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Astream of light falls over my eyes, stirring me awake. The smell of Jimmy and the softness of his sheets says I’m snuggled underneath his covers. A familiar feeling—half hungover, half edgy from the drugs wearing off—accosts me. His curtains are closed, but it must be late evening from the intensity of the orange sun that gleams through the crack of his drapes.
I lie there for a moment, unable to garner the energy to move, trying to recall how I got here. I was out with Jimmy and some of his friends. We were at the club, partying together. Then everything’s foggy. The rest of the night is black, but he did drag me out of Derek’s this morning.
Something must’ve gone down last night if I made my way to Derek’s after the club.
I climb out of the bed at the pace of a ninety-seven-year-old great-grandmother instead of a twenty-seven-year-old model. In the en suite, I start the shower. While the water turns as hot I can stand it, I head to the sink and brush my teeth with the toothbrush Jimmy lovingly left out for me.
The only thing certain is I need to get my shit together before I see Jimmy and find out what I did. I push the shame and guilt to the back of my mind and zone out while the spray hits the back of my skull. At first it feels like a thousand tiny jackhammers peppering my brain, but after a few minutes, the heat seeps into my neck and my shoulders relax. I enjoy the feel of hot water running over my skin, rinsing me of whatever I did.
Once I’ve towel-dried my hair and wrapped one of his plush bath towels around my naked body, it’s time for me to face the music. Reluctantly, I leave the bedroom, in search of the person who means the most to me in the world, even if I don’t treat him like it.
Jimmy’s in his den, sitting at his desk, his eyes focused on his computer screen. He doesn’t look up when I enter, but from the way the muscles in his jaw tighten, he knows I’m here.
“What happened last night?” I ask in a low voice, tiptoeing to the leather chair that sits adjacent to his desk.
He ignores me for a minute. Punishing me for misbehaving—again. A punishment I likely deserve. But sometimes I don’t think he understands what lives inside me on a daily basis.
He pushes his chair away from the desk and swivels in my direction. He’s dressed in a grey V-neck T-shirt, and his five o’clock shadow perfectly matches his dark brown hair that’s a little mussed. His legs are spread wide in a pair of well-worn jeans. Jeans we picked out together shortly after we arrived in Los Angeles and he’d made his first real money acting. Does he think of that day every time he slips his feet into the soft denim, the same way as I do?
After shopping, we went for a drive to check out the Hollywood sign and we had sex in the bed of his beat-up Chevy truck. After he came, he said to me, “This is it, Lilah. This is the beginning of a new life for both of us.”
It wasn’t his words that made the day so memorable to me. He’s long promised me our lives were going to change—before and after that day. But that was the first time I truly believed him. It wasn’t hope that sprouted inside me when he said it that day—it was faith. And those are two very different things.
I blink a couple times and return to the present. “What happened?” I ask again.
His eyes seep with a mixture of anger, bewilderment, and affection in the way only Jimmy can pull off. The reason he’s the hottest up-and-coming actor. “See for yourself.”
He clicks the keys on his laptop and turns the screen in my direction. I slide to the edge of the chair and read as he slides the screen on his MacBook, each one with headlines of the fight he got into last night, questioning whether the two of us are off or on. Worst of all, calling out his golden boy status.
I don’t need to ask for the details of exactly what happened. I can fill in the blanks for myself. I drank too much, among other things, and someone hit on me. I liked the attention and led the guy on. Jimmy got pissed and said something. Punches were thrown. Same story, different day.
“I’m sorry. I really am.” You’d think after the number of times I’ve said those words to him, they’d lose their meaning, but his shoulders relax a bit, suggesting maybe he does understand what lives inside me on a daily basis.
When Jimmy’s mad at me, it’s like a thousand-pound weight I have to carry around my neck, but it’s still not enough for me to stop using.
“The guy was out of line. That’s not your fault.”
Typical. He’s always making excuses for me.
“Even so.” I rise from the chair and step closer to him until I’m standing between his legs. “I feel terrible.” I drop to my knees, staring up at him with my best pitiful eyes.
He looks down at me with half-lidded eyes. When Jimmy looks at me like this—like I’m the only woman in the world. Like he can barely keep his hands off me. Like he feels the need to claim me—I feel in control… I feel almost whole.
His tongue slips out, and he wets his bottom lip.
“Let me make it up to you.” I slide my hand up his thigh, and the hard muscle beneath the denim flexes under my touch.
I reach his rigid length and squeeze his cock. I lick my lips, eager for the taste of him. Jimmy groans, and I move my hands to release him. I unbutton his jeans, and I’m about to pull the zipper down when his hands clamp down on my wrists.
“No. You can’t always fix it this way.”
I still and dart my gaze up to meet his. His stern face says he’s serious.
“Why not? You never had a problem before.”
He releases my wrists, and I pull my hands back. “I know, and that’s the problem.” He buttons his jeans back up.
I stand, embarrassment flushing through my body. “Funny, the last time you came down my throat, it wasn’t a problem for you.”
