Same time next week, p.5
Same Time Next Week, page 5
"It's a date. I'll look for you. Eight, at Antigua."
"Sounds great. I'll uh... look for you, too."
More awkward silences full of smiles–on both ends it seemed–and then the call ended. Shelby could finally take a full breath. And try not to freak out.
Something in the tone of his voice caught her attention…a flirty, sexy, expectation, like he was already sure how the evening would pan out. She laughed to herself, plotting, not sure at all if she would fulfill his expectation or leave him wanting more.
Jackson
Jackson warned himself to keep expectations low. And they were, but if she was giving, he was taking. If he worked it right, he could have a pretty little buddy. A friend. Or more than a friend. Whatever it was called, it meant he could have regular sex. He had to play it cool.
Still, he picked up around the house. Showered and shaved, washed his favorite jeans and spent too long picking out a shirt to wear. He finally settled on a casual t-shirt with a short sleeve button down over it. Combed his hair without really looking at it. Slipped on a pair of shades and headed to the garage, whistling a ditty he'd made up in his head.
He ducked into the car and double checked himself. Wallet? Check. Aftershave? Deodorant? Check. Confidence and a good attitude? Double check.
As he backed out of the driveway and watched the wide garage door close in front of him, a thought niggled at him. Something about Kim…namely that he hadn't thought of her all day. Last night had been the first night in months that he'd gone to sleep without digging out his wallet, flipping it open to the photo of them at last year's Lover's Lane themed Maxim party and staring at it, wondering what went wrong and where and how he could have changed it. Maybe Shelby could help him turn over a new leaf.
He hated to admit that Rod was right. Coming back to Orlando was a good thing for him. Even if he wasn't going to stay, getting away from LA, where the hope of seeing her kept his pain alive, was the best thing he could have done for himself. He wasn't so happy with the job, but it was good to be home.
Church Street in downtown Orlando was basically Bar Row. No matter what you were in the mood for, you could probably find it along this stretch of city street. Pubs, jazz clubs, microbreweries and dive bars all shared the same mile of real estate. It made picking a party spot relatively easy and if one place was packed, there were several others to choose from.
Antigua was owned by a friend of his, a buddy from his days as a cast member at KidTV. Every time Jackson was in town, he stopped by. Consequently, he hadn't paid for drinks at Antigua in over a decade. The bartender wasn't in anyway impressive, but free was a good price, even if you had no idea how much money you actually had.
Jackson was early on purpose. He wanted to scope the place out, grab the good table in the corner with the nice view of the stage but away from the speakers, so they could talk. At 8 o'clock and just as the music changed to a driving, hard rock beat, he saw her. Shelby was there, under the arch of the doorway, looking around. Looking for him.
She'd put a lot of effort into looking casual. Her hair was long, and sleek, framing her face. Her jeans made him twitch, the way they hugged her curves as she finally saw him and made her way to him. He caught a glimpse of her blouse as she slid into the seat across from him.
Tiger print....growl. There was a black bra underneath the sliver-thin, silky material. He'd promised himself he wouldn't stare, but he wasn't sure if he'd be able to keep that promise. Shelby was playing hardball.
"You made it. Good to see you," he managed to say, through his grin that was ridiculously wide. She looked good. Smelled good, from the light scent that drifted across the table. He felt like an idiot. He shouldn't be this excited. He met beautiful women every day.
"I told you I'd find it," she said with a smile, her eyes floating up and around at the décor. "So, this place is cool." He watched her check the place out, proud that she was impressed. He pointed out his favorite areas–the sections that looked like porches from old southern colonial homes, the arched doorways, the high back leather seats, the general atmosphere. She listened and nodded and laughed and he agreed with himself that her smile was warm and bubbly but not annoying.
"Well, so," Jackson said, laying his hands out on the table. "We have so much to talk about. Like... everything."
"But it's so weird because, you know. I know who you are."
"Yeah. But you don't know me, know me. There are a lot of things people don't know about me, the real me."
