My Once and Future Love Read online

  I set my bag on the floor. “A video game?”

  “Or cards. Whatever.”

  “Tell me about your life here.” I folded my legs under me.

  “Well, the music degree is harder than I thought it would be. I can play and sing, but they want a lot more than that. A bloody lot. The memorization fries my brain, then I kill my voice at another gig.” He shrugged a shoulder. “But that’s why I don’t care if it takes me five years to graduate.”

  “If you hit the big time before then, will you still finish your degree?”

  He tilted his head to one side, thinking. “I don’t know. It’d depend on how things are in that moment, I think. How much I had left, and how good the offer was.” He tapped my knee. “What about you? What are your big plans?”

  “Well, I’ve declared as an art major, but my focus is photography, of course. I might have jumped the gun at accepting, though…I’m going to have to take some online courses at the same time in order to learn what I should.”

  “Why’d you take UCLA if it’s not all you’re looking for?”

  I sighed. “Because it’s close to home…and maybe because Dad was so proud I got in. He’s a big fan of the basketball team.”

  “Bethie…”

  “I know, I should’ve cut the apron strings. He doesn’t get that I don’t need to be protected anymore.” I ran a hand through my hair. “To him, I’m still a little girl. You know how I’m really here? He refused to let me go alone even though I offered to pay part of it, so I went to your mom and convinced her to bring me along. By the time he got back from his trip, tickets were bought and Mom had approved me going, so all he could do was grumble. He’ll probably be a bear when I get home.”

  “Hell bent on seein’ me, huh?”

  “You’re just an excuse. I’m really here for the fish ‘n’ chips,” I deadpanned.

  “Why you--”

  He attacked me with tickling fingers. His fingertips dug into my ribs and I almost jerked off the couch. I tried to scramble backward from his hands, but the metal armrest cut off my escape. He went for the soft flesh of my middle. I shrieked and tried to roll off the futon.

  He wrapped his arm around my waist and hauled me back. “Not gettin’ away that easy. Now, admit you missed me and couldn’t live without my presence.”

  “Puh-lease.”

  He pressed his fingers into the most vulnerable spot of my abs. “Say it,” he sang.

  “Gah! No more.”

  “Say ‘Jacob Lindsey’s the best reason to come to London’.”

  “I’m not— Aaaah! Okay, okay.” I glanced back at him. “Please stop.”

  He grinned in triumph. “Give me what I want.”

  Anything, my hormones said. This close to him, my back against his chest and the room hot from our war, I remembered how much I’d wanted him to kiss me for four years. My face was close enough to his to do it, but I froze, knowing I couldn’t take it back if I made the move. We sat staring at each other for I don’t know how long.

  He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and finally looked away. “What time is it?”

  I looked at my watch. “Almost one.”

  He let go of me. “Hungry?”

  “Thirsty.”

  “Okay.” He stood and walked into the kitchen. “I’ve got soda, energy drinks, beer, and water.”

  “Gee, how health conscious of you,” I teased. My pulse was still racing.

  “S’posed to eat crap in college. I miss that place…the burger joint by the high school?”

  “Tommy’s.”

  “Right.” He rubbed his belly. “Heart attack wrapped in paper.”

  “I’m so gonna out-live you.”

  He tossed me a bottle of water. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  “Huh?”

  “Most accidents happen in the home, Miss Homebody.” Back to the banter.

  “Whatever.”

  He grabbed a bag of “crisps” and turned on the TV with the remote left on the counter.

  I’d never seen British television before. “What are you doing?”

  “Checking the football score.”

  “Summer’s not football season, Jacob.”

  “Not American football!” He shuddered. So melodramatic.

  “Oh, soccer.”

  He muttered something that sounded like “bloody Yanks”.

  I got up to use his bathroom.

  Gross! Did he ever clean in here? I rinsed my hands—there wasn’t any soap visible—and shook them dry. Seriously, would it kill him to use some Comet or bleach in here once in a while? The shower had a ring of soap scum at the bottom, the toilet was no longer porcelain white, and the sink had shaving cream residue in the basin. The only remotely clean spot was the mirror.

