September Rain Bk 2, Savor The Days Series (4 page)

4

—
Angel

There’s a distinct clicking sound.
It’s distracting. Then, the sweet tang of cinnamon invades my
nostrils. Once I realize the source is my lawyer, Mister Brandon
crunching on a breath mint, I can focus again.

Staring blankly at the walls in the
interview room—feeling the restraints on my wrists, as my minds’
eye holds that moment in the smoky corridor—I see myself watching
Jake walk away. “Analog Controller used to post flyers all over
town. I would take the ones with pictures on them and spend hours
staring at Jacob Haddon. I made a scrap book and filled it with
pages of flyers and some Polaroids I took at their shows.” It made
me feel closer to him.

Here, from this prison
where they tell me what to eat, when to sleep and when to wake-up,
where to walk and for how long, when to shower and pee, it’s as if
all of my life has been no more than stray seconds jumbled together
and ripped apart. It seems random and pointless. But when I look
back and put some pieces together, they add up to one specific
night—a
lmost two years after that first
meeting in Joes Pizza.

The night I first slept with
Jake.

+++

I had been to nearly all of their
shows and we always talked after, but still only at shows. He was
older and so obviously too hot for me, I wouldn’t let myself take
my desire past the fantasy land inside my head.

Analog Controller was playing at a
popular club called The Mystic Muse. It was practically on the
other side of the state and I had to get creative to make my way
there. I talked Avery into taking her moms car and the two of us
ducked out. That night at The Mystic Muse, with some encouragement
from my lone friend, I would gather my nerve and act on the lust I
felt for Jake.

Jake had those soft hands and I wanted
him to use them on me. I guess that’s the calling card of a guy who
works mainly with his mind. Soft hands with small, distinct
calluses you could only feel when he really touched you. He kept
his fingernails a little longer than traditional length, too. They
stretched to his fingertips.

Jake had a way about him—an
outstanding charm. Very large personality with a quick smile,
melodic laugh, and an air that imposed its’ will upon me—made me
want to submit to his. He made me nervous in the very best way. He
made me crave him.

He wrote about everything—good and
bad—all of his heart flowed into his music. It was almost as if
there was no part of himself that he wouldn’t lay bare for a room
full of strangers. Jake was jarringly open and I found that
comforting.

That night, at The Mystic Muse, I
remember that the merch booth opened for the first time. It was
before the guys went on and Avery and me raided the coffers of our
savings and splurged. They finally had a merch booth! We’d bought
their stickers, t-shirts, and wrist bands, and were making our way
to the car. The parking lot was dark and smelled of sour
beer.

A large hand grabbed my shoulder and
suddenly spun me. My heart leapt inside my chest. Avery shrieked.
And then I saw his face. Smiling. Devilish.

“Jake! You scared me.”

“Angel. I’m glad you made it.” He
smirked, “We gotta talk.” The fingers of his hand skimmed along my
forearm, those scratchy nails leaving goosebumps in their
wake.

Someone called to Jake from the club
entrance. When he turned to see who it was, I stole a questioning
glance at Avery. Her face mirrored mine. I didn’t know what to make
of that copied look. It was as if she was answering my question
with a question.

“What do I do?”
I asked, and she replied with,
“What do you want to do?”

I looked back at Jake, deciding to
follow my heart. “Where?”

“You know the long hallway at stage
right? Follow that until you pass the bathrooms. Then it’s the
third door on your right. I gotta do something, but I’ll see you
there?”

“Sure,” I nodded.

Jake turned and I became a puppy dog,
trotting after him, leaving Avery gaping in the parking lot with
her arms full of band paraphernalia. Jake chuckled when he saw me
following and slowed down.

Once we were inside, he took a
cautious look around and asked me to wait a few minutes before
heading into the back of the club. I was never good at waiting, so
I counted to eight-hundred and fifty—figuring that took about five
minutes—before making made my way towards the stage and slipping
into the hall behind it. I followed the dimly lit corridor until I
came to the third door on my right, just like I’d been
instructed.

Releasing a deep breath, I swung the
door open. It was dark inside. I was about to turn around, sure I
had the wrong place, when a light flicked on. Then, Jake was
peering at me from across the room, in front of another doorway.
Beside him was a large couch. It looked just like the long black
one inside the bars VIP section, only more worn looking. The
cushions were covered with a plaid blanket.

All my anxious enthusiasm
doubled.

“What is this . . .” I was going to
finish with ‘room,’ but the tremors in my voice collapsed the walls
of my throat.

He’d said he wanted to talk, but the
way he looked at me and the loaded air made me want to sweat,
scream, and simultaneously jump for joy.

Jake either didn’t notice my nerves or
didn’t care as he made his way towards me. I watched his hands
slide up to his temples and sweep his brown, chin length hair
behind each ear. His eyes were dark and his face held an air of
something I didn’t recognize. His tee shirt was plain, all black
and untucked. The short sleeves were rolled up, accentuating the
definition in his arms. His jeans were dark blue, cuffed at the
bottom over biker-style boots.

“This is me,” his luscious lips
murmured, “asking your permission.”

“Permission for what?” I managed to
ask, once I tore my eyes away from his mouth.

“I’d like to have my way . . . with
you.”

Everything inside me
clenched. Except my eyes—those popped wide open. And my mouth went
desert dry. It was like a line from a movie or something. Did he
just say he wanted
his way
with me?

He was all longs legs, casually
swinging until he got close enough to set his hands around my
waist. And I swear my heart stopped beating. His hands around my
waist! Which, amazingly, felt like a whole new part of my body. Did
I have a waist before that moment? I’d seen it and used it to bend
and move. Beyond that, all my waist had ever done was sit above my
hips. I had no idea so many nerves could exist in one area. All at
once, they sprang to life and went crazy—hyperactive nerve endings
flaring up around my waist and spreading, quickly turning every
inch of my body into a burning furnace. His fingers stoked my
desire. But all they were doing was lightly grasping my
waist.

