JAKE (Leaves of a Maple Book 2) Read online

"Reason you're creeping in our bedroom, alone, Red?" Archer's voice echoes up the stairs, and Aubrey turns to roll her eyes in my direction.

  "I'm not alone. Jake's with me," she accentuates the sexiness of her voice and Archer's bark of laughter is loud.

  "Don't you corrupt the kid," he jokes, coming into sight.

  "Oh, I reckon you underestimate his level of debauchery," Aubrey sings out and I can read the slight husk in her delivery, the neediness her constricted throat betrays her with.

  Moving to the door, I stand behind Aubrey. Close enough to barricade the door, but not close enough for her to feel the effect her words have on my overeager libido.

  Lifting my chin in greeting to Archer, I laugh at Annabelle's soft grimace. "Jesus, Aubrey."

  "Annabelle, babe," I smile warmly at her and she leans up to kiss my upturned lips.

  "Hey, Jakey."

  I watch in amusement as both Archer and Aubrey's lips turn down in a reactive frown at our exchange. Archer's deliberate, Aubrey's completely unintentional. "Reason you two are in our bedroom and stopping us from entering?" Annabelle quirks an eyebrow, oblivious to Archer and Aubrey's distaste.

  Shaking herself from her thoughts, Aubrey's exuberance shines brightly once again. "Apart from being a deliciously attractive welcome home party? Yes. There is a reason. Cover your eyes," she instructs, clapping her hands together.

  "Ooooookay." Annabelle's eyes close immediately as Archer's dark brow rises in challenge at Aubrey's demand.

  "Come on, man. Let her have this. Promise you'll love it," I push.

  He concedes. Reluctantly, on a loud sigh, arms crossed over his wide chest.

  "Reckon you can make it to the bed with your eyes closed?" Aubrey tests.

  Archer scoffs loudly in response as Annabelle's soft giggle rings through the room. "Right. Stupid question. Keep your mitts to yourself o' moody one. Just this once."

  Moving to the side, I wink at Aubrey as we let them pass. "Keep your eyes to the head of the bed. Okay. Open," Aubrey instructs, falling back into my chest, her nerves once again surfacing.

  Annabelle's loud intake of air is immediate and I squeeze Aubrey's shoulder in reassurance. Glancing back at us Annabelle searches Aubrey's face. "You took this? Aubrey, it's..." Flicking back to the photo her words trail into nothing.

  "It’s us," Archer finishes what Annabelle couldn't, eyes still fixed on the picture. Finally turning to Aubrey and me, the appreciation in his face is clear. "Thank you, Red," he clears his throat in an uncommon show of emotion. "We fuckin' love it. Best shot of the day. Period."

  Annabelle nods up at her husband before moving to hug Aubrey. "Babes, it's amazing. It sounds silly but I've been worried I'd forget the perfection of the day. I mean, the photos your friend took are nice, but this...." She looks back at the frame hanging above her bed, losing herself in the image for a moment before turning back. "It captures the intimacy of the day for me. Completely."

  "I'm glad you love it," Aubrey admits, her voice soft. "Jake helped me hang it," she adds, unnecessarily.

  Dropping a kiss on Aubrey's forehead, making me frown, Archer motions toward to door. "Wanna beer?"

  Nodding my head, I follow his departure from the room, hearing Annabelle and Aubrey close behind. "You guys wanna stay for dinner?" Annabelle asks, and I hold my breath waiting for Aubrey's response.

  "Sorry, babes. Heading back early tomorrow for work, so promised dinner to Stevie and Mom." I can't help but be disappointed in her answer, craving just a little longer with her. "But I can stay for a beer. If there's one offered?" She smiles, watching me from the corner of her eye.

  "’Course," Archer responds, entering the kitchen with the three of us on his heels. Annabelle lifts herself onto the counter as Archer hands us our beers. He moves in between Annabelle’s thighs and they wrap around his torso, his back settling against her chest. Aubrey and I sit behind the breakfast bar, opposite them both, knocking knees continuously as we twist on the stools hidden from view. It's an innocent enough touch, but the fact that it feels necessary probably should be warning enough for me to stop.

  “Been in town for most of the day?” This question comes from Archer, his free hand brushing up and down Annabelle’s calf in an unconscious caress.