"Really." She paused and leaned in, tilting her head like she expected to hear a secret "Like?"
He leaned in as well, allowing a flirty dip of his eyes to her blouse. "Like… all of a sudden, I like tiger print."
Shelby laughed, her smile bright, her tongue curled behind her teeth, but she didn't blush. Good girl. No need to be modest. He liked her confidence. She had to know that if he saw her for real, that he'd like what he saw. She was right.
A few minutes of idle, nervous chitchat passed. Jackson cleared his throat and realized he was parched. "Can I get you anything to drink? A beer, or some wine or something?"
Her eyes drifted to the bar and back to him. "Don't think I'm a drunk or anything, but I'm dying for a shot of Patron. I haven't had it in... a while."
"You want it mixed with anything?"
Shelby looked offended at the question. "It's Patron. The whole point is to not mix it with anything."
"I knew that," Jackson replied, laughing. "I was being polite."
"Stop being polite. I'll take a beer to go with it, though," she added with a wink. "Whatever's cold, in a bottle."
Jackson headed to the bar, smiling to himself. Of course he hadn't met a girl who liked frilly, frozen, pink drinks. She shot tequila straight. God, he hoped this worked out.
Shelby
Shelby watched Jackson walk toward the bar, emptying her lungs slowly, steadily, then breathing deeply. Be calm, stay cool. So far, so good.
She was proud of herself, being a little daring and a lot sexy. Lucas would have had a fit if he'd seen her. Tonight, her entire back was on display in a blouse that was so sheer, she should have worn a camisole under it but opted not to. She liked the look of the tiny black bra underneath the opaque print material. And with great results, since Jackson was practically drooling.
Since he was gone, Shelby could actually look around the club, admiring the feel and the energy. The music was great, loud but not overpowering. The seating was ample, which was rare, in a club. Tables were often reserved for VIP patrons who ordered bottle service. At least, that was how it worked in the clubs in Miami.
The air was electric, Prince's Kiss soaring out of the speakers and everyone in the place bobbing their heads and shaking their hips and singing along. She'd missed it. Being back among the crowd, the people, the atmosphere made her reconsider getting some mousy library job or taking classes. She could go back to bartending, what she was doing when she met Lucas.
It was funny–not laugh, funny but peculiar how back then, tending bar was a means to an end. It was fun and it paid the bills. Evelyn and Roberto paid for tuition and books and fees at Miami University. They refused to pay room and board and they bought her a car but didn't cover the insurance. And of course, any entertainment was her expense.
She worked small time jobs, biding her time until she was legal. At twenty one years and one day, she walked into a bar, put in an application and started waitressing.
It was love at first pour. Shelby ran her kingdom with two fists–one gripping bottle of vodka, the other tequila. She loved when new people would come in, eyeing her with a skeptical gaze, like she'd never heard of their amazingly complicated and specific drink. And then, the raised eyebrow as they tasted it, cynicism turning into admiration. A good drink equaled a good tip. Shelby had earned many a good tip.
Tending bar paid okay, but for some reason Shelby always felt like she was behind, robbing Peter to pay Paul to keep up a lifestyle she couldn't afford. She worked an upscale bar with sometimes well–known clientele. "The Look" was important, so as soon as money came in, it went to bills and clothes and shoes and hair. Looking the part of the attractive, alluring bartender, singing the siren song of liquor.
Time was always a crunch and since she always had a paper due or a test to study for, a slow night was a double edged sword. It gave her time to catch up on schoolwork, but it took money out of her pocket. A packed bar, on the other hand, meant lots of money, but no time to catch up on homework. Falling behind meant she'd have to pay for school on her own. Adding several thousand dollars, several times a year in tuition and fees and books increased the already tremendous weight on her shoulders.
Enter Lucas Samuels. He was a nice man. An older gentleman– deep, smooth olive skin, eyes dark as midnight, distinguished salt-and-pepper hair and always a high end suit with shiny leather shoes. Some nights he came in after some stuffy function, loosened his tie, slid onto a seat at the bar and sat there until closing. Talking to her, listening to her bitch about how difficult her life was. She saw now what she didn't see then. The trap.
