his hand clamp down on my shoulder and I glance over at him. His face gives away nothing, but I can only imagine how hard this is for any man, much less one who has a weakness when it comes to sex.
The brunette bends to slide her hands up Jet’s thighs, reaching for his free hand and tugging. When he doesn’t move, she leans in to whisper something in his ear. She straightens, still holding his hand, still tugging. Jet gives her a polite smile and shakes his head. While she is perceptibly disappointed, the girl doesn’t continue to try to change his mind. Her eyes flicker to me once and then she concedes, moving to the guy sitting closest to Jet on the other side, putting her wiles to work on him right away. When she leans forward to flash her ample cl**vage in his face, I notice that her eyes are still on Jet.
I focus on Jet to gauge his reaction, but he’s still staring straight ahead. When I glance toward the stage area again, it’s to see the redhead is now approaching. She, too, attempts to lure Jet into doing . . . something. Whatever it is that guys do with these types of girls at bachelor parties. But again, he resists.
He says nothing and neither do I. I question whether it’s going to be like this all night, but then the music changes. I’m relieved when it seems to signal that this portion of the night’s . . . entertainment has come to an end. But it doesn’t really. It only triggers another surprise.
All the service girls, the ones who look like pinup bunnies, file into a single line in front of the stage. With a crescendo in the new song, each reaches for the center of her little satiny outfit and pull. It breaks away, leaving each woman in only her fishnets, some tiny black panties, and black sparkly pasties.
As they stand before the crowd, posing in their feminine beauty, I scan their faces. It’s with growing dread that I see that a few of them are already eyeing Jet. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out why he is prone to excess. If this is the way women react to him on a regular basis, which I suspect it is to some degree, it’s no wonder he has trouble saying no.
I see a particularly interested waitress with short brown hair glancing repeatedly at Jet. So when the girls disperse, I’m not the least bit surprised to see her make a beeline for him.
I glance at Jet again. His face is set in stone, still showing no reaction whatsoever. If it weren’t for the tic at his jawline, I would think he’s made of steel. But that tiny tell is all it takes to show me what’s really going on inside him.
I lean up slightly, scooting to the edge of the cushion, uncertain whether I can sit through another girl throwing herself at Jet. Unwittingly, I draw his eyes. In them, I see the battle that’s waging.
And that’s why I act.
At least that’s the reason I give myself.
I tell myself that I want to help, but that I just don’t know how. And that that is why, without second-guessing it, I turn my body and stretch across him, pressing my chest to his, and I kiss him.
At first Jet doesn’t move. I think he’s as surprised as I am. But it only takes a fraction of a second for him to recover. And I know the moment that he does. I know because that’s the very instant that I’m as lost to his allure as everyone else in this place.
His lips soften first. I feel the change and it startles me, shaking me from my insanity. I start to pull away, but Jet’s big hands come to either side of my neck, his fingers sliding into the hair at my nape to hold me still.
He tilts his head, drawing me further into the kiss. I feel his lips part and, as though they move independently of thought, mine part as well. When his tongue slips between them, I sigh into his mouth, reveling in the taste of him—the tang of beer, a dash of mint, and a dark sweetness that’s as dangerous as the man himself.
His tongue licks at mine, tasting me in long, leisurely strokes then moving to explore the inside of my mouth. I melt into him, enjoying the way he moans against my lips. I swallow it, taking in some part of him that makes me feel dangerous and exhilarated.
I don’t know when he turns and pulls me into his lap; I just become aware of the hardness against my hip and the warm hand that’s roaming my back and side.
Jet sucks my lower lip into his mouth, taking it gently between his teeth. When he releases it, I open my eyes to look at him, feeling dazed and heavy of limb. He’s watching me, his eyes a deeper, warmer blue.
Everything around me is muted. I don’t hear the music or the voices. I don’t pay attention to the people. There is only me and Jet, and the heat that’s raging between us.
Quietly, he watches me. Quietly, I watch him right back.
Without his mouth pressed to mine, my lips feel dry. I wet them with my tongue, drawing Jet’s gaze.
“Don’t do that,” he whispers.
“Don’t do what?”
“Don’t show me your tongue. It’s all I can do not to stand up with you in my arms and carry you to a dark corner and taste everything that you’re hiding from me.”
At his words, an uncharacteristic heat pours through me, flooding my core. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to make it harder on you.”
Suddenly, I feel silly. What was I thinking? Why would I imagine this could be helpful to him, to someone who struggles with an addiction to sex?
“I know you’re not. You’re trying to help me. And I’m grateful. Truly. You’re different than these girls,” he says earnestly.
“Yes, I’m different. I’m not dangerous to you. They are,” I reply.
Jet’s voice drops into a low rumble. “What if I told you that you might be more dangerous?”
“I’d tell you that you were wrong.”
“I’m not so sure,” he muses, his eyes roving my face. I don’t know how to respond to that, so I say nothing. He continues. “I’d be a liar if I told you that I’m not attracted to you. If I told you that I didn’t want you.”
I shouldn’t want to hear those words. They shouldn’t give me any pleasure at all. But they do. Oh, how they do!
“But you know we can’t do this,” I state, quashing the excitement that his words brings.
His smile is small and wry. “Exactly. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t enjoy this, or that I don’t still enjoy your company.” He pauses, his thumb rubbing back and forth over the skin of my arm as his eyes search mine. “I’m glad you came.”
I don’t want to admit that I am, too, so I deflect. “I’m glad I could help.”
