JAKE (Leaves of a Maple Book 2) Read online

  I fucking hope so, anyway.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Aubrey

  "Aubrey," someone shouts across the loud space, but I ignore it. It's far enough away that I can. With it nothing but a whispered echo to my ears, I can pretend that Aubrey's a common name and I'm invisible here. That I’m far enough away from my reality that I couldn't be recognizable.

  Voices are ricocheting around me, the echo of the bar is loud, almost deafening and entirely welcome. I can't hear myself think and that's why I chose it. Loud music, screaming voices, endless booze and most importantly, anonymity.

  Here, in this sea of strangers, I’m no one. Nothing but another body searching for the numbness alcohol can gift me and for these few short hours, I’m free.

  "Aubrey," the voice repeats. More determined. Definitely louder. Closer even. But I continue to ignore it. I don't want to be brought back to reality. Not yet. I need a few more minutes of nothingness. Of not having to meet expectations. Of pretending to be somebody else.

  The tequila meets my lips and I take a long sip, welcoming the burn it causes down my throat. "Aubrey," a hand grabs my shoulder this time, turning me and breaking my imagined bubble of invisibility.

  I blink my eyes largely, slowly focusing on the person in front of me. More accurately, the wide expanse of male chest, covered by a worn Nirvana shirt. For a female, I'm tall, all legs and torso, unfortunately not tits and ass. So the fact that my eyes meet only man chest means whoever this person is - they're tall.

  Taking a deep breath in a weak attempt to stop my head spinning, I gingerly drag my eyes upward and note the hint of colorful ink poking from the neck of his shirt. His red lips are full, his straight nose decorated with a gold hoop and his eyes are a hypnotizing depth of blue.

  He's hot. Really fucking hot. A hint of facial hair scatters his strong jawline adding a slight roughness to his beautiful face. His dark hair is thick and unmanageable, brushing his neck, waves falling across his forehead. I watch on as his hand moves through it over and over again, pulling it from his eyes. It’s an unconscious move and even given the number of times he does it, I’m certain he doesn’t even realize.

  "Aubrey," the full lips speak, pulling my attention away from his hair and back to his lips. They're so pretty. Deep red in color.

  It takes me a further second (or two) of staring to finally manage words. "That's me," I speak to his lips, watching a tease of a smile touch said lips, causing the most delicious dimple to appear in his right cheek. Not both sides, just one. It’s so tempting; I want to touch it with my tongue. What it would be like to be gifted a smile like that on the regular. To have this man, this beautiful man, tease me with his dimple day in and day out.

  Finally settling on his ocean colored eyes, I stare for only a moment longer before recognition hits me and my face breaks into a wide smile. "Little Dean," I squeal, launching myself from the bar stool into his arms, the impact of my unexpected hug causing him to stagger backward.

  I hold on for longer than necessary, taking solace in his tall frame and the warmth of his body. I hadn’t realized I needed the comfort Jake’s easy embrace seems to bring me, but for the first time in too long, my body relaxes, relishing in the simple show of affection, of care. He remains quiet throughout, oblivious to the effect his tight hold offers me. Ruefully I pull back, keeping my hands entwined around his waist to meet his eyes.

  "You wasted?" he asks, eyes warm with concern.

  I smile at him and it's a little dazed, certainly spaced, as I shake my head side to side. "Not wasted. Pleasantly numb."

  Jake's eyes narrow slightly as his head moves to scan the immediate area. "Who you here with?"

  "That would be me, myself and I," I answer, his eyes snapping down to watch me again.

  "The fuck are you doing in a place like this? Alone?" he bristles.

  Moving my hands from his warmth, I step back, reaching for my drink. "They have tequila," I respond, before tipping my head back to drain the contents.

  Jake's eyes shade darker as his mood starts to change, his body radiating worry and irritation. "Oh stop it, Jake. I'm not a child, I can go to a bar for a few drinks," I snap.

  'Where's David?"

