Scared of Beautiful (13 page)

Maia’s face is flushed. “You are truly a gift from God,” I whisper as we settle back into our seats.

“I aim to please,” she replies coyly.

“You do realize that we are now officially members of the mile high club?” I joke.

“What, you weren’t one before?” she asks innocently, trying to make light of it, but her eyes tell me that my man whore reputation concern her a little.

“Nope, you’re my first,” I reply reassuringly.
And last
, I want to add, but I think it’s a bit too soon for declarations like that one. Maia curls into the crook of my arm and falls asleep for the rest of the flight.

I stay awake, trying to prepare myself mentally for what I am about to deal with. My mind plays through so many stupid scenarios; ranging from me, upon seeing Daniella, channeling
Star Wars
and blurting out ‘I am your father’, to turning and running in the opposite direction. Maia’s steady breathing is like a metronome, consistent and calming. I’ll be fine, we’ll be fine, and everything will be fine.
Then why the fuck could I not shake the uneasy feeling in my stomach?

I asked my friend Emmanuel to pick us up from the airport, which I suspect might be a bad idea for two reasons. First, because Emmanuel is rough as hell, and secondly, he was my partner in crime while I was whoring my way through the state of Georgia. Still, he’s a good guy. I’m not sure how Maia will react when she meets him though.

As we walk out of the gate into the main terminal, Maia’s fingers intertwine through mine. The airport is deserted, given the early morning hour. That’s why when I see Emmanuel, leaning against the wall alone, he looks even more terrifying than he usually does. He is six foot five, built like a Mack truck, with ebony skin and an army-style crew cut. His tendency to wear his shirts a little too tight accentuates his huge biceps, and unless he was around friends, Emmanuel wore a scowl that promised to cut a person if he looked at him wrong. I’m not even gonna try and say he’s a gentle giant. I would be lying; he is really street as shit.

“Jay!” Emmanuel walks over to us with his usual swag.

Shit.
I realize too late that I hadn’t debriefed Maia on him yet.
Well, let’s just pray for the best.
Emmanuel locks me in a quick hug after a fist bump. His eyes fall down to Maia’s and my linked hands.
Oh hell, here we go
.

“And who might this be? Honestly Jay, only you could manage to find a piece on a nearly empty plane in the middle of the night. And she’s quite fine.”

Emmanuel eyed her up and down and as he rubbed his chin. I feel Maia’s finger close around mine and she moves behind me ever so slightly. We’ve been friends for a short while but my anger sparks, and I want to knock him out. I won’t, because I know he’s packing. I’m also not stupid. “This is Maia, my girlfriend,” I say, not bothering to hide my irritation.

Emmanuel raises his arms in surrender. “My bad, no disrespect intended Maia. Nice to meet you.” Emmanuel’s pupils are so dilated that I doubt he’ll even remember this in the morning. I know he’s always high, but I’m more than a little pissed that that’s how he drove here to pick us up.

“Hey,” Maia smiles sweetly. Always a lady.

Emmanuel’s modified black Range with its twenty inch spinners is hard to miss in the parking lot. It appears clean on the outside, but the inside tells a different story. The floor is barely visible with all the empty Gatorade and beer bottles, various items of clothing, some of which belong to women, and condom wrappers. I pray to god that the actual condoms themselves have been discarded. The smell of sex blended with weed has permanently become absorbed into the seats. Maia looks green, as though she may vomit in her mouth.

“Where are my manners?” Emmanuel says, before pushing the button on the remote to activate the hydraulics and lower the SUV lower to the ground. Maia climbs in the back, careful not to touch a single thing. I throw the bags in the trunk and climb in next to Emmanuel. I’m sure next time Maia will insist on paying for a cab, and who could blame her? That is, providing there will be a next time, after this trip.

