Before We Fall

Chapter Eleven

Dominic

I pull up in front of a tiny little house, encased on either side by identical tiny houses.

The handkerchief-sized front lawn is encircled by a short metal fence, and daffodils line the front sidewalk. There’s a pair of beat-up running shoes beside the door, well used and dirty, and a black-an-white decorative sign is hanging next to the door topped with a pink bow.

No Soliciting! My soul doesn’t need saving, I hate magazines, and I already have a vacuum (I just don’t use it much). Unless you’re selling Thin Mints, I’m not interested.

It makes me smile because it’s so Jacey, blunt and to the point.

I rap on the door and she appears, her face in total shock at seeing me on her porch. She’s dressed in her tiny Saffron outfit already, although I know there’s no way she’s been home for long.

“I don’t have any Thin Mints, but I thought you might be interested anyway.” I smile my most charming grin, but she stares back at me straight-faced, not cracking a smile.

“What do you need, Dominic?” She sighs. She doesn’t even bother asking me how I got her address.

“I was in the neighborhood. And thought I’d bring you back your phone.”

I slide it out of my pocket and offer it to her. She’s clearly puzzled as she takes it, her fingers colliding with mine for a minute before she yanks them away.

“Thanks,” she says uncertainly. “But this isn’t in your neighborhood. Not by a long shot.”

“Whatever,” I answer casually. “I thought you might want it.”

“I can’t believe I left it,” she admits. “It hardly ever leaves my side, because I can’t afford to lose my stuff. Thank you for bringing it. I’m running late for work, or I would invite you in.”

She looks at me pointedly now, and I glance at her up and down, at the sexy bustier that positions her tits just right, to her barely-there boy shorts, to the yellow bowtie. She stares at me expectantly, waiting for me to leave, but I don’t.

It’s been a long time since I do what I do next.

“Call in sick,” I suggest. “I’m bored. Let’s go do something.”

As soon as the words are out, I regret them. I’m shocked by them. I want to rush to take them back, but I’m too collected for that. Instead, I want her to turn me down, yet at the same time, I’m eager for her answer.

Deep down, I want to spend more time with her.

Even though I don’t want to want to.

She narrows her eyes again. “What about your girlfriend? I think she’d have something to say about us doing something together.”

My girlfriend? I’m confused, but then I remember Kira. Jacey’s seen me with her a couple of times… in fact, she thought Kira was Emma. I swallow hard.

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” I answer, although I don’t offer an explanation about who Kira is to me. That’s my business.

Jacey stares at me wordlessly, probably trying to decide if she believes me or not.

“Come on,” I urge her. “Let’s blow this place.”

Jacey sighs. “Why should I? You’re an asshole, Dominic. I never know what’s going to set you off or when you’re going to snap my head off. It’s not a game I like playing. In case you haven’t noticed, being around you isn’t really a treat. I thought we were getting along, and then all of a sudden, you act like I don’t exist. I don’t get you. I really don’t.”

I feel guilty again, just a little, because I know she’s right. I am an asshole. And most of the time, I don’t care.

But there’s hurt in her eyes, real hurt, and that’s something I haven’t seen in a while. Most people I’m around have thicker skin and they’re almost as jaded as I am. Sometimes I forget that Hollywood is practically in a different dimension from the rest of the world… and those of us who live there are pretty much alien creatures.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “Sometimes, I’m an asshole without meaning to be. Sometimes, I do mean to be. It’s true. But I’m sorry that I was an asshole to you. I could explain, but it would bore you. Let me make it up to you. Let’s go do something fun and touristy. I promise to be nice.”

She pauses and I smile, flashing her my trademark grin, the one that chicks eat up. It’s not her fault that I’m an asshole. And even though she’s all swagger and talk, I can see that she’s easily wounded. She just hides it. Like the rest of us, she puts on a front.

She wears a mask.

With another grin, and before I can think the better of it, I decide to take that mask off of her. To see what lies behind it. To see if she’s really as different as she seems to be.

It will be an experiment of sorts. I’m not getting sucked in, I’m not getting involved. It’s just an experiment for scientific purposes… to see if there can possibly be one decent human being left in the world. And I’m guessing my dick is going to enjoy this experiment.

Jacey rolls her eyes at my expression.

“Don’t even try it,” she warns. “I can see through you. Don’t try to charm me.”

I grin again and I can see her give in.

“Fine,” she sighs. “But only because I’m tired and I really don’t want to work anyway. I was going in today to cover for someone else. I’ve been picking up too many extra shifts. It’s wearing me out. I need a break.”

That’s not the reason though. I can see it on her face. She’s as intrigued by me as I am by her. The difference is… she’s not as good at hiding it or keeping her distance.

“Come in,” she gestures. “I’ll call and then change my clothes. Where do you want to go?”

I think for a minute, trying to decide on somewhere I can get lost, somewhere I won’t stand out. “How about Navy Pier? We can find pretty much anything to do there. And we can get something to eat.”

“ ’K,” she answers, showing me to her tiny but neat living room while she punches a number into her phone. “Make yourself comfortable.”

