When she did come back upstairs, Jet was nowhere to be found. Undeterred, she sat patiently on a stool until he came out of the kitchen, swinging a wicker basket. "Oh, there you are. Grab a bottle of Riesling and some wine glasses, and we'll be all set."
"How about a fifth of Jagermeister and some shot glasses?"
He smirked, setting the basket down and adjusting his shirt. "Whatever works for you, missy." After opening the basket and rummaging for a few moments, he settled his gaze back on her. "You look cute. Are you planning to wear real shoes?"
"Do you think that I'll need them?" Her outfit was simple; a powder blue baby-doll tee and white denim shorts. Out of premonitory fear due to her odd dream, she had worn a two piece bikini underneath. She realized that Jet was staring at it, and struck with self-consciousness, she began to fiddle with the strings.
"You going to tan?"
"Well, no…"
"Never mind. You and Mak wear the same size shoes, right? You could borrow her sandals, I think."
Faye squirmed against the warm leather of the car seats. The sun blazed down upon them, making her very grateful that they were in a convertible. This car, though quite ancient, had been kept in pristine condition, from its chrome details to the obnoxious fiberglass wing on the back. A 'spoiler', he had called it. When she asked what purpose it served, he shrugged and turned up the radio.
The car took a route that led northwards out of Thoracia and into the verdant countryside. On both sides of the path, huge trees entwined their branches to create an organic vaulted ceiling. They drove on, the engine's purrs falling heavy against the grand silence of the woods.
The trees of the area were in full riotous bloom. Their petals fell delicately and were blown away in the car's wake as Jet continued down the road. Faye looked up, entranced, as the canopy overhead showered silken petals against her face. A full, wildly painted blossom fell into her lap and she clutched at it, delighted. "Did you know these trees did that?"
"Yup," Jet said, expressionless.
"You drove this car on purpose."
"You're brilliant, Miss Valentine." A fresh breeze took the flower right out of her lap and hurled it through the air. Before she could shriek in dismay, it spun about giddily and flung its golden spores every which way. She squealed in childish excitement. "Jet, did you see that?"
"Yep." Still deadpan.
"I suppose you knew those flowers did that, too."
"Did I mention that you're brilliant, Faye?" The forested area moved by at a brisk pace as they entered a meadow, and passed the back side of a subdivision and some random outlying properties. She stared hard. The wealthy neighborhood that she had lived in as a child suddenly came to mind. "Those houses are gorgeous."
"It's the Hialeah district. Most people who live there are bankers, realtors, doctors or lawyers. A few school administrators as well. I think that the houses start in the $350s." He rattled it off automatically, as if he were a tour guide. Faye looked at him sharply to see if he was mocking her, but he didn't appear to be so much merry as distracted. With a sigh, she faced the front and plopped down in the seat.
Jet watched her from the corner of his eyes as she swung her legs back and forth, just like a discontented child, and he fought hard to keep a straight face. No matter how much makeup she applied or how much liquor she consumed or how far up she pushed her chest, she was still, in many ways, a seventeen-year-old girl. Coated in a lacquer of false jading, always trying to look more grown-up than she was, still gangly in some areas while other areas grew as ripe and luscious as fresh melons –
"Jet!" Her voice snapped him back to the world and he suddenly realized that not only were there other cars on the road, but that he was about to pass the turn. Slamming on the brakes and yanking hard on the wheel, he was successful not only in making a hard left at 45 mph, but also in melting rubber from the tires and raising a tornado's cloud of dust. They began to head west, down a back road.
"You didn't hear a word I've said, did you?" Faye demanded as he began to actively look for Thorne's Orchard. There was a large and spreading pear tree about half a mile into the property that he had claimed as his own personal space, and hopefully it would be free today. But if the agitation in his immediate vicinity was any indicator, he might not make it there alive. "Damn it, Jet, would you stop ignoring me!"