  Swallowing a gulp of her beer, Aubrey wipes along her mouth with the back of her hand. “Yeah,” she nods. “Came down this morning and spent the day with Mom. It was nice, well, until lunch, we ran into Bartie and Carol Edison.” She shakes her head with disdain.

  “They’re like an evil set, mother and daughter, how can two people be so, I don’t know, black inside?” Annabelle spits out this remark, her face twisting awfully at the mention of Bartie.

  Archer shrugs. “Bartie wasn’t always fucked up when she was young.”

  Annabelle chokes on her beer, her bottle slamming hard on the counter. “Fucking come again?”

  Archer twists his body, pinning her with his eyes, but Annabelle cuts him off before he can speak. “Choose your words very carefully, Archer Dean.”

  “Chill, hold the venom. All I’m saying is when she was a kid, she was nice, sweet almost. She’s a product of her environment. Her dad ran off and her mother is a complete dropkick. That life would be enough to make anyone as damaged as Bartie.”

  Annabelle rolls her eyes. “Still, she’s a fucking bitch. Did they speak to you?” she asks, dismissing Archer’s words.

  Aubrey nods. “Yeah, same shit. Calling my mom a tramp and double-home wrecker.”

  “Double?” I ask, causing her to turn toward me.

  “Carol and Steve, her and Joseph. Apparently, mom had to break up two homes to find her happiness, because she’s a tramp.”

  She looks ashamed as she speaks, her head dropping low and her shoulders slumping. “Worse part is, I actually felt for Carol Edison today. Turns out that my mom worked her way in between her and Steve, not once, but twice.”

  Annabelle scowls at Aubrey’s words. “How so?”

  “Obviously, as we all know through town gossip, when she came back to town with me, Steve was seeing Carol,” she pauses letting her words sink in. “Mom and Steve finally worked through their crap, whatever it was, and Carol was cast aside. What I didn’t know was that when Mom first moved to Carnation when she was like fifteen, Carol and Steve were loosely involved, Steve saw Mom, broke it off with Carol and yeah…”

  Clearing his throat, Archer’s lips twist in a dismissive frown. “I wouldn’t put that on Clarah, Red. Trust me, Carol has always been venomous. I guarantee she was a means to an end for Steve and more importantly that she knew it was nothin’ more than what it was. She’d be throwing shade to make you and your mom feel shitty.”

  “Sounds like her spawn as well, I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” Annabelle quips out, attitude lacing her tone as she drinks deeply from her bottle.

  Archer ignores her stab, focusing on Aubrey’s glazed over look. She takes a second to notice his stare, nodding reassuringly when she does, lying with the gesture. Archer’s not blind though, he sees the lie of understanding for what it was, a need to cut the conversation off. Like always with Aubrey King. God forbid she let anyone get close enough to really get inside.

  We spend the next hour or so chatting about nothing. Laughing at bad jokes and painfully obvious innuendos. Aubrey and I fall into character well. Our interactions seemingly consistent with how we've always been. But now the undertones give greater meaning to the two of us. There's a truth and a need to the words so carelessly thrown into conversation. Archer and Annabelle don't seem to read into our interactions and I appreciate that this has always been our kind of normal. Thankful that even now, considering our indiscretions, our friendship can continue as it has always been. Here's hoping anyway. Hoping that my unobtainable need doesn't become glaringly obvious to those close to us.

  Two beers later, Aubrey offers her apologies but insists she has to get back to her mom and Steve. I work hard not to show my outward disappoint
ment at her leaving, but I know she can sense it because it’s obvious enough to me that it's reciprocated. She offers me a lift and I wish I could say yes. I wish this morning I had chosen to drive to work, so she had to take me back to my car, but I didn't. I ran. Needing to exert some of the excess energy filtering through my veins. Archer and Annabelle would've seen my car next door so lying would be impossible. Hard to explain having to run back home after making the excuse that I need a lift back to my car. Way to paint questionable behavior to my brother and his wife, who happens to be both mine and Aubrey's best friend. Yeah, lying is definitely out of the question.