Before Jet can respond, a meaty arm wraps around his neck from behind. A few seconds later, a broad, ruddy face topped with a clump of thick strawberry hair appears beside Jet’s head.
“Caught you another one, did ya?” comes the gruff voice that perfectly matches the bear likeness of its owner.
“Shut it, Harley. This is Violet.”
Harley looks duly unimpressed. “And who is Violet?” he asks, directing his question to me.
Jet turns his head and glares at Harley. “We met at a . . . meeting.” The way he says “meeting” so meaningfully makes me think Harley might know about Jet’s problem.
As if to confirm my suspicion, Harley slowly starts to nod, returning Jet’s look. “Ohhh, I see. Well, it’s nice to meet you, Violet. I’m Harley, Jet’s manager.”
I reach forward to grab the calloused hand the big man extends toward me. “It’s nice to meet you, Harley.”
“Oooh, that voice,” he says, closing his eyes like he’s in ecstasy.
“Don’t even think about it, old man.”
Harley tries to look offended, and I smile at his theatrics. “Old man? I’m hardly old, pup,” he says, giving Jet a tighter squeeze. When Jet makes a strangling sound, Harley returns his attention to me. “Don’t believe a word he says, Violet,” Harley warns. “This boy could charm the panties off a nun.”
Jet reaches back to playfully wrap Harley’s head in the curve of his bent arm, locking it down with a tug of his hand. “She didn’t ask for your bullshit take, dimwit.”
I feel the need to explain. “You should know, Harley, that contrary to how this must look, he’s not trying to get anywhere near my panties, so I don’t think I have anything to worry about,” I tease.
Harley’s expression sobers the tiniest bit, giving me a chill. “Oh, you should worry, sweetheart.”
Before I can respond, Jet easily pushes Harley back and stands with me in his arms, slowly letting my legs slide down his until my feet are firmly on the ground. I’m torn between wondering at his reaction to Harley’s last comment and swooning at the contact with his tall, hard frame.
“Don’t pay him any attention, Violet. He lost his mind years ago,” Jet says.
I glance behind him to see Harley studying Jet’s back. He meets my eyes over Jet’s shoulder, and I see some genuine concern.
Yes, it seems he does know about Jet’s problem.
I smile reassuringly at Harley. “Don’t worry about me, Harley. I’m pretty hard to charm.”
“I think that ship has sailed,” he mutters. And then, without another word, Harley turns and walks away.
FOURTEEN: Jet
If I weren’t so enjoying Violet’s tiny, voluptuous body pressed against mine, I might be inclined to walk right over and punch Harley in his big mouth. But as it is, I see something unsettled rolling over her face like fog over water and I know I’ve got some damage control to do.
Damn it!
“You’ll have to excuse Harley. He’s old and crazy as hell, and his sense of humor is . . . unusual.”
She looks at me with all the seriousness I’ve seen in her before. “Maybe he wasn’t joking.”
“We don’t think it was funny, but he probably thinks it was,” I respond nonchalantly.
Violet slides her eyes away from mine and I know the setback is official.
Shit!
“I should check on Tia,” she says quietly, glancing everywhere except at me.
“Violet, Harley—”
“There she is,” she says, pointing to her friend who is obviously having fun with some guys over at the bar.
With that, she just turns and walks away. I do the only thing I can and follow her. When we get closer to the bar, Violet’s friend looks up and sees her. She throws her arm up and starts waving. “Vi! Vi! Over here.”
Her spastic motions throw off her balance and she tips over on her stool. I hear her squeal as she goes down. Violet runs through the crowd to get to her, but I’m not worried. I can hear the girl laughing.
“Are you okay?” Violet asks, reaching down to help her friend to her feet.
“Never been better, Vi,” she replies, her tongue noticeably thick. “Lemme introduce you to some of my father’s cronies’ sons. Alvin, Simon, and Theodore,” she slurs, ticking them off and then collapsing into peals of high-pitched laughter. She cups her hand around her mouth and whispers loudly to Violet, “They’re not really chipmunks, Vi.”
“I figured as much,” Violet says patiently, dusting debris off Tia’s leg from where she fell. “I think it’s time to go, don’t you?”
Her friend’s face crumbles into a devastated expression. “Oh, no! Not yet,” she whines to Violet.
“Yes, I think we’d better. You won’t be able to walk if we stay much longer.”
“Yes, I will. I’m fine. Give me a sobriety test,” she says, tripping as she moves away from the bar. “That doesn’t count. Alvin tripped me.” Over her shoulder, she sends a wink at “Alvin.”
“Tia, seriously, it’s time to go. Can you make it to the car?”
She scowls. “Of course I can make it to the car. I’m not a child.”
Tia strikes out across the wood planks of the barn floor, weaving unstably and bumping into one of the half-naked waitresses currently entertaining two drooling idiots.
“Hey, watch it!” the girl exclaims, glaring at the drunken Tia.
Violet rushes in, steadying her friend and giving the waitress an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry. She’s had a little too much to drink.” For her trouble, she gets a glare from both Tia and the waitress. “Here,” she tells Tia, scooting up under her much taller friend’s arm to help her walk, “lean on me.”
And just like that, I see who Violet really is. To the bone, she’s a sponsor. An anchor. A fixer. Just like Tia said. She sees a broken, disadvantaged, or otherwise distressed person and she feels the need to swoop in and help them, however she can. And that’s what she’s doing with me. She’s trying to fix me.