"I'm not ignoring you," he answered, but he didn't look at her. The turn was just ahead and cautiously, he braked and eased to the right without the theatrics of his previous turn. A dim part of his brain wondered if anything in the picnic basket had broken. Sandwiches covered in hard liquor just weren't his style. "I just haven't been here for a few months and I wasn't entirely sure where I was going." The tollbooth loomed ahead and he fumbled for a few coins in the change holder. Finding none, he finally spared her a glance. "Faye, give back the change."
She scowled and her cheeks flushed, but she handed over the three wulongs in change that she had swiped. Quickly calculating how much he needed, Jet dropped the rest back into the plastic compartment. Old habits die hard, I guess. He tossed the coins into the basket as they rode on by without stopping. The holographic gate vanished before their eyes and he continued into the park.
"That gate was just an illusion?"
"I've seen people wreck their cars on it, so I'd venture to say 'no'."
Despite the tumultuous ride there, luck was with him; the pear tree stood vacant and welcoming. Its shade was so intense as to make the grass beneath appear black from a distance. Jet drove the car under the very outskirts before sliding into neutral and applying the parking brake. Satisfied, he opened the door and looked around the area. "Would you mind grabbing the basket and that blanket, honeybunch?"
"Sexual harassment," Faye answered in a stern tone, but she flipped her seat forward and pulled the two items from the rear of the car.
"I wasn't aware you were familiar with the term."
"It's not one of my personal favorites." The basket was quite laden. Struggling, she lugged it along as best she could, nearly stumbling twice before she reached the base of the tree. She scanned the area for a smooth spot in order to lay the blanket down. Finding one between two large and protruding roots, she shook the checkered blanket twice before allowing it to drift to the ground.
An attempt to unpack the basket was met with a rebuff. "I'll do that. Why don't you look around the park for a bit before we eat?"
"Too hot," she murmured, and plopped down in the grass. The blades were thick and cool on her skin. Running a hand through the foliage, she came across a warm, oblong form. A pear. Her fingers closed on her prize. She closed her eyes and brought it near her nose, inhaling deeply.
The soft rustling in the immediate area stopped. "Don't ruin your appetite with that."
"I'm only going to smell it." Its skin was smooth, its scent, rich and sweet. She rubbed the fruit against her parted lips, almost kissing it.
The sound of crunching grass made her open her eyes. Jet hovered over her, an expression of cheerful disdain evident. "Just make sure you bite on the side without the worm holes, okay?"
"What!" Jumping to her feet, she flung the pear as far away as she could. Jet howled with laughter as she unceremoniously wiped her mouth and spat repeatedly, a stark change from her earlier semi-erotic behavior. "Faye Valentine, you are entirely too gullible. The food's ready." He gestured in the direction of the blanket. "After you, my lady."
"Wait a minute!" She glared up at the man towering above her. "You tricked me?"
He didn't answer, but his broadening grin told her all. Furious, she cast around for a missile to throw at him. By the time she found a few pears lying on the ground, he was out of sight. Fuming in the wake of her impotence, she tossed the unripe fruit to the side and approached the blanket, but a fleshy thud and an "Ow!" made her start.
Jet emerged from a prone position in the grass, rubbing his head. Apparently she had hit him inadvertently while throwing away the pears. He smiled ruefully at her wicked grin. "Let's just call it square, shall we? Do you like roast beef?"
"How's the potato salad?"
"Great." She savored the last of her wine, extending her glass when Jet suggestively shook the bottle. "Your recipe?"
"Nah. Mak's grandmother's. We use the base – the celery and mayo and spices – for about three different salads in the restaurant. Remind me when we get back into town and I'll make Waldorf salad for you."
"Waldorf? You mean that old hotel from way back when?"
"One and the same." He examined a piece of pumpernickel that lay in his hand, the final sorrowful remains of a roast beef hoagie piled with all the trimmings. Content, he stuffed it in his mouth. "You know, in its day, it was the equivalent of La Maison Vert."
"Wow." Satiated, she lay back and stared up. The splay of branches and twigs against cloud and sky fascinated her.
Jet settled next to her, his nearness startling her momentarily. His voice was rough, low. "Did you ever make pictures out of clouds when you were little?"