As she talks to her boss, I look around. The space, like many Chicago houses and condos, is small. It’s neat, though, and she’s got it furnished with chic, eclectic furnishings. I’m guessing she saved up her paychecks for them because they’re quality pieces.

She hangs up the phone, staring at me cautiously. “Okay. I don’t know why I’m doing this, but I’ve called off. I’ll be ready in a minute.”

She disappears into her bedroom and I wait for exactly one minute, then follow.

Why? I don’t know. But I walk quietly into her doorway and stand there, watching as she bends in front of me.

Her slender back is bare as she bends to slide off her work shorts. Even though she isn’t very tall, she’s got the grace of a ballerina. Her thighs are long and slim, her calves perfectly shaped. Her skin is golden and smooth, and all of a sudden I just want to run my hands up the length of them, grip her ass hard enough to leave marks and…

“What the hell?” Jacey’s voice snaps me out of my fantasy.

I grin as she turns around, at her outraged expression as her hands cover her tits. I can still see them though, full and lush, as they spill around her hands, her pink nipples poking through her fingers.

“I told you I’d be ready in a minute. And by that, I meant to wait in the living room.”

She’s standing in front of me now, confident and sassy, her bare chest pushed out and her eyes snapping.

“Settle down,” I tell her. “I was just taking a tour of your house.” I scan the little bedroom with its black-and-white décor, then focus again on her. “I like your bedroom. It’s got nice scenery.”

And by nice scenery, I, of course, mean her tits.

She grits her teeth. “Get out of here. I’ll be out in a minute.”

I laugh and she glares at me, tucking her hands even more firmly around her chest, and I duck back out, dropping onto her sofa to wait. I entertain myself with my memory of her bare body until she comes out a few minutes later, dressed in short cutoffs and a tight white T-shirt.

“One question,” I request with a smirk.

She raises her eyebrow.

“Are you wearing panties now?”

Because she wasn’t before. An image of her bare ass bent over in front of me flashes through my head and sends the blood rushing to my dick.

Her cheeks explode into color, effectively answering my question, and she glares at me again.

“What prompted this?” she demands, ignoring my very valid question as she sits to strap on some weird strappy sandals that lace around her calves. “Why are you really here? This doesn’t seem like you. Except for the invading my bedroom part. That totally seems like you. But I’m sure you didn’t come all the way over here just to catch a glimpse of my ass.”

I stare at her thoughtfully.

“I don’t know. You’ve got a pretty nice ass.”

She stares at me, unfazed, and I grin.

“I don’t know, if you want the truth. I’m bored. I don’t want to hang out with Sin or Duncan and I like talking to you. You treat me like a normal person. And unlike my brother, you usually wear clothes. Although, if you feel taking your clothes off, I won’t complain.”

She ignores that part. “You are a normal person. My grandpa told me once that no one is better than me, that everyone is the same—some just have more important jobs. That’s why you don’t intimidate me… because you’re not better than me. And for the record, I kind of like talking to you, too. When you’re not snapping my head off, anyway. I like that you don’t bother blowing smoke up my ass about anything. You just tell me like it is.”

I nod. “That’s kind of how I am.”

“I like it, “she answers approvingly. “It’s refreshing.”

Which is ironic, since that’s exactly how I think of her.

Refreshing.

We walk outside and I open the passenger door of the Porsche for her and she slides in, her legs spreading before she tucks them into the car. I get a shot of her crotch up the leg of one of her shorts. That’s how short her shorts are, and it answers my earlier question.

She’s not wearing panties.

It sends my pulse racing, which annoys me.

This girl doesn’t affect me. It’s just that I’m bored and have nothing better to do. I’m killing time while I’m stuck in Chicago. Nothing more, nothing less.

As I grip the steering wheel and stare at the road, I decide that it’s a bad fucking thing when you have to try and convince yourself of something.

We find a parking spot in one of the garages and I pull a ball cap on, just as a precaution. I’m not as likely to get spotted here as I am in California, because no one is expecting to see me here. People are on celebrity high alert in Hollywood. But it doesn’t hurt to be careful.

We quickly lose ourselves in the crush of people on the pier, and as I push through them, I realize that I’ve lost Jacey. Looking back, I find that she’s just a few steps behind me.

The breeze from the lake, brisk and cool, has blown her hair away from her face, and to be honest, she looks like a runway model.

“What do you want to do first?” I ask politely. “When was the last time you were here?”

She shakes her head. “Forever ago. I was a teenager. I hate fighting the crowds.”

I stare around us. “Let’s do a boat ride. What do you think?”

“Speedboat or cruise tour?” she asks, wrinkling up her nose.

“Definitely speedboat,” I answer, staring at the sign that advertises “Thrill Ride Speedboat” tours. “The faster, the better. Just like I like my women.”

Jacey rolls her eyes.

“Speedboat it is,” she agrees, ignoring what I said about fast women. I laugh as I head to the ticket booth.

“I’ll take all the tickets for your next boat ride,” I tell the girl quickly. She stares at me dumbly.