“What ‘way’ would that be?” My voice
sounded weird: quiet and rough.

He didn’t get to respond because the
doorway behind him was suddenly filled with marching bodies. Four
guys in oversized jeans and plaid shirts. Another band had just
made their entrance.

Jake moved in close, speaking into my
ear. “If you’re interested in the answer, please, find me after?”
His breath felt hot on my neck, his lips briefly brushed my temple.
“You come find me, Angel, and I’ll show you the way.”

I turned about ten
different shades as I awkwardly mumbled a pre-show blessing, “Kick
their asses,” and went back to find Avery waiting at the mouth of
the hallway. I slapped my hand against my forehead, feeling like a
clown.
Kick their asses? Why not, ‘have a
great show’? Or ‘break a leg’?

“You did fine,” Avery assured me
later. And when I told her what Jake said, we had major giggles
over it. She was super happy for me and encouraged me to act on
what I was feeling.

“I’ll think about it.” I
whispered.

“A hot-ass rocker . . .
Scratch that. The
hot-ass
lead singer
of your
favorite band just offered himself to you! He’s all you talk
about.” She knocked on my head, doing her best Biff Tannen
impression. “Hello, McFly? What’s there to think about?”

The very idea made me nervous. What if
he didn’t mean it? Or worse: he did mean it and then was
disappointed in me after?

All of the angst melted to extreme
excitement when Analog Controller took the stage. Jakes’ gifts had
the audience aglow, screaming with righteous enthusiasm. He was on
fire, too, holding the steady flame of his eyes on me throughout
the show. I watched his mouth smooth over the mic-head as he
sang:

If I were smart, I'd
run.
You kill for pleasure. Torture for fun.
Expectation gives way. You’ve won.
Just come over here, you look like fun.

I jumped and moshed and
sang along to every song, enjoying his attention and the growing
need sparked by the words he whispered to me in the back room. I
wanted to know
his way
; the path he’d promised to lead me down. When the set was
over, I cheered until my voice cracked and the band disappeared
into the bowels of The Mystic Muse.

Avery and me went with the flow of
traffic, dispersing to other parts of the club once the stage was
empty.

By the time the next band was
introduced, most people were crowded up at the front once more. But
Jake was in back, sitting at the bar amid a small, lingering
crowd.

I was sure approaching a guy was the
hardest thing I had ever done, but he made it easier. First with
his invitation, then with his freshly showered hair and
head-to-toe, dark brown outfit that made his milky skin seem like
it had been dipped in caramel. His not-so-baggy jeans gave just a
peek of the top of his boxers. His long, thin t-shirt gathered at
his waist like he hadn’t taken the time to pull it all the way
down.

“Keep performing like that, Jake, and
the label reps will turn into groupies.” I gushed, trying to be
funny.

He turned his powerful eyes on me. “I
don’t pay attention to groupies.”

I wasn’t sure if he heard my lame
joke, but knew that his response was molded by modesty. There were
at least half-dozen women in his vicinity after that performance.
But he was telling the truth, he didn’t exchange anything more than
pleasantries with them.

He was leaning against the bar holding
his complimentary drink of choice—Jack and Coke. Every guy in the
band got free drinks. He had a believable fake ID. We all did, but
mine only said I was eighteen.

He eyed me as I gushed, trying to tell
him how much I loved what he had created.

“You know what I love?” He
interrupted, and there was something in the way he stood and leaned
in with his hips, like he was going to tell me something very
important and couldn’t risk the words getting lost in the
surrounding noise.

“What?” I barely breathed, remembering
the way he whispered in my ear.

Jake leaned in close, setting his lips
at the shell of my ear and speaking low, “I love that you thought
about my offer and came to find me.” He drew back and gulped down
the last of his drink. “How old are you, again?”

Avery was standing behind him, talking
with the drummer, Max, and a group of other people. Her eyes popped
wide when she heard the question.

I started to answer, “I’m
seventeen,” but Avery’s rapid hand signals flew behind Jakes head,
screaming at me,
“Say ‘eighteen!’ you
idiot!”

So, I improvised “I’m . . . s-super
close to eighteen. Hours away, actually.”

Jake set his empty glass on the bar
and wrapped both arms around my shoulders. “Really? Well, lucky me.
And lucky you, too. Happy Birthday, Beautiful.” His voice was
syrupy sweet as he took my hand and led me towards the back of the
club.

The second we were out of sight, his
hands were on me. His smooth palms caressed my jeans, stuffing
their fingers into my back pockets. “What’ch you got in there?”
Through the layer of denim, he cupped one side of my butt and
offered a vicious smile, “Nothing but ass.”

No one had ever touched or spoke to me
that way before and I’m not ashamed to say that I loved it. It was
every fantasy I had turned reality as I pulled him closer.
Emboldened by desire, I grazed my nose along the intoxicating scent
of his neck. Heaven. A slight edge of clean sweat still lingered
there, as if during his post-show shower he’d rinsed very quickly,
as if he couldn’t wait to get to me, as if he wanted me as much as
I wanted him. I pressed him against the wall of the dark hallway,
but Jake pushed back, pressing his lips over mine. Pouring desire
into me.

This was so much better than the waist
touching and the pocket-play. It was . . . blood boiling, liquid
fireworks.

His hands moved up from my hips to my
waist. They stretched around the circumference before he pulled
away and chuckled. “You’re so tiny.” I followed his gaze down to my
waist and was surprised to see that the tips of his thumbs were
only a few inches apart. “You’re like a little bird. I better be
gentle, I don’t want to break you.”