"No." The green sunlight splashed warm on her cheeks and caressed her in its softness. The air was heavy with the scent of baking grass, ripe pears and sweet nectar. Lazily, she turned her head to look at him. He was propped on one elbow, staring down at her. "Look at that one," he commanded, pointing.
She looked. "The long one?" It was milk spilled on the counter, whipped cream melting on a cake, cotton balls stretched out long and thin.
"No, no. The tiny one that looks like a triangle." She craned, squinting. "See how it's just barely touching the tips of the branches? Doesn't it remind you of the peak of a mountain?"
The cloud shifted and scrunched. She lay back again, relaxing. "It's a butterfly trapped in a spider's web."
"No," he said, voice little more than a rumble. "It's my soul up there."
A derisive snort. He looked at her, but she had closed her eyes. Her dark hair scattered over her pale skin, giving her an impish look. Jet smiled. "Playing possum, I take it."
"It's my favorite game."
"Undoubtedly." He stood, stretched languorously, and began to pack the basket once again. The sunshine had inexplicably grown dim, and the clouds had gone from white and fluffy to sullen gray, the very edges trimmed in black. It meant rain.
Faye shifted, shivering against the sudden chill in the air. She sat up, gooseflesh breaking out on her slim arms, and looked around. Jet had nearly finished getting everything back together, and she scrambled off the blanket, shaking it out quickly and rolling it up. She was on her feet, quilt in tow, by the time he had popped the trunk.
After all had been packed away, and a scan made of the area, Jet climbed in and started the ignition. He pressed an unassuming button on the dashboard and continued to make ready to leave. Suddenly he stopped, and punched the button pointedly. Nothing happened. He turned sharply to look at the rear of the car while holding the button down with his thumb. Faye watched, mystified. "What?"
He looked at her, the mien of his face frustrated, but resigned. "The top's stuck."
"What?"
"The top's stuck," he repeated, as if she hadn't heard the first time.
She gaped, gripped with alarm. "It's going to rain! Isn't there anything you can do to pull it out?"
He sighed, shaking his head. "It's compressed between the back seat and the trunk. And anyway, the whole thing's automated. If any of the retracting motors stop running or get stuck, the roof won't come out or retract. I could try to figure out what's wrong with it, but I might break something trying, and I'd rather not. This isn't my car."
"Mak's."
"Correct." The engine roared to life as he depressed the clutch and shifted into first. "This car is her baby. She'd kill me if I broke anything."
Dismayed, Faye slumped back into the seat, watching the pear tree in the rear view mirror as it slowly began to recede. And it had been such a nice day up to this point…
Before they made it back to the entrance of the park, it had begun to rain.
Jet put the windows up in a futile attempt to lessen the impact of the drops, but before three minutes had passed they were both soaked through. Faye sat in a growing puddle, silent and miserable. He was equally quiet, eyes focused on the muddy road ahead.
Eventually, they ran into traffic, and he slowed the car, downshifting until he could put it into neutral. He pulled off his shirt, wrung it out firmly, and offered it to her. She accepted and slipped into it quickly; it was warm from the touch of his skin. Despite herself, she blushed.
They crept along at a snail's pace, finally discovering the cause of the blockage: a three-car pileup. All three had apparently spun out into the ditch, although one seemed to have had the misfortune of striking a tree as well. As a result, the roadway was littered with glass and tire particles as well as several branches, and an officer was directing oncoming traffic. As they sat in the rain, waiting to be guided around the crash site, she looked at him, and he looked at her, and suddenly they asked each other, "So what's Mak gonna think about the car?"
Sheepishly laughing, they smiled at each other for the first time in an hour, and a palpable cloud of tension lifted. Jet drummed his fingers softly on the steering wheel. "We can't go back to the store like this, you know."
"I suppose not."
"I have an apartment in town. It's about four miles from here. We should go there and dry out while I figure out what to do about the car."
"I thought you lived in the bottom of the ship."
"I do, normally. But when the store was first accepted by the Better Business Bureau, I got some calls from apartment complexes in town that had corporate units available. I looked at a few different places and decided to get one. The rent's pretty reasonable, it's a good tax write-off, and the bills are practically nothing because it's almost never used. I just keep some stuff there for the rare occasion that I'm too far from home to get a change of clothes in a hurry."