“All of them?” she repeats slowly. Then she looks at me more closely, and I can see the recognition on her face. “Holy cow. Are you—”

“Yes,” I interrupt her. “But that’s our secret, all right?”

She nods, wonderstruck, and I sigh.

“Can I buy out the tour?” I prompt her. She shakes her head, bringing herself back to the matter at hand, then clicks on a computer. “I’ve already sold a few, but I can rearrange them to a later tour,” she tells me shyly.

I wink at her. “Thank you. I really appreciate it.”

She blushes. “Can I have your autograph?”

I hear Jacey tittering behind me, because clearly she doesn’t feel my autograph is a valuable commodity. I ignore her and sign the paper that the cashier shoves toward me, then I hand her my credit card and purchase the tickets. When I’m done, I turn to Jacey.

“Can I have your autograph?” she asks mockingly, grinning from ear to ear. I stare at her.

“Well, I don’t see any paper… so I’d happily sign your tits.”

Once again, her cheeks burst into flame, and I decide that I like making her blush. “Do you have a marker?” I add mischievously. “I can sign them right now, if you want. I know you’re not shy.”

“How about we just go get a drink while we wait for our tour,” Jacey suggests, her cheeks still pink. “I could use a drink to deal with you, and we’ve got half an hour to kill.”

I shrug. “That’s not as fun as autographing your body parts, but as you wish.”

We grab a drink at a nearby bar, sitting in a dark corner, out of the fray. As I hand Jacey her frozen margarita, she stares at me.

“Do you always do things like buy out tours?” she asks politely, taking a sip of her drink. I watch her lips form a vacuum around the straw before I answer.

“If I can. I prefer not to have to interact with the public much. And yeah, before you lecture me, I know I am where I am because of them. But you don’t understand. Women actually faint sometimes when they meet me. You don’t, but I’m not lying. Some do. I’d rather not deal with that.”

Jacey fiddles with her straw. “Well, in their defense, I’ll just tell you that you’re an intimidating person. It’s easy to get overwhelmed by who you are and forget that you’re a real person, not just a name. But if you don’t like what you do, with all the attention and everything, then why do you do it?” she asks curiously. “It doesn’t seem like something you should’ve gotten into if you don’t like attention.”

She has a valid point, and, of course, it’s one I’ve thought of many times over the last few years. But honestly, I do what I do because it’s fantastic money. So I tell her that.

“Money isn’t everything,” she announces sagely.

“Says the waitress,” I sigh. “No offense, but it’s easy to say that money isn’t everything if you don’t have it. Unfortunately, my tastes have evolved over the years and I need money to support them.”

Jacey crosses her legs and I stare at her ankle, then her calf, then her thigh. I follow the slender length of it all the way up to where it junctures into her crotch. That’s when I look away, before I start thinking about the fact that she’s not wearing panties.

When I look up, Jacey’s staring at me, watching me check her out.

“And what are your tastes now?” she asks hesitantly, her eyes probing mine. I smile what I imagine to be a wolfish smile.

Leaning toward her, I answer.

“Would you like to find out?”

I think back to the cooler incident, when my hand was buried between her legs, and I can see on her face that she’s thinking of it too. She sputters, leans back, then grabs her drink. Sucking on the straw, she regains her composure.

“How did you even get into acting?” she asks conversationally, ignoring my previous question and my wandering eyes.

“I went to the University of Chicago,” I tell her as I settle back into my seat. “While I was there, a talent scout liked my look, and he was searching for an unknown to work on Visceral Need. The rest is history.”

She raises her eyebrow. “So you weren’t even trying to be an actor?” she asks incredulously. “Do you know how many starving waiters are out there, just trying to get a break in the acting world?”

Yes, I do. But that’s not my problem.

I push my chair back.

“We’ve gotta go,” I tell her instead. “We’re gonna be late.”

“Yeah,” she agrees, standing up. “We don’t want to inconvenience the other passengers.”

She snorts and I lead the way, and once we’re out in the sun again, Jacey turns to me.

“For the record,” she says sassily, “I might have let you sign my boobs back then… back before you became cocky… when you were an ‘unknown’ normal person. It’s okay to be ‘normal,’ you know.” And with that, she flounces down the gangway and onto the bright yellow boat. I stare after her and she looks back over her shoulder with a grin.

“Coming?”

“Babe, when I come, you’ll know,” I spout back. She grins and I grin back, like we’re both normal people with dirty senses of humor, and I follow her onto the boat.

When we sit down, she slips her hand into mine, her fingers small and slender. I startle for a minute at the familiar and intimate gesture, but then the boat engine starts up and we rip across the bay with the wind in our faces. All of a sudden, it feels perfectly normal to sit with her like this, with her hand in my lap.

It’s a thought that scares the shit out of me, like literally scares me. My pulse beats faster, it’s hard to swallow, and my palms get clammy.

When I can, I pull my hand away and tuck it into my pocket instead.

I’m not normal, so there’s no way in hell I should pretend to be.