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“No, I'm planning on making a nice dinner, drinking too much wine, and watching a movie by myself, forcing myself not to turn on the TV or look at my phone to hear the latest commentary on my behavior yesterday. Levi Storm is trying to cover it in a neutral way. He’s texting me saying that he won’t reveal anything, of course, but I know he’s dying to do the story. And how about the Dallas newscaster making me out like I’m some ‘Jake Skyler’ stalker?” She made no effort to hide her sarcasm.
Jake grinned. “Okay, you have to admit that was sort of funny.” He moved beside her, still helping put things away. “Just a little?” he said, nudging her shoulder.
Rakell rolled her eyes again, a ghost of a smile curving her lips before disappearing.
“I kinda get how nothing seems funny right now. But I think you need someone to help you eat all this food. How about I stay?” He waited a beat, then added, “Just for dinner—nothing else.” He held up his hands, a boyish smile on his face.
“Jake…” she said, searching his face like it held the answers for how she should move forward, then shaking her head, herwords lost. “Do you want some wine?” She was buying herself some time to put together a case, a case for him to stay, but still had no real answers for him.
“Yes. Here, I’ll open it,” he said, taking the bottle from her hand. “So is that a yes?” He tilted his head, prompting her for an answer.
Rakell leaned back against the counter, her eyes slowly shutting, opening, then looking past him. “Here’s what I need to do tonight: I need to eat, drink, and veg. I can’t get into a deep conversation.”
“Well, I’m perfect then, ’cause you know us meatheads—we aren’t great conversationalists. But at least I’m okay to look at.” He mused, placing the bottle on the counter. “Glasses?” he asked, looking around the kitchen. She opened a cabinet, reaching for two wine goblets and two water glasses.
He knew he should stop himself, but he needed to know this one thing, so he proceeded, speaking slowly. “I have just one question. Are you dating him, the grandson? I can’t remember his name,” he lied. Not only did he know his name, but he’d also spent some time researching him: Roman Jensen, a USC graduate in business with an MBA from the University of Pennsylvania. Obviously bright and loaded; his grandparents owned the San Antonio Lone Stars.
Rakell’s chest tightened. Jake didn’t ever stop at one question. She knew she couldn’t do this tonight. Matt was right; she needed to talk to Jake, but she wanted him to focus on the Super Bowl. She didn’t want to stand in the way of that, and what would she say to him, anyway? Tell him about a fraction of her past life, and then what? She kept her eyes on the bottle as he poured them both a generous glass.
“Jake, this is the only question I’ll answer. Tonight’s not the time to get into anything. I’ll do all that after the Super Bowl.” She took the glass he handed her. “No, he’s not my boyfriend.That was our first date.” Her eyes looked up to Jake’s intense stare, one side of her mouth turning up at the ridiculousness of her date and what had transpired. “And I’m probably not on the short list of second dates,” she added, a comical hint to her voice, wanting to move past the skittish energy dominating her.
Jake’s lip inched up, his eyebrows wiggling. “Nah, really?” he snorted. “Think so? Guys love that public humiliation stuff.” He took a long sip of wine, keeping his eyes focused on her over his glass, watching as she visibly fought back a smirk. Relief spread through him at her confirmation that Roman wasn’t her boyfriend. “He’s probably loving how the media is raining a pity party on him right now. Ikindafeel bad for him, but I'm quickly getting over it.” Fighting back a laugh, he added, “I always said you know how to build a guy up.”
“Thanks for the fucking confidence builder,” Rakell said, a chuckle flying from her mouth for the first time since she’d appeared on the Jumbotron.
Jake smiled, taking in her laughter, a sound he truly loved. These were the moments he yearned for—the sound of her laughter, the smirk on her face, her smart-assed comebacks, and of course the feeling of her in his arms. These moments made the stiff, tense times—all the uncertainty—feel like part of the package that he had to accept in order to get the good parts of being with her. Kind of like the slow drudge of moving the football downfield, several yards forward, then throwing away a pass, being pushed back a few yards, then running just enough yards to eke out a first down. Burying the unsettling fear that you may not pull it off this time, then completing a glorious pass for a touchdown, making all those tenuous moments an essential part of the deal.
Once Rakell laughed, hugged him, or flashed a smile, Jake could endure the ambiguity, the lingering questions. But still, he needed answers before they could ever move forward. Notintermittent moments of connection, but something real. What the hell was wrong with him?Was this what love was?His expression shifted to serious. “One more question—why didn’t you tell me the truth about Matt?”
Rakell stopped her laugh short. “What are you talking about? How did you…” She halted, looking at him intently. Of course, he probably saw Matt and Jonathon’s picture in the paper. “No, Jake. No more questions. I can’t do this tonight. After you win the Super Bowl, I’ll answer anything.” A low-level queasiness settled into her gut, knowing that the truth would almost certainly be the end, depending on how much she told him.
Jake cocked his head. Again, no answers from her. “What if I don’t win? Then what? Still no answers?”
“Please, let’s just make a date to talk after the Super Bowl.” Her tone was direct, leaving no room for him to squeeze in more questions. “Listen, I told you what I was doing tonight. I am eating, drinking, checking out... I am not looking at my phone, my computer, or anything. Why? Because I don’t want to see what people are saying about me. I don’t want to answer questions about what the hell I was thinking, sitting in the San Antonio owner’s box, jumping up to cheer for the other team’s quarterback. I don’t want to hear one more random person’s conjecture about me…trying to figure out why I’m so fucked up. Why I…” Her voice broke, her eyes imploring him to understand.
Jake set down his glass, moving toward her but not touching her. “Shh, shh, Sweets, okay, okay,” he soothed. “After the Super Bowl.”Jake, easy, she’s letting you know there’s a future.Yet he still wondered if they would always be at an impasse, a gulf of unsaid things stretching between them. Rakell had made it clear once again that he would have to adhere to her terms if he wanted to be near her. He did, so he went with it. “Can I take my jacket off?” he asked tentatively, forcing a small smile.
Rakell let out a deep sigh. “Of course, Jake,” she said, before watching him remove his jacket, holding it up in a gesture, asking where he should put it. “In the hall closet, or throw it on a chair,” she said, like she was talking to a new guest, someone she wasn’t completely comfortable with yet. “I stink. I’m going to take a shower. Do you want to make yourself useful?”
“At your service, ma’am,” he drawled, his eyebrows arching. “Do you need help undressing?” He stalked toward her, a predatory leer consuming his face.
“That’s the last thing we need to be doing,” she answered, fighting the urge to toy with his teasing question, knowing where it could lead them.
Jake was now close to her, trying not to pull her into him, consume her. “Actually, we seem to do best at that.” He smiled, putting his hands up. “But yes, I promised. I need to quit doing that.”
“What?”
“Promising not to touch you,” he said guiltily, knowing that the thoughts running through his head were quite the opposite.
“No touching, no questions. Deal?”
Frowning, he growled, “Deal.”
Rakell shook her head. “I’ll be back. Make yourself comfortable.”
Jake grabbed her wrist as she walked by, stopping her.
Squeezing her wrist, he said, “I will if you stop talking to me like we just met. Deal?”
