Page 19 of Hot Shot Rock Star
Chapter 8
Jazzy
Majik agrees to cook Thanksgiving dinner at our place only because I begged her and promised I’d get Dooley to drive her. She says she has some guy named Dylan who’s sticking around for Thanksgiving because his parents split, but thinks he has a girl who will keep him in turkey.
On my way home in the taxi, Hal’s words stick in my head and make me hiccup with nerves. Be prepared to spend time on the road baby. He’s a fucker for calling me baby. He knows Ben owns that tag for me. It’s all his and only his and telling Hal didn’t make me feel any better. He had a comeback for whatever I threw at him. He’s faster than lightning with his mouth, that one. And the problem is, sometimes that excites me. Not in a sexual way and hell no to that. But in a lifestyle way, as in the fast lane.
The taxi pulls to the curb outside our building and I jump out. “Happy Turkey Day.” I get a kick out of telling the foreign cabby to enjoy his American holiday and he gets a kick out of hearing it. Makes him feel like he belongs. His name is Filipo and I have no idea where he’s from, but he’s here now. And I’m here now, fitting into the fabric of the city like I belong.
Like the city knows me and is taking a piece of me to weave me into the lifestyle. Shit I’m out of my mind and the minute I unlock the door I remember I forgot to pick up the pastries. I push open the door. “Fuck.” It’s the first word out of my mouth and when I come face-to-face with Bennie, his eyebrows shoot up under the thick waves of hair hanging over his forehead. His baby-maker face softens and I swear I feel my fallopian tubes spitting out eggs three at a time. I can feel the pulses deep inside me and my heart starts racing.
“Problem?” he says as he comes for me, advertising the fact that he could give a fuck if there’s a problem because he’s going to solve it, save the day, swoop in like a superhero and make everything right. And isn’t that what unicorns do after all?
Letting him hold me is hard because I don’t want to go down this easy, to let him absorb me, take me into his arms, his world, his identity. I need my own. I have my own. He kisses me and I give it up, give him my mouth, my tongue, my brain and everything in my heart and soul because no matter what I tell myself or whatever Hall tells me, I want Bennie. I want to be his, to belong in his world, part of his lifestyle and woven into the fabric of his world.
He nibbles my ear and I shiver. My hormones don’t stand a chance and I struggle to remember what I need to do, to get ready for Majik and dinner and all the company tomorrow. Family coming for the holiday. The kind of Thanksgiving other kids had, but not me growing up.
“I forgot to pick up the pastries.” I whisper the words into his mouth as he gives me a last kiss before he separates.
“I ordered it with the rest of the food from the grocers yesterday. It arrived an hour ago.” He doesn’t say Around the time you were supposed to be home, but I hear the words, hear the accusation that’s not there except being shouted by my guilty conscience drumming out good sense and reality.
“Good.” It’s all I have. I hiccup.I’d make a terrible wife. For once I don’t say it aloud.
* * *
When Majik arrives mostof my tension drops away. Or it could have been the two glasses of wine I drank with take-out pizza. I fidgeted and drank while I watched Ben make a coconut custard pie with his phone on speaker while he listened to his mom walk him through the recipe. I didn’t know it was apparently his childhood favorite Thanksgiving desert.
My childhood favorite was not getting smacked in the ass by my uncle for all the wrong reasons.
Fuck. How did he escape from my mind’s prison. I jumped up from my chair and spilled some wine on my shirt.
“Fuck.” I swiped at it, put the glass down and ran for Ben’s arms like a little lost girl finding home.
Fuck. Fuck. I’m still that girl. He turns and smiles, aims his eyes at the wine and raises a brow while his mom talks turkey, literally. He stares a beat too long and I appreciate his appreciation because the wine happens to be splashed over my left nipple. His favorite.
I bet his mom didn’t know that tidbit about her son’s favorites. Leaning into him, he nuzzles my ear.
“Enjoying the wine?” I chuckle and smack his oblivious unicorn face, having no clue about my Thanksgiving pasts. He only knows the tip of the iceberg of my childhood misery. And I intend to keep it that way. Maybe I should call Dr. Dani. She talked about relapses and what she called moments of slipping backwards. She insisted I could get past it all if I stopped the slide. Said I should call her right away. Tomorrow. No, tomorrow is Thanksgiving. I’ll call her the day after tomorrow.
With the scent of fresh pie permeating the air in our apartment, a clean shirt and a fresh glass of wine erasing my past, accompanied by a strong dose of my unicorn boy, I see a smile on my face in the hall mirror as I run for the door. Dooley’s voice rings loud and clear in the hallway from the second they got off the elevator.
Ben is right behind me. And I mean right behind me, obscenely behind me. He’s had two glasses of wine and it set him off. He almost stripped me in the kitchen two minutes ago. Only the oven timer stopped him. He reaches past me, fast like the pro athlete he is with muscles rippling, causing a ripple of another kind to go through me, and pulls the door open before they knock.
“We’re here!” Dooley throws his arms in the air, as if he’s surprised us and the grin on my face hurts it’s so wide as I look past him to see Majik standing there, enormous and tired, but with a hint of a smile, the equivalent of a laughing hyena look for anyone else.
“Let’s get this show on the road,” she says as I hug her there in the doorway before she’s moved inside because I can’t wait, can’t believe how glad I am to see her as if a blindfold slipped from my eyes to a vision of heaven. I almost scoff out loud at myself. But when I let her go and Ben takes me back, he brushes his thumb across my cheek to wipe away a tear I’d swear was never there.
“Majik.” That’s all he says before enveloping her like no one else can because he’s big and unafraid of her cool emotional style. Ben is fearless, easily the bravest man I’ve ever met in the war of emotions.
“Ben.” Majik’s voice is muffled, but even so, I can hear the emotion, the tiny tremor and my heart leaps with joy and jealousy at the same time because she’s as much his adopted mother as mine. Damn me to hell I shake my head, take a deep breath and join in the hug.
Ben’s arm immediately comes around me, including me and he laughs, his eyes glistening, his face so happy and bright that my chest clenches and I struggle to control whatever emotions are rising in me, fearful of what they might be, cursing myself for thinking I was brave enough to keep up with Ben. But he let’s go and takes Majik’s arm, apparently knowing when enough is enough.
“Let’s find you an apron. We have a great kitchen stool where we can sit and go over tomorrow’s menu.”
“Since when did you become the sous chef?” I throw my hands on my hip and follow. “That’s my job.”
“Now children, there’s more than enough sous-cheffing to go around.” Dooley says from the kitchen. “Isn’t that right, Majik?” She grunts and we settle down. Dooley takes charge from that moment on while we all pitch in at Majik’s direction. As the evening goes on, I’m torn between the warm comfortable atmosphere of cajoling, teasing and cooking, all the delicious smells reminding me of my time living with Majik and then on the other hand, my fear.