  “You are a pig,” I said when I walked out.

  “Pig?”

  “That bathroom is totally gross! They don’t clean themselves, you know.”

  He shrugged. “I’ll get to it.”

  I folded my arms over my chest and gave him The Look. “In the next millennium? You’re about to have old stuff growing new stuff.”

  He turned back to the sports channel. “It’s not that bad.”

  “Men.” I felt better, getting a second wind now that breakfast had digested some. “Come on. Play tour guide.”

  “Thought you were tired?”

  “Was. Now I’m not. Take me somewhere!”

  “I have a gig tonight.”

  “So? That’s hours from now. Please?” I rocked on my heels, wanting to get outside.

  He didn’t move from the futon. “Need my energy for tonight, Beth. Not goin’ to run you all over town.”

  I stood in front of the TV, blocking his view. “Doesn’t have to be ‘all over town’. Just one place. Come on…I came all this way. Can’t you indulge me a little bit?”

  I could pout, too. When he sighed and started shaking his head, I knew I’d won. He turned off the television, rose to his feet, and grabbed his keys.

  “Forgetting the helmets?”

  “We’re not takin’ the bike.”

  “Oh.” Okay. An afternoon stroll was alright, I guess.

  People don’t often think of it, but each city has its own smell. Downtown L.A. at night, for instance, smells like urine. In London, I immediately felt I was someplace really old. The history was tangible, like the memories long-past were still floating down the streets. And oh-my-goodness English people talked fast! Someone passed me talking on their cell phone and the blur of sound had my brain saying “what?”

  Jacob had this odd smile on his face.

  “What?” I asked. “Am I gawking?”

  “Little bit.”

  We kept bumping shoulders—just a brush that said hi, I’m still here. “Sorry. I don’t mean to scream ‘tourist’. You have an interesting neighborhood. Good-interesting, not interesting-is-code-for-I’m-afraid-for-my-purse.”

  He smiled. “I get it, love.”

  “Okay.”

  We walked a while, in no rush. I smelled fried food and felt my mouth water. He grabbed my hand to pull me into a shop.

  “Fish ‘n’ chips?”

  “The best on this side of London,” he said.

  “Thank you.”

  He glanced down at me. “For what?”

  “Not being too busy to spend time with me.” My hand was still in his. My palm started to sweat.

  He lifted my chin with his finger. “Hey, there’s always room for my Bethie.”

  His Bethie. God, I loved the sound of that. I got caught in his eyes and the room fell away.

  “Next!”

  He stepped up to the counter to order, dropping my hand. He’d touched me more today than I could remember before. I didn’t know what to do with that. Was that how he was with women in general now, or did it mean something?

  I wished I had more experience in the boy-girl thing to figure it out--wouldn’t know a guy like-liked me unless he came out and said it, or kissed me. Anyth
ing more subtle was over my nerdy head.

  “Beth.”

  “Hmm?”

  “Food, pet.”

  Caught spacing out, I blushed. “Oh.”

  “Where do you want to eat?”

  I shrugged. “It’s your town.”

  He thought for a second, then led me to a small park. We picked a bench. Pigeons waddled over for our fries.

  “Huh. Not just in the movies.”

  “What isn’t?” he asked around a mouthful.

  “Pigeons everywhere.” Mmm, fried fish. Something about traveling always increased my appetite.

  “Ah. Yeah, like winged rats. Breed like bunnies.”

  “Pretty feathers, though.”

  “I s’pose.”

  A nice park on a not-too-hot summer day, good company, yummy food…I could get used to this leaving the house thing. Temporary, though. Just a vacation. He’d be on his side, I’d be on my side, and another year would pass before we could possibly do it again.

  Pessimist? Me? Nah.

  We went back to his apartment after lunch.

