35
don’t get much sleep. I stare at the ceiling listening to the silence in the dark before dawn finally tugs me out of bed.
I jog alone at 6.00 a.m., the familiar route I usually take with Jake, but he’s still in bed, and avoiding him is my only plan of action this morning.
I pound the picturesque streets of Seattle with my soft-soled running shoes and try to bring back all the calm and control that rules my life. We need to forget last night ever happened if we’re to move on. I need to stop over-analyzing it and obsessing over it, and forget it ever happened.
He was drunk! Jake is impulsive and sometimes irrational when drunk; he can be unpredictable and foolish, and I shouldn’t put any weight on last night. He’s a born womanizer, and last night, with beer goggles on, I was just another possible conquest who was obviously giving him some sort of come-on signs.
I shower and eat in my room and pack my suitcase. We’re heading home today; the flight is set for noon, so we have some time to kill. It’s Jake’s private jet, so it’s not like we have a check-in to deal with.
It’s still early, so I sit with my feet perched on the low coffee table, my water bottle between them. The living room looks normal and serene, but it feels claustrophobic. I try and settle with my laptop on the couch.
“Emma, I’m sorry about last night.” His voice startles me from behind, and I jump. I’d been so immersed in thought, unaware he had even appeared.
“It’s forgotten,” I respond quickly, inwardly telling myself to calm down. The butterflies creep up inside at his arrival, and my heart pounds harshly. There is a rise of heat on my cheeks as I blush.
Dammit!
“I had a lot to drink.” He sits down beside me on the couch, resting his arms on his knees, and leans toward me so his eyes can fully lock onto mine. I know he’s being the gentleman, but I know it’s my fault. I thought of nothing else all night. This is why I ran from Chicago and ran from angry teen Emma: to reinvent myself and leave behind all the men and my mother who ruined my life.
He is effortlessly on point this morning, freshly showered and bright-eyed, despite the fact he should have a hangover.
“I hadn’t expected you to walk in last night; I was just getting a drink,” I ramble, overly bright, trying to excuse my behavior, mask my uneasiness, and get back to yesterday. He watches me thoughtfully for a moment and then changes his gaze to the floor instead.
“When did you start wearing things like that to bed?” he asks, his tone dropping. His whole demeanor alters slightly, and I realize he’s never seen me in anything like that before. I always wear my terrycloth robe when I leave my room.
“Always.”
Maybe that’s the issue? I dress like someone who wants sex, even though I don’t; perhaps that’s something I should consider changing.
No.
Stop thinking like that!
“I see.” His voice is low and brooding, and he’s watching me again, only this time oddly. I want to know what he’s thinking. I want this to be over and the tension gone.
The way he’s seated has his T-shirt straining with tautness over his biceps and pecs in the best way, and I try to focus on typing. I’m trying to sit perfectly still and calm, but I’m squirming inside. I don’t even know who I’m typing to anymore.
“I’m going for a run; I’ll pack when I get back.” He starts to move away but falters and reaches out, bumping my shoulder so my laptop slips slightly. I snap my head up to look at him, surprised, seeing the wariness and a glint of playfulness. He’s trying to make amends; he’s trying to smooth it over and get back to yesterday too. I relax with a sigh; there’s my Jake, back to being adolescent, trying to make me smile, and it’s working. Our stupid juvenile way.
“I’m suing you for sexual harassment,” I chuckle shyly, making light of it all, hopeful that it’ll work. My heart still beats fast, wanting just to let this go.
“I’ll blame Jack Daniels for my misdemeanors. I was in no way in control of my faculties last night.” He smiles, filled with relief as the tension between us evaporates, and he ruffles my hair in his irritating manner.
“Go away and have your run. Stop annoying me,” I mock pout and smile to myself as he wanders off, giving me a backward glance and a mischievous grin.
We’re okay. It’s done.
Back to how we were. Like it never happened.
***
I drop my pen several times and catch him frowning at me several more, alerting me that I’m also twisting my hair absent-mindedly.
When the hell did that habit return? That crap stopped months ago when I relaxed with my new boss.
I’ve been so antsy and jumpy on this flight; I think it’s the lack of sleep. It’s a six-hour flight, and so far, I’ve spent most of it re-reading the same document in front of me. My focus is shot, so I close the laptop and check my cell for the twentieth time.
Now asleep in his seat with headphones on, Jake was listening to his playlist before he dropped off. Even from here, I recognize a song with the lyrics “Cry Baby” playing quietly, and I smile. One of our passing-of-jokes songs.
He appears relaxed and young, with a peaceful expression on his flawless face. I’ve seen him asleep thousand of times, but for some reason, right now, his face fascinates me. I forget that he’s still only in his twenties. I know he’s older than me, but it’s only by two years at the most. Everything he handles, the things he’s capable of, makes him seem older. When he's older, I wonder if he will turn out like Carrero Senior - work-obsessed and commanding.
No, Jake will always be this way. Calm and relaxed like his mother. Effortlessly laid back and smiley.
I think of that happy look he always has in his eyes, the easy charm, and the smile he treats everyone to. I watch him for a while longer, finding peace in it, watching him breathe, watching him lay motionless, fully trusting his staff to fly us home. I’ve rarely slept on any of the flights at all. I’m not a good flyer; something he teases me about it endlessly. I’m edgy and tense until we land, as having to put my life in someone else’s hands doesn’t sit well with me. It’s not easy.
I stare out the window and watch parts of a movie that doesn’t capture my attention for an hour. I know I keep shifting in my seat, and I pick up my pen so many times just to have something to fiddle with, on edge for no reason.
“Relax!” His sleepy voice draws me to face him; he regards me with heavy lids, all boyish yet handsome at the same time. My heart melts a little at that soft look.
“Hey,” I respond lightly, “I’m trying.” I smile, so it barely grazes my lips. He looks comfortable, still in his sleeping position, but his green eyes focus lazily on me across the aisle. We’re sitting in opposite directions.
“I know something that will relax you.” He returns the same smile, and I start frowning with the ghost of that smile on my lips.
“What?” I ask, my suspicions rising.
He rests his head back in its previous position and closes his eyes, confidence returning to his tone as he answers, “Two weeks on a yacht in the Caribbean. And you don’t get to say ‘no’!”
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