  We hug for a few seconds longer than friendly, but not long enough for it to be glaringly obvious. Aubrey kisses along my jaw quickly, my back shielding the act from view. Pulling back, she winks, making me smile and her eyes close over slightly in longing when she sees it.

  I watch her drive away with a mixture of relief and regret. Feeling at ease in the fact that it seems our friendship can continue, somewhat easily considering what has happened between us. But also feeling a sense of loss at my inability to touch her freely. To taste her. Knowing that tomorrow morning she'll head back to Bellingham. Back to him. Back to her unhappy life with some ridiculous reasoning in her head that it's where she needs to be.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Aubrey

  I’m not actually certain what my plan was. Coming here. Did I always plan to seek him out? Or was I confident in my ability to hear him sing and leave, without any contact?

  I guess I can pretend that my intentions were innocent. That hearing his voice would be enough. That watching him without fear of being seen would be sufficient. But I crave the sound of his voice; spoken solely to me. I want his wide smile; directed to me and only me. I need the dimple; a side effect of that smile that would be entirely mine. I crave it. I want it. I need it.

  So, in reality, if I allow complete honesty, at least within myself, I know the truth. I know that my intentions were never to stay in the background. I knew that I would somehow seek him out; whether it be by my approach or positioning myself in a way that he’d know I was there. For him. Only him, because there would be no other reason for me to be sitting in a small coffee shop in Burlington.

  Ordering an Americano, my eyes stay mostly fixed on Jake as I absently smile at the young guy behind the counter, paying him for my order. His smile is flirtatious, inviting and I can appreciate his handsomeness. Just not enough to return his flirtation. Once upon a time, I would have returned his attention, shamelessly. I would have smiled, laughed, thrown out inappropriate innuendos, even the occasional wink. Never taking it further than a little harmless back and forth banter, but it no longer feels right. Not when I know how Jake responds to my wink, to my smile, to my overtly sexual insinuations. Not when I can imagine the way his throat tightens in response to my words, as he sucks in air to control his breathing. The way his facial muscles quirk at the side of his lips, offering a hint of a smile in response to my own. The way the divot in his cheek makes itself known when I wink at him. They all seem to belong to him now. Ridiculous as that may sound, considering I’ve given my life to someone else. But all the most important parts of me, the traits that are so frankly me, seem right only aimed at Jake nowadays.

  Grabbing my coffee, I move to find a seat off to the side, wanting to hear him for a time before approaching. I get lost in the husk of his voice as I drink my coffee; warmed at the heated liquid running down my throat and by the fire his voice causes under my skin. His genres vary greatly from blues to alternate to indie to commercial covers. All of them beautifully recited, with his deep, scratchy voice adding a dynamic to the music. I could sit here all day. All night and just listen. Just let his voice filter into my ears and through my body. It eases me in the same way it entices me.

  “Ever started fallin’ for someone you know you shouldn’t?” His voice projects softly around the room as he fiddles with his guitar, with the microphone. Approving murmurs shuffle through the room and I scan my eyes over the cluster of customers, relaxed and all focused on Jake. “Hmmm,” he laughs quietly. “Me too. Me too.”

  I watch his eyes close over as his fingers move along the strings of his instrument, filling the room with a hauntingly quiet melody. His voice wraps warmly around a cooled indie rock version of James Carr’s “The Dark End of the Street,” and I pull in a sharp breath. The lyric, clearly similar for Jake, holding a deeply personal message. I let the words dance within my body, closing my eyes to allow the full impact of the vocalized message delivered by Jake’s bared tone. It’s dark and haunting.

  “Thanks, guys. Just gonna take a quick break and I’ll finish one last set for ya,” Jake clears his throat, placing his guitar carefully across his chair as he stands.

  As always, people move into his space, praising his talent, wanting to know more about him. He smiles appreciatively at them, thanking them for their compliments, answering questions thrown his way. Finally, coffee in hand, standing off to the side, his eyes scan the space taking in the customers. His icy blue eyes sweep past me, before he stands upright, eyes flicking back to me. Shooting him a wink, his wide smile breaks open, and I want to high-five myself for the dimple I’m blasted with. Excusing himself from his present company, he moves purposefully towards me. Strides long, steps fast.

  “Great song you finished on there, J-Babe,” I offer by way of greeting and understanding warms the deep blue of his eyes.

