Who’d have thought I’d finally go on my first ever Internet date and then come home and sleep with another man? It sounds quite adventurous when worded like that.
Jay groans. “Quit moving around, Matilda.”
His hand goes to my arm and grips it, seemingly to stop me from fidgeting. The heat from his hand makes me melt.
“I should go.”
He opens his eyes and frowns. “Why?”
“Because this is weird.”
“It’s not weird. We’re bonding. Lots of animals sleep together in order to bond. Don’t you ever watch the Discovery Channel?”
“We’re not animals.”
He gives me a devilish grin. “Speak for yourself.”
Moving his face to my hair again, he takes in a deep breath. Is he smelling me? Do I smell good or bad? I showered earlier, so I must at least smell okay. He moves his knee that’s between my thighs, and I let out a tiny gasp at the friction. The movement awakens something inside me, something centred right between my legs, and none of us need to have gotten an A in biology to figure out what that something is. His eyes travel quickly to mine, staring intensely when he moves his knee a second time. Sharp pleasure takes hold as I clench my thighs. He does it again, and I whimper. He stares at me, mouth hanging open slightly, eating up the sound.
Just like earlier, he grips my body and rolls us, but this time he’s the one who ends up on top. Using his thighs, he makes short work of parting my legs and situating himself between them. Still with our gazes connected, he slowly thrusts forward, his hard cock in his lounge pants pushing flush against my sex.
His eyes flicker back and forth between mine. “Yeah, this is definitely going to be a problem.” He says it so low it feels like he’s talking to himself.
My voice is breathy, more air than sound, when I say, “Jay.”
His hands come up to cup either side of my face as he rocks his hips forward again. “Matilda.”
He builds up a rhythm now, becoming frenzied. I hold onto his big arms, recalling the times I’ve seen him out in the garden doing body weight exercises. He had virtually no equipment, but managed to do so many things using just his body, like a prison workout. I wonder what other things he can do with it.
I lick my lips. What does this mean? Is he just horny again, like when he’d suggested going down on me? Or does he really want this?
He growls and leans down, taking the bottom lip I just licked into his mouth and biting it — hard. It doesn’t hurt. It feels incredible. Electric. I want him to kiss me now, so badly. Then the front door opens and shuts loudly, my dad’s trademark walk clipping down the hall.
Jay goes still as a statue, releasing my lip and pulling back.
“Matilda? Are you home?” Dad calls, and my breath leaves me in a rush.
“I really should go now,” I whisper, feeling mortified at what I’m doing with my parent just downstairs. It was like I was lost in a dream for a few blissful moments. My dad’s door slamming is what woke me up, and I feel stupid for falling into horny Jay’s trap.
He rolls over onto his back, and I get up, slipping my shoes on and hurrying to the door. When I reach it, I glance back at him one last time. He’s lying there, his eyes dark as he watches me, chest heaving, his arousal still blatantly evident through his pants.
With great effort I walk out the door, shutting it behind me and calling back to Dad, “Yeah, I’m home.”
The next morning is different from usual. Jay’s not around, and my breakfast isn’t ready for me like it has been every day since he moved in. In fact, when I pass by his room, I see his bed has been made and he’s nowhere to be found. He must have gone out early.
Dad’s sitting at the table, eating toast and drinking coffee, reading the newspaper as always. I grab a yogurt and some fruit, and sit beside him. When I notice the paper he’s reading is The Daily Post, I give a little tut of disapproval.
“Jay wouldn’t be happy about you reading that,” I say, opening my yogurt.
Dad peeks at me over the paper. “Jay’s the one who gave it to me. Una Harris has written another article about him.”
I perk up at this. “Really? What did she say?”
He puts the paper down now, opened on the page with the article so that I can see. There in a full-page spread is Jay standing on the stage in the part where he’d donned the Jason mask for his show the other night.