  A humorless laugh bubbles from my mouth as my lips form a scowl, the small sense of comfort he gifted me moments prior dissipating in a large slap of reality across my face. "I don't know, Jake. Where is David? At work. Hating on humanity. Belittling some poor helpless soul to make himself feel important.” I roll my eyes, turning back to the bar as I try to get someone's attention to order another drink. I gave him more than I should’ve, let him see into my psyche, into the reality of my life in a drunken ramble, but right now, I don’t care.

  "I don't think so, drunky. We’re leaving." He moves into my space, hand to the nape of my neck, guiding me towards the exit.

  "I can't go home, Jake. I'm… I'm gonna stay," I stutter, stepping out of his grasp.

  "Then you won't go home. Let's grab a coffee, sober you up," he winks and I'm once again stunned by how freakin' hot he is.

  Nodding my head, I concede. "Coffee sounds good. But where does one purchase good coffee at this hour?" I question, eyebrows raised.

  He gives me the dimple, momentarily ceasing my ability to speak, think, move… breathe. "Aubrey, Aubrey, Aubrey, surely you don't doubt my abilities?" he winks again and I have to clench my thighs together. Because my God. I do NOT, in any universe doubt any of this man’s abilities. This I don't communicate, at least not verbally. But the way he looks at me makes me think he reads it in my eyes. He's not convinced he saw it though, the fleeting look of shock greying his eyes, disappearing within seconds. Shifting to the side, then the other, he takes a visibly deep breath before forcing an awkward smile.

  "All right, Little Dean, show me your superhero powers and find me good coffee," I wave my hand towards the exit in game show like fashion and his smile comes easier. Grabbing hold of the nape of my neck once again he moves us towards the exit - destination, good coffee.

  "What's with Little Dean? Must admit it's a little emasculating," he jokes, and I laugh freely, moving closer to wrap an arm around his waist.

  The coffee shop Jake takes us to is quaint, hidden if you didn't know where to look. The inside is dimly light, with dark colored curtains and large, mismatched single-seater couches stuffed around low-lying coffee tables. The music is soft with no vocals against the melody, drifting between the walls and taming the sound of conversation humming from the unexpected level of people filling the space.

  "Sit," Jake commands, lowering me into a chair and pinning me with his eyes. I don't argue, my feet are killing me and I feel like I'm walking on an air mattress in heels.

  Not wasted though.

  Not. At. All.

  I watch him as he weaves his way through the clusters of people and purposefully scattered furniture towards the single barista working. Jake greets the man with familiarity, offering a fist bump and easy smile. Turning away from their exchange, I focus on myself and the fact that the darkened room is currently spinning. Closing my eyes, I focus intently on my breathing, the rhythm of it and will myself not to barf.

  Blinking slowly and repeatedly I bring myself back into consciousness and startle at my surroundings. "Drifted off there, Strawb'ries," Jake’s voice hits me before I can bring him into full focus. Sitting up straight I rub my eyes before covering a wide yawn, mortified that I fell asleep.

  "You should have woken me. How long was I out?" I question, leaning forward to retrieve my (thankfully still hot) coffee. I breathe in the scent of the beans, impressed that Jake knew how I take my coffee. Taking a sip, I smile at him gratefully.

  "Not long,” he answers nonchalantly, putting away his phone and giving me his full attention.

  Although still buzzed, my mini nap has done me well. I no longer feel the impending dread of wanting to be sick and the room has stopped orbiting around me. "God, I must look like a total mess," I complain, using the pad of
my thumb to drag along the bottom of each of my eyes, attempting to remove any smudged mascara.

  "You look great, Aubrey," Jake offers softly, and our eyes connect for a moment or two longer than they should. I know I should look away first but I can't, my eyes are anchored to his and I don’t even try to stop the smile that curves my mouth.

  Jake's eyes drop to my lips, watching my smile turn shy. His eyes shine brighter before he shakes his head, ridding himself of the thoughts I can't help but hope are clouding his mind.