"Why bother, then? You're paying monthly rent for a closet."
"When my bosses come to town, I send them there as opposed to putting them up in a hotel. And every now and again, Mak uses it between doubles."
It always seems to come back to her, Faye thought, although she said nothing.
Her thoughts must have shown on her face, because Jet laughed upon taking one look at her. "Okay. I promise to try not to say her name for the rest of the day." He looked up, squinting as the rain struck him in the eyes. "At least there's no lightning."
He seemed to have made a habit of speaking too soon.
Lightning bolts began to appear on the horizon, just as he made the left hand turn in front of the blue convenience store and drove toward the Neon Strip. Faye was surprised. "You wouldn't do business in Neon, but you'll take an apartment here?"
"Doing business is one thing. Having a place to call home is something else entirely." He downshifted, carefully balancing between clutch and accelerator as the car idled on a hill at a red light. "I would have gladly rented property in Sunset, but it's mildly dangerous there. And I'm not too fond of coming home to a bare apartment just because I haven't been there for a few days."
"Makes sense," she muttered as he turned down Underwood Lane and into a complex called Cobblestone. The guard at the gate waved him on through, and he pulled into a covered space after making one more right. As soon as the car was in park and off, Faye jumped out, shaking out the excess water that streamed down her skin.
Jet laughed at her bedraggled state, but his laughter abruptly ended as a mechanized whir caught their mutual attention. The black leather top emerged and clicked into place, the only exterior part of the car that was still dry.
Faye stared with open mouth.
He blinked and scratched his head, before getting out of the car himself. He smiled, slightly embarrassed. "Whoops. I guess you have to put the parking brake on before the roof will work."
At least the apartment was warm and cozy. And, Jet mused silently, clean. The maids came through once a week, but dust had an odd way of accumulating almost overnight. He dried the last of the dishes and put them back in the wicker basket, which had grown much lighter as the afternoon progressed. The sole consumable it held at this point was the forgotten bottle of Jagermeister. He removed this, and the accompaniment of shot glasses, and dropped down into the couch, suddenly weary.
Faye emerged from the back through a dissipating cloud of steam, her hair gleaming darkly. He grinned despite his bout of exhaustion. The woman likes her hot water. Nothing wrong with that. He patted the cushion and she came and sat. Good doggie. "Anything on you wanna watch?" He offered her the remote.
She reached past it and took up a shot glass. "Fill 'er up, barkeep."
"For you, madam, anything." He twisted off the top and poured her a proper shot, before filling his own glass. "To rained out picnics."
"Indeed." She tossed it back quickly, expertly. "More, please."
Jet stopped in the midst of raising his glass to his lips. "Are you kidding me?"
After her fifth shot, Faye had given up drinking from a glass, opting to take swigs straight from the bottle.
Jet watched her through hooded eyes. His glass lay abandoned, not quite empty, but he couldn't bring himself to finish what was left. It wasn't fair. He hadn't drunk half of what she had, and he felt like a whipped dog. She, on the other hand, seemed to be damn near sober. How much booze had she put away last night to get so crazy? And hadn't they both had two glasses of wine not even three hours ago? He stared at himself, the naked torso with all the scars, the metal arm that still bothered him on occasion, the meaty legs that twitched when he was nervous. In fact, they were twitching now. Damn it all, life really wasn't fair.
"Why ya poutin' over there, hmmm?" One hundred and nine pounds of pressure crashed onto his shoulders as Faye flopped against him gracelessly. She smiled drunkenly at him, lightly scraping her nails across his broad chest. Thrilled by her new toy, she began to sing in a silly voice. "You-didn't-put-yer-shirt-on!"
"Nope," he replied, catching her soft hand in his own. She looked at him expectantly, but there was no further answer forthcoming. She sat up then, with an expression of discontent. "So you don't take advantage of drunken girls, I see."
"You're not drunk, apparently."