  “Strawb’ries,” he smiles, leaning down to touch his lips to my cheek. Pulling back an inch, he takes in the slight blush now heating my face before dragging his thumb along the color, sighing softly as he pulls his touch away.

  “Hope this is okay. Annabelle texted me and let me know you were doing a small gig close by… couldn't really resist...” I trail off. He smiles in response. A smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes, a little unsure of his feelings on my appearance. “I can go,” I cough out, suddenly regretting my decision to turn up unannounced.

  “No,” he cuts me off immediately. “Really, I’m happy you’re here. That’s what makes me nervous.”

  I nod my head, understanding his dilemma. Dropping down next to me, Jake leans back into the couch, foot perched atop of his right knee. We sit in silence for a few minutes, taking in our surroundings. We watch others interact comfortably, without quandary. Eventually I give in to my need to have some sort of physical connection, dropping my head to his shoulder. His body freezes underneath my movement almost immediately and I count his missed breaths as I wait for his reaction. Bracing myself for him to push me away, to put the distance he should morally put between us. But he doesn’t, and it takes five breaths, five painfully solitary breaths before his body relaxes under my touch. Before his face drops to the top of my head and I hear him take a deep intake of the scent of my hair, smelling my skin.

  “Is it weird to be envious of people you don’t know?” he asks, dropping an arm along the back of chair, resting just above my shoulders. “I envy most of these guys and girls. Touching freely, laughing, smiling.” His head tips down to allow me access to his eyes, and we share a sad smile.

  Shaking my head, I turn back to view the crowd. “No. It’s not weird at all. I’m jealous at the ease at which they can interact. No prying eyes, no judgment, no feelings that an innocent touch could be seen as immoral or unethical.”

  “Is it though?” he questions, eyes narrowed. “Innocent? Do you think?”

  “No,” I answer immediately, feeling no need to lie. “But anyone external to just you and I, well, they don’t really know that. Do they?”

  “I guess not,” he shrugs, moving to take a long sip of his coffee.

  “How’d you get this gig?” I move to change the subject, wanting to rid any awkwardness from the small window of time this moment will allow.

  “Friend of mine lives around here now. I’ve met a few random people through gigging in different places. Some I click with and we keep in contact, like a guy whose broth
er owns this place,” he smiles down at me.

  “I’d say you’d have a heavy number of friends on Facebook,” I laugh and he returns it quietly.

  “I’m not hurting for Facebook friends. And you know what they say, if it’s on Facebook, it’s pretty damn official so that must mean I’ve got more real friends than the actual population of Carnation.”

  My laugh is loud and distinct in the small coffee shop, pulling attention from a number of people standing close. Most smile at my obvious display of happiness before turning back to their conversations. Others look over with limited interest, turning back immediately. I love it. The sense of anonymity. Shit, I haven’t been able to feel that way since last time Jake and I found ourselves alone in a random town.

  “That’s a good laugh,” Jake admires, watching me intently. I get lost in his face. Memorizing his laugh lines, the color of his eyes, the almost invisible indent of his dimple that is magnified on a smile. The fullness of his red lips, the crease in his bottom lip, giving it an exaggerated swell.

  “Gotta do my last set, Strawb’ries.” Jake breaks my study, and I nod, eyes still focused on his lips. “You gonna hang around?”

  Giving in to temptation, I lean forward, touching my lips to his in a breeze of a kiss. Just a soft skate of my lips against his before pulling back. “Yeah, if that’s cool.” I finally meet his eyes, darkened with a want I shouldn’t be glad to see. “Think I might take a few snaps if you’re okay with it?” I bend to retrieve my camera from my bag and he smiles at my type of instrument.

  Nodding his head, he drops a kiss on my forehead, his lips staying connected to my skin for a beat longer than just friendly. Squeezing my shoulder, he stands quickly, moving to his mic and guitar without a backward glance.

  I spend the next forty-five minutes catching Jake lost in his art. Random stills of the veins straining in his neck, his lips agape mid-lyric, eyes closed as he loses himself in the song. But my favorites are the images of his hands, caressing his guitar. Loving his instrument and allowing it to make the most beautiful sounds.