“Harris went undercover and attended Jay’s show,” Dad explains. “She wrote some unfavourable things. I think she’s feeling brave because he hasn’t taken any steps against her yet. He really needs to get that lawsuit filed. A couple of years ago she destroyed the career of a professional football player by doing an exposé of his background as a drug dealer before he was famous. I think she might be trying to repeat the success of that story with Jay. The woman is a pit bull.”
I eye my father. “You really like Jay, don’t you?”
“I can tell he’s a good man. I trust my instincts,” says Dad simply, and it surprises me because I’d had those same instincts myself.
I read the article, and this time I’m far more annoyed as I scan Miss Harris’ words. That’s probably because I know Jay now, and I’m defensive of my friends. She talks about how the venue was filled with super fans, and that Jay has a following akin to a cult leader. I roll my eyes.
She also mentions how he insulted her and her newspaper, shouting with fervour from his place on the stage, Fuck the Daily Post! I could strangle her right now. That is not what happened. It was an audience member who shouted that. I push the paper away from me after I’ve finished her five-hundred-word rant against Jay. What is this woman’s problem? What did he ever do to deserve her vitriol?
Absolutely nothing.
She’s like a wolf who’s gotten her teeth into some flesh and doesn’t want to let go. When I continue eating my breakfast, Dad says quietly, “I’m considering taking his case.”
This surprises me. “You are?”
He nods. “I didn’t want to at first, but the more I learn about it, the more I think we could actually win this thing, and win big. The practice hasn’t been doing too well this past year or so. Winning a high-profile case like this could inject some new life into the place.”
“It could. But do you think you’re up to it?”
Dad smiles. “I’m not dead yet, chicken. But don’t say anything to Jay. I need another few days to think it over.”
“My lips are sealed.”
That evening when I arrive home from work, I go into the kitchen to find somebody’s placed an expensive-looking chaise longue along the wall in front of my sewing machine. It’s made out of dark wood, the cushioned part a luxurious purple.
Jay’s doves chirp at me from their cage.
“Hello, ladies,” I greet them. “How are you today?”
“Are you talking to Ellen and Portia?” Jay asks in amusement as he enters the room.
I turn around, smiling. “Yeah. What of it?”
He walks over to the cage, taking Portia out and letting her perch on his hand. “It’s a coincidence, because I do, too. These girls are the only ones who know all my secrets.”
“Oh. You have a lot of secrets, do you?”
His only answer is a smile that makes my belly flutter. Is he thinking about what happened between us yesterday? I know I am, but I don’t have it in me to bring it up.
“So, I never got around to asking you how the date with Owen went?” he says in a casual tone as he pets Portia’s soft white feathers. I guess Jay’s not planning on bringing up yesterday, either.
I swallow. “It went great, despite my awkwardness. He even wants to meet up again sometime.”
Jay frowns at this, and it takes me off guard. “Do you want to meet with him again?” he asks, all serious.
“Sure. He was nice.”
I think I see his jaw twitch. “Nice. Is that what you’re planning to settle for, Matilda? Just nice?”
“I’m not settl
ing. It’s early days yet. It could just so happen that he’s the love of my life, but I need more time to get to know him.” I don’t know why I’m saying this. In the back of my mind, I know that Owen isn’t going to be the love of my life, but some sneaky part of me wants to rile Jay up. He doesn’t seem pleased with the topic, which is by contrast pleasing me no end. He puts Portia back in the cage before striding toward me, backing me up against the counter.
“He’s not the fucking love of your life, darlin’,” he says, his eyes a little manic. Whoa, I was not expecting this. Okay, subject change needed pronto. I swallow — hard.
“Dad showed me the new article. I can’t believe Harris had the gall to go see your show.”
Some of the previous tension leaves Jay’s body as he backs away from me and shrugs. “I knew she was there.”
“Hold on a second. What?”
“I knew she was there. I’m not a fucking idiot. And besides, the woman stands out like a sore thumb. She’s got these big, ridiculous Botox lips. I’m glad she wrote that article, though. The more defamatory shit she writes, the further she digs herself into a hole.”