"No, I'm not." She stood, running her fingers through her tangled hair. "I can't figure you out at all, Jet."
He sat up as well; the kink in his back had become practically unbearable. "What do you mean?"
She looked at him, frustrated. "Did you turn into a monk or something while I was gone? Don't you ever have…" She stopped, unable to finish.
"A monk?" He could hardly suppress laughter. Are we desperate?
"I mean…don't you ever want…or haven't you…"
"Had sex, you mean?" The fiery blush that spread across her face told him he had guessed aright. "Why are you so concerned about my sex life, Faye Valentine?"
"Because it bugs me."
"What bugs you?" He picked up the glasses and the bottle and took them both to the kitchen.
"Well, for one –" She waited until he closed the refrigerator door, "- I never once met a pimp who didn't sleep with his women."
"Just because I don't screw the girls doesn't mean I don't want to have sex. Besides, you've seen some of them already. They have enough problems as it is without some dirty old man taking advantage of them. What else bothers you about me?"
She straightened up. "That you might be one of the only men I know who wasn't trying to get in my pants within two weeks of meeting me."
He looked at her hard. "That bothers you?"
"It's irritating because I don't feel like I have any sway with you. Like, somehow, I'm not good enough for you."
Jet stood, mute for a moment, pondering. "So…it bothers you when someone doesn't respond to your sexuality, because you don't feel like you have another bargaining chip?"
God, he makes it sounds so cheap! "Yeah, I suppose."
"That's horrible, Faye." He looked in the dishwasher, examining the coffee mugs. "But unlike the first thing you said, I have the potential to change this one. Tell me, hypothetically speaking, what would you like to hear come out of my mouth if you had successfully seduced me?"
"Optimally, 'Faye Valentine, get your ass in my bed' would work just fine."
He looked up at her from his crouched position with an expression so intense that she couldn't identify it at all. Slamming the dishwasher door shut as he stood, he glowered down at her, leaving her to wonder if she had offended his dignity. But before she could protest that it was a joke, Jet grabbed her by the arms and pulled her against him, forcing her to stare up to meet his dark eyes.
His big hands nearly spanned the entire small of her back, holding her securely and bringing their lower halves into contact. Faye suddenly recognized that look on his face. It was lust, in its purest, most primitive form. Her pulse raced.
His left hand – the metal one – slowly brushed over her back, leaving airy kisses against the bare skin left exposed by the halter top she had chosen to wear. Before she was conscious of it, she found her face pressed against his naked chest. The wiry hair scraped her flaming cheeks, making them tingle.
His breath came hot against her neck as he leaned down and placed the lightest of kisses between her chin and collarbone. She arched into him, grinding her hips against his own, fighting to not scream aloud.
Just as abruptly as it had begun, it ended. He shoved her back to a convenient distance, staring down at her while she fought a raging disappointment.
"Faye Valentine – "
She flinched, withering under his throaty snarl and searing gaze.
" – get your ass in my bed."
She went.
Before she could even get in the room proper, he was behind her, hands on her shoulders, moving her body with his own and lavishing kisses on her hot skin, all the while steadily walking her towards the bed. She slid onto it of her own accord, soft and crumbly as sugar. Jet allowed his gaze to drift, moving from her mildly tanned legs to the white cotton shorts that he could see right through. The tiny sliver of skin between the shorts and her top. The pink halter shirt that did little to conceal the heaving breasts. The trembling arms.
And last of all, her face, flushed with nervous excitement. She looked so young and innocent in her arousal that he almost felt guilty for needing her as much as he did. But when he unzipped his pants, and she rose to caress his aching cock through his briefs with an eagerness that belied her apparent languor, the shame vanished, replaced instantly with fire.
He lowered himself onto the bed beside her and gently turned her until they faced each other, knees touching. "Why do you get to keep your clothes on?" he murmured in a gravel-toned basso profundo, as he pulled the pink cloth over her head and left her nearly nude in the bikini top. "And these pants…I don't like them at all." He drew her towards him with one hand, the other deftly sliding the cotton material down her hips. As the shorts slid limply to the floor, she crawled into his lap, straddling him.