Maia

If I weren’t still slightly euphoric from my encounter with Jackson on the airplane, this ride would have been some really scary shit. Emmanuel reminded me a little of Mr. T from the A Team, except that he had a slightly more pleasant face. He was scary and abrasive, and besides that, the bastard called me a whore! Well, not in so many words. I’m beginning to wonder just how deep in this world Jackson was. This guy is not a player. This guy is a thug. This guy doesn’t look like the type that accepts ‘no’ from a woman. Ever. This guy scares the shit out of me, but still,
I am the girlfriend
. I smile to myself.

In the front seat, Emmanuel talks nonstop, filling Jackson in on what had happened since he saw him last, which has been all of two weeks. Apparently someone got someone else’s girl pregnant, and another one of their friends was locked up for what Emmanuel called ‘nothing major, just sexual assault.’ I tune out, staring out at the long road ahead, until I hear Emmanuel mention Shana.

Jackson was clearly indifferent to almost everything Emmanuel said, but his shoulders tense at the name. I know I should just ignore it, but my ears prick.

“She’s still hot as hell,” Emmanuel says whistling. “Even after the kid and shit.”

And shit?

“Doesn’t matter,” Jackson shrugs. “I’m here with Maia. I have no interest in Shana.”

“Old habits die hard, bro. When you see that ass…”

That’s it
. I may have issues with confrontation, but this shit is absolutely ridiculous. I clear my throat loudly.

Jackson shuffles uncomfortably in his seat, but it’s Emmanuel who responds. “Don’t worry baby, it seems the boy here only has eyes for you. Wow, to have Jackson sprung, you must have dynamite in your…”

I open my mouth to interrupt, but Jackson beats me to it. “Stop the car, Emmanuel.” Jackson’s jaw is tense.

“What? We’re still ten miles away,” Emmanuel says, honestly shocked by Jackson’s request.

Is he serious? Really? Has he no clue that what he said in front of me was offensive?
“I said stop the car.” Jackson’s voice is low.

“Whatever man!” He yells, swerving the SUV to the side of the road. “You’re looking to get shot at this time of the night, on this road,” he continues. Jackson opens the back and grabs our bags, silently. Emmanuel pulls off in a fury, throwing up gravel and sand in his wake.

“Jackson…” I start, gently placing a hand on his arm. He shrugs me off and walks away to call a cab.
What the hell? What’s his problem?
I guess maybe he just needs some space.

After a few minutes, Jackson walks over and wraps his arms around me, pulling me into a fierce hug. “This is not a side of me that I ever wanted you to see. Am I really like Emmanuel, Maia?” Jackson asks me, his voice sounding helpless.

“No!” I reply fiercely. “You were obviously hurting and upset. That’s your past. That’s not the Jackson I know and love.” The words fly out of my mouth before my brain has processed them. In the pitch black of a deserted stretch of highway, I have just told my newly labeled boyfriend, whom I met less than two weeks ago that I love him, on our way to visiting his parents, ex-girlfriend and their child.

Jackson lifts my chin and brings both hands up to cup my face. “I think there is a very strong probability that I may be in love with you too.” Jackson looks at me endearingly. A wave of relief washes over me. Jackson’s eyes meet mine and the world stands still. As he brings his lips to mine, the headlights of the cab illuminate us. “Good timing, asshole,” Jackson groans.

Pulling up to Jackson’s house, I can see why he’s so humble. The house is small and quaint. It’s a clad and wood cottage, with a red tiled roof and a sweet country garden lining both sides of the wraparound porch. A weathered love swing sits to the right of the red front door. Jackson apologized profusely in the cab for not saying something to stop Emmanuel’s assholish behavior, but explained that they have history, and contrary to what I saw, he’s actually a good friend.

The lights along the porch are lit. We make our way quietly through the front door and down the narrow hallway to a room at the back of the house. I expect Jackson’s old room to be plastered with bikini models, or worse. But apart from a few framed vintage car posters, the walls are a crisp white with black curtains and timber blinds. The linen is also white, and it feels way too clinical and clean to belong to a male. We curl up together on his bed, clothes and all, bodies pressed against each other. Jackson’s steady breathing eventually lulls me to sleep.