  Fortunately, I did have a change of clothes in my bag, a tank top and knee-length skirt that didn’t wrinkle. Normally didn’t wear skirts often, but coming to a different country, I didn’t know when I might come upon a dressier occasion. The tank I had in case the temp spiked, but it also worked better for a club than my preppy shirt.

  I braided the sides of my hair off my face and added another coat of mascara and gloss.

  “Beth! I need my bathroom!” he yelled through the door.

  “Okay!” I grabbed my stuff and opened the door. “I was only in here ten minutes, geesh.”

  He looked me up and down. “Nice.”

  Chewing my lip, I asked, “Really? Not gonna stand out like a sore thumb?”

  “Bethie, you can never go wrong with black.” He kissed my cheek as we passed in the doorway. “Now get out.”

  “Yeah, yeah…”

  The door shut and I heard the shower turn on.

  Naked, sudsy Jacob…

  Whoa, thought train.

  “Let’s see what’s on TV,” I muttered.

  He walked out in just his jeans a short time later to finish dressing in his bedroom, hair still wet and drops of water clinging to his torso. Even hotter than I remembered. This vacation was not going to go well if I couldn’t get my hormones under control.

  We took a cab to his venue, since he had to carry his guitar.

  “Pick a table where you want,” he said, and hopped on stage to start the sound check.

  I hadn’t watched him perform since the talent show his senior year. Tingles raced down my spine and they wouldn’t start the concert for close to an hour.

  The club wasn’t well-lit, and painted in dark tones. Tables sat along the sides, leaving a dance floor in the middle. The bar was in the back. The floor was sticky. We’d come down a short stairwell from the street, so I guess you could consider this the basement. Looking around, the place would maybe fit two-hundred people standing.

  Jacob was on lead guitar and vocals. He had a bassist, a drummer, and a guy that bounced between rhythm guitar and the keyboard. I winced at the volume when they started to play for real. Would it be that loud for the concert?

  The sound check wasn’t the same as a rehearsal—they started and stopped a lot of songs, playing, then calling out to the sound guy some musically-technical instruction I didn’t understand. I’d get into the groove of a melody, then poof—no more song. Like watching my dad flip channels on a Sunday.

  I ordered a soda and adjusted the light settings on my camera.

  Chapter Three

  Bethie must’ve been a good luck charm, ‘cause they kicked ass.

  The lights went down on the stage so they could carry their equipment off before the next band. Jacob zipped his guitar into its soft case and went in search of her. She was still at the table, sipping from a glass. She smiled when she saw him.

  “You were great!” She stood to hug him and swayed on her feet. “Whoo, head rush.”

  “Pet, what are you drinking?”

  She held the glass up. “Coke.”

  “May I?” he asked, holding his hand out.

  She placed it in his palm. “Sure.”

  He took a swallow. Rum and Coke. “How many of these have you had?”

  “I don’t know. The waitress said they were on the band’s tab.”

  Shit, he’d forgotten anyone linked with an act got free booze. Place filled up most nights just because they didn’t card, anyway. “Someone gave you the wrong drink, Beth. Let’s get you home.”

  She shrugged. “Okay. It’s hot in here.”

  They hit the outside air; she shivered. He moved to the curb to hail a cab. She pressed into his side.

  “Cold?”

  “No.” She sniffed his neck. “You smell good.”

  “Thanks.”

  She nuzzled the skin above his collar. “Yummy.”

  He grinned down at her, trying not to laugh. Girl was an adorable drunk.

  A cab pulled to a stop in front of them. “In you go, love.”

  He climbed in after Beth and gave the cabbie his address. She slid closer to lean her head on his shoulder.

  “Tired?”

  “No…”

  He felt a warm hand sneak under his shirt, then she nuzzled his neck again. “Uh, Bethie, what are you doing?”

  She straddled his leg and nibbled his throat. “What does it feel like?” Two hands explored his abs.

  He felt his body responding to her attentions and grabbed her shoulders to push her back. “Sweetheart, you’re drunk.”

  She smiled. “Feel fine.” Her fingers tickled his sides. “Feel good, actually.”