  My attraction to Jake has always been real, I'd be blind not to find him attractive, but tonight I feel sucker-punched by our connection. My awareness of him is flooding my system; heightening feelings that suddenly seem as though they’ve always been there. My body instinctively wants him, my natural urges having rooted themselves deeper, making themselves known and I’m experiencing a desire that isn't entirely unwelcome. I know it’s wrong and I should be ashamed, but I'm not. It could be the kindness he's showing me. The concern for my wellbeing skewing my moral compass enough to make me want to take this further. Kindness and genuine concern aren't showered upon me nowadays. Instead, contentment, disinterest, and loneliness cloud my vicinity, enveloping me in their melancholy.

  "What's going on Aubrey?" Jake breaks through my solo pity party, and I sigh loudly into my coffee.

  Normally I'd lie. I'd force my happiness and dismiss the concern with a wave of my wrist and not too many words. But sitting here with Jake feels different. Maybe it’s the small act of thoughtfulness he's shown by taking care of me or maybe because he's withdrawn from my life; he's not my mom or best friend. He's not consumed with a false pretense of how perfect my life is or how happy I am. So for the first time in for as long as I can remember, I share, I let Jake in on the fractures in my life.

  "I'm in my late twenties, and I've just spent the last few years of my life with a man who…" I pause wanting to choose the right words, wanting Jake to understand but needing to make certain he doesn’t see how truly weak I am, how spineless, how helpless the person inside of me is. He doesn't push, waiting patiently while I find what I need to say. "I can't say he doesn't know me because of course he does, but… I've wasted my time on someone who doesn't love me for me." I confess my half-truth, my thinly veiled lie, and Jake doesn’t argue against my words. I'm grateful for that.

  "Aubrey, you are one of the most amazing and strong-willed women I 've ever met." His words are genuine, spoken softly and from the heart.

  "The person that owns your heart should cherish it, love you for who you are. You're special, Aubrey. Your man should know that, if he doesn't, he's fucking mental."

  I refuse to shy away from his compliment, enjoying the warmth that spreads through me, letting myself pretend, for just a moment, it’s true. Thanking him with an appreciative smile, I sigh before speaking again. "I know my personality can be a bit much and…"

  "And nothing, Aubrey. You're honest - direct, for sure but I think it’s an admirable quality. Your sense of humor is fucking brilliant, but if David can't see underneath all that how beautiful your soul is, then he doesn't deserve you. Not one single part of you."

  "You're sweet, J-babe," I laugh, and he shakes his head.

  "No, Aubrey, I'm honest."

  "Thank you," I breathe, my heart pounding at how vehemently he believes his words. We’re once again tangled in a watchful gaze, his words hanging heavily between us.

  Checking his watch, Jake breaks the pull, dragging a hand through his thick hair and I watch as the waves drop back over his forehead, exactly as before. "It's getting late," he tests. "Where are you planning on crashing?"

  I feel like an idiot. I hadn't given it much thought. I flew from the house, needing to escape the suffocating pressure I’ve let myself become tangled in, determined to get to Mom and half way there I couldn't do it. I couldn’t weigh this on her, knowing her well enough to know what she'd say, but she doesn’t understand, she couldn’t, so I stopped at the nearest town without a plan.

  Jake senses my hesitation accurately and stands, offering me his hand. "Come on, Strawb'ries, you can crash with me. I'll take the couch of course," he stumbles on his last words, the Adam’s apple in his throat working hard.

  The motel room is small, everything within the one compact area. Bed, couch, and TV all strategically placed to maximize space, with a small bathroom off to the side.

  "What brings you to Arlington, anyway?" I ask, dropping my ass to the bed and removing my boots.

  Flexing my toes into the carpet to stretch the muscles, I groan out loud at how good it feels. Jake doesn’t answer, and I lift my head to seek him out. His eyes are locked on me, jaw set tight, the muscle in his throat ticking.

  "Jake," I prompt quietly, and his eyes flick to the side then back to me.

  "Ah… Gig,” he coughs. “I had a gig tonight. Ummmm…I'm gonna grab a quick shower," he finishes, already moving towards the small bathroom.

  The door closes with a loud click and I let go of a long drawn out breath. I stay stuck in my place at the edge of the bed as he showers, wondering how the hell I found myself in Jake's room, but thankful all the same.