After the energy we expended on the plane, and the frustration we released after the situation with Emmanuel, Jackson and I sleep well into the morning. I wake up to what the New Yorker in me feels is unseasonably warm fall weather. The bed is sans Jackson, and I immediately feel nervous at the thought of walking around a strange house alone. Just as I’m contemplating staying put for the foreseeable future, Jackson walks in with just his jeans perched low on his hips, and a mug of coffee.

“My hero,” I say reaching for the cup. “You always seem to bring me coffee. How did you know I need it to wake up properly?’ I ask.

“Morning, beautiful,” he replies moving the cup away from my lips and replacing it with a delicious kiss. “Elementary, sweet Maia,” he grins. “I noticed that you were a bit fiery in the mornings, until you had a coffee, and then you seemed to cheer up. Logical.”

“Ever consider that maybe I cheered up because I was having coffee with you?” I tease. “Not that I would ever admit to that….”

Jackson takes the coffee cup out of my hand and places it on the nightstand before laying back and pulling me on top of him. “So, what you’re saying is…I make you happy?” he says, sweeping my hair behind my ear.

“You do,” I reply honestly. His mouth meets mine in a series of soft kisses, which threaten to evolve quickly into something much more. I push myself up and grab the mug.

I change quickly. Given the haphazardness of our decision to come to Atlanta, my clothing choices are limited by what I had time to pack. Jeans and a tank, or jeans and a sweater.

“My parents should be back from church in about an hour.” Jackson says, clearly distracted as he watches me pull my jeans up.

Our experience in the plane flashes through my mind and my heart stops. “Jackson, did we use…” I trail off, almost afraid to utter the words.

Grinning, Jackson pulls a condom from his jeans pocket. “Always,” he replies coyly.

I grin too, relieved. “Do those jeans come with built in prophylactics?” I ask cheekily.

“Well, I figure being around you, I never really know when the need will arise. Plane, case in point,” Jackson replies, feigning seriousness.

As I’m about to jump Jackson again, we hear the front security screen bangs shut. “Must be home early,” Jackson states matter-of-factly, reaching for my hand.

I’m so nervous to be in this situation. I keep thinking I should have thought this through before we left Providence. Jackson walks behind me, holding my waist in the narrow hallway. He’s so close to me, it’s intoxicating.

It isn’t Jackson’s parents at the door, it’s Jade. She comes up and grabs me into a fierce hug. I hug her back, and she smiles. “I’m so glad you came,” she gushes. “Hate to say it but I kinda missed you.”

“Yeah well, after who’s now sleeping in your bed, I missed you too,” I say rolling my eyes. She raises an eyebrow. We sit down in the kitchen, and Jackson makes us scrambled eggs and toast, while I fill her in on the demon seed now occupying her space. “Why didn’t you call me?” I ask, slightly wounded.

“I made the decision so quickly. I had so much to catch up on with Shana. College will always be there, she’s not staying here for long.” Jade looks a little awkward as she continues. “Speaking of Shana, do you want to see her?” She looks towards Jackson.

He looks down, pretending not to have heard. As he walks over to the table with the plates, he finally answers. “If Maia’s okay with it.” He looks directly at me.
Me? Why me?
I didn’t come here to have Jackson throw all his difficult decisions in my direction.

Jade raises an eyebrow and looks towards me. “I guess a lot has happened in the last two days,” she says, seeming less than impressed.

“Jackson,” I say looking towards him, “that’s not my decision and you know it.”

“Why not?” he asks.

“Because this is your responsibility. Your choices. I won’t make them for you,” I reply, annunciating the won’t. He looks wounded as his gaze meets my firm and concerned stare.

“Fine,” Jackson says without conviction.

“As soon as she finishes talking to Emmanuel out the front,” Jade replies. The mere mention of Emmanuel’s name immediately elevates my irritation level.
What does he want?
I’m sure as hell that Jackson doesn’t want to hear anything he has to say.