  “Beth--”

  She kissed him, then put her finger on his lips. “You talk too much.”

  Trapped between her and the guitar, he couldn’t really move, and she was persistent in being naughty. She trailed hot, wet kisses up to his ear, then flicked the lobe with her tongue and sucked it into her mouth, her teeth applying light pressure. His hips arched off the seat as a jolt of electricity and blood went straight to his groin.

  “Playin’ with fire, love.”

  He felt her grin.

  “Good.” One of those sneaky hands slipped under his shirt again. “Can’t tell me you don’t like it.”

  True enough, but it wasn’t right. He put his hands on her hips to push her away, then clenched his fingers when she bit his ear again.

  “Beth--”

  She cut off his complaint with another kiss, plunging her tongue in his mouth.

  The cab stopped and the cabbie announced the fare owed.

  Beth pulled away, grinning while Jacob fumbled for his wallet. He shoved a few bills at the man and opened the car door, grateful for the cooler summer air to calm his hormones. She wrapped her arms around his waist as he slung his guitar case on his shoulder.

  One of her hands slid in his back pocket. He jumped. She smirked up at him, mischief in her eyes.

  “Quit that. I need to unlock the door.” The door to the street was locked after dark except to residents.

  “Hurry up, then.”

  He turned his key in the lock and opened the door for her. It locked automatically again once they were inside. He slammed her against the wall and kissed her hard enough to bruise, hoping to scare her into backing off.

  “That what you want?” he spat.

  She stared at him, then grabbed his head and kissed him back, wrapping her long arms around his neck and curling her leg around his hip. Part of him thought you’re resisting this, why? She kissed like he was her favorite treat and she was going to gorge herself on him.

  Sod it—he picked her up, her legs wrapping around his waist, and carried her into the stairwell to press her against the wall. He let the guitar case slide carefully to the floor. Snogging his best friend was the last thing he expected to do tonight, but he couldn’t deny it was a bloody good time
. The cock-stand in his jeans was hard enough to hurt. Couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this turned on.

  Or wanted this much.

  She clung to him like to a life preserver, one hand grasping the back of his shirt, the other tugging on the hair at the base of his skull each time he did something she liked. He pressed his hips into her center, seeking pressure for some relief. She squeaked and pressed back.

  Oh god…

  His southern brain took over, dry-humping moans out of his girl that echoed up the stairwell. He slid his hands under her ass to support her weight and give him greater leverage. She sucked his tongue numb, but he didn’t care.

  “Jacob…”

  Shiny eyes and lips swollen from kisses. Gorgeous.

  “Upstairs?” he asked.

  She nodded. He let her down, picked up the guitar, and grabbed her hand. They ran up to his flat. Keys in the lock, knob twisted, and they were inside. He pressed her against the door, unable to resist her lips.

  She walked him backward to the futon and pushed him down, straddling his lap. His hands slid under the back of her top. God, her skin was soft. They parted for air and he hiked the tank over her head and dropped it on the floor, then kissed and nibbled her neck, making a path over her collarbone and—

  A charm on a delicate chain.

  Beth’s graduation gift.

  His best friend, barely out of high school and barely eighteen.

  God, what am I doing?

  Any other girl, and they’d be racing to his bedroom to get naked right now, but this was Bethie. Sure, they’d have a night of fun, but then would come the sober harsh light of day and things would never be the same.

  Jacob needed to regain control.

  He gently moved her off his lap and handed her top to her. “I’m sorry, love.” He went to the kitchen for water, and distance.

  “For what?”

  “I shouldn’t’ve kissed you back. You’re drunk.”

  “That occurs to you now?”

  He turned to her, surprised she was pissed off. “Hey, tryin’ to be a gentleman, here.”

  She started to argue, then grabbed her belly. “I’m going to throw up.” She walked quickly to his bathroom.

  He heard the seat lifted up, then the sound of her emptying her stomach. Poor thing. He dampened a cloth and walked into the bathroom.

  “Here.” He pulled her hair back and placed the cool cloth on her neck.