Shelby blinked, bringing herself out of her trip down memory lane, nostalgia brought on by the scent of draft beer. Time to live in the here and now.
Here and now, a man who was likely to try and get into her pants (at least she hoped, and he had a pretty good chance at succeeding) was on his way back to their table. Two shots with a slice of lime in one hand, two beers in the other.
"I don't normally do shots, but I hate the thought of you doing one alone, so I got one, too." The shots were lined up between them, the beers to the side for backup. Jackson slid into the booth across from her. His tongue flicked out of his mouth and lapped up a few drops of tequila from the palm of his hand. Imagining what that tongue could do elsewhere sent a twinge that twisted her insides like a vise.
"We should toast to something," Shelby suggested, lifting her glass. "What do you want to toast to?"
"Mmm. Good question." Jackson rubbed his hands together and rolled his eyes up, making a big show out of thinking. "So, you're new here, right? And I'm back in town after a long time away. How about something lame, like new beginnings?"
If only he knew how meaningful that was. "That's not lame at all. It's appropriate, actually. New beginnings, fresh starts, new lives. Drink up."
The shot glasses made a thick clinking sound as they connected. Together they licked the salt from the rims, tipped their heads back and let the liquor slide down their throats. Following was a wedge of lime, sucking down the sweetness, filtering the bite of alcohol and helping to quell the burn.
"Holy shit." Jackson blinked, taking a long drag off of a dark amber bottle of beer. "It's been a while. Whew." His face was slightly pink but he was grinning.
Shelby was, too. "Mmmm!" She hummed. "The Inaugural shot is always good. It's been a long time. May need another one, soon."
Jackson winced, licking his lips, taking another sip off of his bottle. "A long time? How long? You're not an alcoholic, are you?"
"Me?" Shelby tried to make her eyebrows lower but they seemed to be stuck in surprise. "Hell, no. It's been... hmmmm...." Shelby thought back to the last time she had a drink. A real drink.
It had to have been the night the settlement was approved. That was a good night. She'd gone out that night, knowing that the next day would bring nasty, demanding and therefore unanswered phone calls from Lucas' children. She figured she'd better celebrate the small, hollow victory while she had the chance.
"It's been over a year," Shelby finally answered, feeling his stare. "Long overdue."
"It's only been about a month, for me."
"Time for us both to catch up, then."
She picked up her bottle of beer and tapped it against his, then took a long sip. Then sat back, and heaved a sigh and smiled across the table.
Jackson
He hoped that smile meant something good, like he hadn't offended her by asking about her drinking. He hadn't meant anything by it.
Don't screw this up. She's giving off so many ‘fuck me' vibes.
In an attempt to change the subject, he asked, "So, what do you do?" but the look he got back from her was weird. Her eyes dropped to the table and the corners of her mouth pulled down and when she looked back up she was sucking on that plump bottom lip of hers.
"Right now... well, right now is truly a new start. I've been in Orlando, literally, for four days. I don't do anything, yet. And I don't know what I want to do, but in a previous life, I was a bartender. This place kind of makes me want to be one again."
"The Patron lecture. I get it, now." Shelby laughed, picking salt off of the rim of her glass with a finger, then poking it into her mouth and licking it off. He couldn't take his eyes off of that finger.
"Forgive me; I'm a little bit of a know-it-all. Can't help it, I was trained by one."
"I didn't say you didn't know your stuff. So, maybe you'll go back to tending bar? One of my buddies owns this place. I could introduce you. If you're interested."
She stared blankly, speechless for a moment, then stuttered out a few words of gratitude.
"I understand where you're coming from. You know, the... not knowing what you want to do. I'm trying to do something different. I don't know how this is going to work out."
"You don't like what you do? You seem good at it."