  I'm confused by my lack of turmoil at the situation I've placed myself in. This isn’t me, testing the lines of innocence. Months ago, never would I have wandered into my own temptations. Even unfulfilled, I had my morals, and my conscience was very much alive. But I feel cornered, pushed down and trapped. This moment is offering me freedom. Even with just his company, Jake has offered me the veil of power in my own life and if only for a few hours, I’d be a fool not to take it.

  I can’t imagine I would have ventured into this unknown with a stranger. Jake is different. I guess we’ve always been friends. On the periphery, sure, but still connected through Annabelle as her two best friends. How could we have not built a friendship of sorts over the years? Our attraction to one another has always been light-hearted, joked about even. Now, it's very real. It's moved into a territory that’s dangerous in the same way it's exciting. Would I have ever imagined time alone with Jake would put me in a position where I wanted to push the boundaries? Did he? Or are we just caught in a moment? Two people whose love for a mutual friend is being confused for something more. Maybe we’ve never been granted the opportunity for our chemistry to unfold into something more. Never having been gifted time with just the two of us, sharing deep parts of our lives. Would this have happened sooner if we'd taken the chance over the years to actually get to know one another?

  I startle from my thoughts when the bathroom door opens and Jake walks out, white towel wrapped around his waist. "Sorry,” he mumbles. “Forgot to grab some clothes.” Moving around the bed, one of his large hands is clasped tightly to the front of the towel, keeping it in place. Using his free hand, he rummages through his backpack searching for something to wear.

  I don't even attempt to hide my watchful gaze. I take in his body, every last inch of tanned, inked skin and the slender muscle built tightly underneath. Ring looped through one his small nipples, hip bones clear as a dusting of hair trails from his flat belly button down below the towel. His knuckles are white from the pressure of holding the towel. My eyes drop further down and I swallow deeply, knowing he's naked, that if that towel dropped I'd see…

  "You change here, I'm going to shower," I shout, closing my eyes in mortification as I move quickly from my perch on the bed and into the small space of the bathroom.

  Leaning my back into the door, I stare at the dancing steam in front of my face and not for the first time today I breathe deeply, trying to understand what the fuck I'm thinking.

  Stripping down, I step into the hot spray of the shower and welcome the heat onto my oversensitive skin. I don't dawdle, washing quickly, wanting to dress immediately. Being naked doesn't feel like my greatest level of defense against myself right now. Drying myself, my eyes scan the room for anything to clothe my body in. Anything; a robe, or a discarded shirt, but the small room is empty except for
the small white towel barely decorating my tall frame and my dirty clothes.

  Cracking the door, I poke only my head out and watch Jake twist immediately to seek me out. "Can I borrow a shirt or something? I just…" I trail off, and he nods fast, jumping from the couch.

  "O'course." He's wearing only boxers and I feel as though I've been inserted into a bad rom-com; cue female lead towel drop.

  I watch him bend down to search in his bag for something for me to wear, his back to me. Cursive script lines his spine and my feet itch to move towards him so I can glide my finger down the long column to read it. His butt is firm; boxer shorts tight at the top of his thigh muscles. He straightens abruptly, turning as I train my eyes to the side, anywhere but on him. Moving to stand directly in front of me, he hands me a dark colored shirt and I mumble my thanks, closing the door on him.

  I discard my towel in favor of the shirt. Jake's shirt. That smells like him; a slight hint of motor oil against mint. Good Lord, help me. He's tall enough that the shirt falls mid-thigh, but I still feel naked, possibly a result of my panty-less state. This, unfortunately, cannot be rectified because there is no way in the depths of hell I'm asking for a pair of his boxers.

  Steeling my posture, I take one last deep breath before opening the door slowly. His eyes shoot to me immediately, pulling air in through his nose as his eyes start a slow upward perusal of my body, starting at my feet.

  I move quickly to the bed, refusing to look at him. Refusing to let myself read into any reaction he may give to my basic state of undress. Does he know I'm not wearing panties? That I'm naked underneath the soft cotton of his shirt? That the fabric is brushing along me like I wished his hands were?