I put a hand on my hip and cock my head. “You actually want her to write about you?”
“Yep. That way, once the case finally gets to trial, I’ll have a wealth of ammo. Every insulting lie she’s ever written can be used as evidence.”
He’s got this look in his eye that gives me pause, making me wonder if there’s more to this than he’s letting on.
“Do you know her or something? Like, from the past?”
“Nope.”
“Oh. Well, I just think it’s weird how she’s so determined to write bad things about you.”
“Perhaps I turned her down one night and she’s got a vendetta,” he jokes.
I open the fridge and start taking out ingredients for dinner while Jay paces the room. I’m sorting through vegetables when I feel the heat of his body behind mine. He braces his hands on the counter on either side of me, penning me in.
“You’re looking particularly pretty today, Watson,” he says in a cheerful tone. “What’s for dinner?”
“Chicken casserole.”
“Sounds delicious,” he murmurs, and it feels like his mouth is closer to my neck now. My entire body goes tense.
“What’s with the new furniture?” I ask, moving so he has to let me out of the prison of his arms.
He scratches his jaw. “Oh, that. Yeah, I got it so I can sit with you while you work.”
“Do you mean sit or chaise lounge?” I say jokingly.
Jay smirks.
“What? That was an excellent joke. I mean, what’s the point of sitting on one of those? They were designed for reclining and looking hot while doing it.”
“Oh, so you think I look hot while reclining. That’s good to know.”
I snort. “You’re so full of yourself.”
“You wish you were full of myself,” he retorts.
I shiver and blush. “I can’t tell if that was the best comeback ever or the worst.”
Jay laughs loudly and gives me a wink before he leaves me to my cooking.
Later that evening, while I’m working on a pink cocktail dress with a diamante detail around the neck, he saunters into room. His hair is dishevelled and his T-shirt rumpled. He looks like he just woke up from a nap. I continue to work as he sits down on his chaise longue and lies back, raising his arms and resting his head on his palms. It makes his T-shirt rise a bit, revealing an inch of smooth, toned skin.
He closes his eyes, like he actually enjoys the rumble of the sewing machine.
“What are you…?”
“Hush.” He holds up a finger. “Just sew, Watson. I like listening to your breathing when you concentrate. I find it very meditative. It helps me think.”
That puts me in my place. It also makes my heart squeeze. He likes listening to me breathe. That’s just so…romantic. Yeah, I said it. It makes me get fanciful notions about the epic love I’ve always sought but never found.
We stay like this for over an hour. Me sewing and him lying back on his fancy seat, eyes closed but not asleep, just thinking — and listening to me breathe, apparently. Dad comes in to make tea at one point and gives us both a funny look, Jay in particular. Dad’s always hated the noise of my sewing machine, says it gives him a headache. So he obviously can’t understand what Jay’s doing sitting so close to it. As he’s leaving, I think I see the ghost of a smile on his lips.
After a while, Jay sits up and pulls a notepad from his pocket, then starts scribbling something down.
“What are you writing?”
“Be quiet for a second, darlin’. I just got an idea for a new trick, and I need to write it down before I forget.”
“Oh, sorry.”
Putting the fabric I’d been measuring aside, I watch him. I want to ask him about what happened after our shared nap yesterday, but unsurprisingly I can’t seem to think of a way to work dry-humping into the conversation. I really wish he’d bring it up, but he hasn’t so much as mentioned it.
When he’s finished writing, he slots the notepad back in his pocket and flexes his fingers.
“So, what’s the new trick?” I ask.
“You’d need to sign a contract before I could tell you that, Watson. I can’t have you selling all my secrets to old Slugworth, now, can I?”
“Okay, Mr Wonka.” I laugh. There’s a moment of quiet before I say, “Can I ask you something?”
“Fire away.”
“What’s it like in prison?”