Their bodies touched, sharing heat. Two slight barriers of thin cloth were all that separated them from possessing each other. Faye ran greedy fingers over his scalp and through the thick tuft of hair that lay on his neck, pulling his head up until their noses met. Her reflection in his eyes looked feral, hungry.
His breath burned her skin, his hands held her thighs hard enough to leave marks. "I'm not him, Faye."
"I know," she whispered, and lowering her lips to his, they kissed.
It was just as she had always wanted it to be: slow, skillful and incredibly hot. Their tongues met, setting her ablaze. His hands grasped the muscles of her back, slowly kneading as he amazed her with her mouth. Her own hands splayed helplessly against his broad chest, fingers tangling in the curled hairs.
He broke it off without warning, using his tongue to gently trace a slow trail down her slender neck, and she fought the urge to rake her nails down his back. Instead, she summoned enough strength to push him back onto the bed, slide his underwear down a few critical inches, and pull her bikini bottom aside. She pinned him down, devouring the sight of his nudity in large sticky bites. "Are we ready for this?"
"Oh, yes, ma'am." He watched, helplessly, as she rose up and slid down, a warm, wet, tight mass that engulfed him in a hot slick grip and threatened to give him a heart attack on the spot. His voice came out as deep bass purrs contrasted against her brittle sobs as she pressed down onto him and into him and against him all at once.
One light brown breast fell out of the bikini top, bouncing with the movement of their lovemaking. He skimmed metal fingers over the dusky pink circle and watched it respond, pulled her down and into his mouth and felt her squirm, gently grazed the erect flesh with his teeth and heard her moans. A sudden clench of her muscles, a slight change in the timbre of her voice – she was nearing the end.
Holding her hips firmly, he pushed into her hard, slowly withdrawing, trying to stave off the feeling of helpless ecstasy. But all too soon, his control collapsed, and with three sharp thrusts, it was over, their bodies arching into each other, back muscles taut with strain, toes curling as they released.
Jet caught her as she slumped forward and draped her arms around his shoulders. She was exhausted, but radiant, glowing under a soft sheen of perspiration. He longed to lie awake and admire her, but sleep beckoned, and he was too weak to resist. Reaching backwards to the head of the bed, he threw the heavy blanket to one side before pulling her under the lighter sheet. He began to leave to take the quilt elsewhere, but at her sleepy cry of protest decided that it could wait until later. Crawling into bed beside her, he pulled her close – and slept.
Faye woke up first. Apparently Jet had needed more sleep than she did, because he didn't budge as she slipped out from under his arm, and the noise that she made while dressing didn't disturb him in the slightest.
She slipped out of the room and went up front, rummaging in the refrigerator for something appetizing. It was pretty obvious that the only people who really used the place were snobbish: sun-dried tomato bread, feta cheese and certified organic eggs greeted her confused eyes. Groaning, she looked into the cabinet, finally settling for a can of chicken and stars soup. Suitably equipped, she sat down and flipped on the TV set, stopping on a report from Triton.
A reporter, stone-faced, rattled off a story about the high incidence of sick buildings on Neptune's moons, and the number of cases of office workers needing medical leave due to infection. She gestured woodenly behind her, to a hallway where two custodians were mopping the floor. One of the men looked up at the camera momentarily before going about his business.
The remote fell from Faye's hand and bounced on the table as she sat there, frozen in shock. She had just seen Spike.
Author's Notes:
1. "La Maison Vert" is NOT a real hotel that I know of. It's a throwback to another story that I wrote some time ago; some of you may get the in-joke.
2. The first person to correctly identify the song lyrics (artist and correct title) that I hid in the story gets a cookie!
3. For those of you scratching your heads over the last line, don't worry (too much). I don't like "Spike Resurrections" any more than the next person, and this isn't going to end quite the way it appears. It'll be resolved in the next chapter. I hope.
4. Chapter title is by The Cars. It's a great song. Listen to it sometime.
Thanks so much for all of the reviews! You're welcome to criticize as well as praise, you know. :)