"Yeah, I mean...I like it. I wouldn't do it, otherwise. I've been doing it so long. I feel like I need something more; something to push me and make me do things I don't think I can actually do. So that's why I'm back here. To fail at something. If that makes any sense."
She nodded. "Rod seems like a piece of work. It can't help that you're working with him."
"He has a reputation, for sure." Jackson hated to talk badly about people–it had a way of getting around, but she had a point and Rod made it hard to argue with her. "We go way back. Rod, the guy that owns this bar and I all met back in my KidTV days. His show was on the set next to ours, so we got to hang out quite a bit and we've been friends ever since. He's a good guy, deep down. He has to play the game though, you know? You're young; you've got more money than God and more power than you've ever had in your life. There are needs and wants and it's fun to satisfy them."
Jackson glanced up at Shelby, finding her paying rapt attention. He winked and reached for the empty shot glass, mindlessly picking the salt off of it while he kept talking. "The record label tells you to go spend your money. Cause some trouble; get your name in the paper. But not too much, don't drag our rep down. And there's no one around to tell you no. It's as fun as it sounds."
"Yeah..." Shelby nodded, her eyes downcast, again. Something in her tone told him she understood all too well what he meant. "That has to get old, though."
"Eventually." He relaxed, tossing a muscular arm across the back of the booth. "It becomes the norm. Status quo. Pretty soon, the money isn't entertaining enough. I mean, after you buy all the shit you never could buy before, what else is there to waste money on but coke, booze and chicks? It's no wonder people get caught up in drugs and sex and all that. And right now, Rod is running the race; trying to suck all the fun out of it before it gets old. Before showing up to an event is work and not a good time.
"Like right now, we have an album that we're writing. We're redoing some of his old stuff and putting together a tour. When I see you at five in the morning, I'm just leaving the studio. That's work, not play. That's why you have to love what you do."
"I see."
Jackson rambled and Shelby stared while he rambled, but not wide eyed, this time. There was understanding and a little commiseration. Still, he felt bad about dominating the conversation and talking so much. It was a habit that he had never been able to break. Soon, his mind would start to move faster than his tongue and he would begin to stutter.
"Sorry," he said, "for going on and on. I tend to do that. Ask me about the weather, and I'll probably answer with something like, ‘You know what I read about clouds...' and I won't shut up for a while."
He blushed and sucked down a long swallow of his beer. Stalling so he didn't keep talking.
Shelby laughed. "I don't mind at all. Talk away."
"Well, you talk some, now. I don't want to hog the conversation."
"Okay," said Shelby, playing with her nearly empty bottle, rolling it around the table, back and forth, in an arc. "What do you want to know?"
"Well, you said this morning that you don't sleep well. Any reason? Or is that a dumb question, because if you knew, you'd be able to sleep?"
There it was again. That look, the downturn and the hiding her eyes. Stop doing that, he screamed at himself, even though he had no idea what he was doing to make that happen. He was asking questions.
"Okay, you know what?" She sat forward, her arms resting on the table, her hands reaching across and long, thin fingers playing with his. "I'm enjoying myself tonight. So, let's make a pact. We can talk, but no pasts, no futures. There are reasons I don't sleep. I'm thinking about them a lot tonight and I don't want to. I want to concentrate on this. On you. For sure, you don't want to talk about who you used to be. And what you're running from. Right?"
He was mesmerized by her, by her take-charge attitude and that she didn't seem shy at all. And now there was added mystery.
"Deal," he said, looping one of his fingers around one of hers and leaving it there. "So can I ask about your family? Or does that count as past?"
She beamed a forgiving smile. "What do you want to know?"
"Do they live here?"
She shook her head, tipping the bottle to her lips with her free hand. She didn't seem to want him to let go of the other one, so he didn't. "Miami," she said after a swallow. "Retired. I'm an only child, born to my parents late in life. They weren't supposed to be able to have me."
"Really? How was that?"
She shrugged. "I never knew any different. I thought everyone's dad had grey hair and took Geritol."