Jay lets out a bark of a laugh. “Be honest. You’ve committed some heinous crimes that are about to come to light, and you’re afraid of being thrown in the can. I’m right, aren’t I?” That mischievous look that’s so often on his face is there again.
I raise my hands in the air, replying deadpan, “Okay, you’ve got me. I’m secretly an underground drug lord, and one of my cronies has sold me out to the authorities.”
Jay laughs some more. “You’re funny.” He pauses, and his face sobers. It takes a while before he says anything. “It’s like being locked in a world where violence is God and you’re constantly waiting to become the next victim of its wrath.”
Wow. That was kind of poetic.
“Did you really almost beat a man to death? Is that why you were put in there?”
Jay shakes his head and his eyes grow dark, like he’s remembering the experience. “I was put there for pickpocketing, which, coincidentally, is great training for doing magic. You’ve got to steal stuff right out from under a person’s nose without them ever realising you’re there. I told you I used to pick pockets, didn’t I? Had to. It’s the only way to survive on the streets.”
“You did. But Una Harris said you were put away because you beat a man.”
“She’s obviously gotten her wires crossed,” says Jay, a satisfied look passing over his face, and then it’s gone. “I’ve been arrested a few times for getting into fights, so perhaps that’s where she got it from. When you’ve got nothing, you’ll justify many things in order to survive, even hurting people.”
The serious look on his face gives me pause, and I’m not sure why, but I feel immense sympathy for him in this moment. I clear my throat and continue speaking.
“So, Una must have seen some of your records from back in America, then.”
“Must have.”
“I don’t get how such a shoddily researched article ever made it to print. Wouldn’t her boss have made sure it was all true before giving the green light to publish it?”
“More lies are printed than truths, Watson. I think we both know that. And perhaps her boss is just as much of a degenerate as she is.”
“A degenerate?” I question curiously.
“She’s not the only one who’s done some snooping. In fact, I probably know more about her than she does about me.”
I get up now and go to sit beside him, asking seriously, “What do you know about her?”
r /> He rubs his chin. “Well, now, let me see. She’s addicted to prescription meds. Oh, and plastic surgery. Her husband divorced her because she had an affair. She lives alone with her pet Chihuahua. She’s abusive towards her housekeeper. She gets a manicure every Friday morning. She attends church every Sunday, you know, to keep up appearances. And, last but not least, she’s been sleeping with her boss on and off for the last sixteen years.”
“What?! Her boss at the newspaper?”
“Yup.”
“Oh, my God.”
“Like I said, I’ve been getting my ducks in a row for a while now.”
“Yeah, but you can’t use any of that information in court, Jay. Especially if you came across it illegally.”
Suddenly, I remember the time when he’d gone to speak with that shifty-looking man in the bar after Simon Silver’s seminar. There had been an exchange of envelopes. Was he a private investigator or something else?
“I doubt I’ll need to. This shit always comes out in one way or another, and Una Harris is hiding too much shit to keep buried. Sooner or later it’s going to hit the proverbial fan.”
Again, I get the impression that there’s far more he’s not telling me. I don’t push him, though, don’t feel it’s my place.
“I’m sorry she’s been spreading lies about you,” I say, putting a hand comfortingly on his shoulder.
Jay’s eyes travel to my hand and stay there for a moment. Then he reaches up and puts his hand over mine. “And I’m sorry that you had to go through everything you did. That you were alone in the world,” I continue.
“I wasn’t alone — I just chose to be. At the time I’d rather live on the streets than with a lunatic uncle. I’d already suffered enough madness with my father before he died.”
This is a rare moment of candour, and I want to know more, so I ask in a whisper, “Your dad was crazy, too?”
“Not in the same way. Dad used physical violence. Uncle Killian’s was all psychological. He liked to mess with my head.” He seems younger as he tells me this, like he’s reverting back to the boy who was mistreated by the adults who were supposed to care for him.