Chapter Seven
Carina
Jackson had accepted the plane ticket. I almost danced around the room. I’d never been able to do anything like that before for a guy in my life, I had never even paid for a dinner, much less flown some stranger out to the coast to spend time with me. I had a moment of regret. What if he turned out to be a jerk, or worse? Then, I worried about coming on too strong, some guys didn’t like a girl paying for anything or making the plans. I reasoned that he’d been the one to suggest staying with me, even if he had been teasing.
I called my one best and truest friend, Shelby, and squealed at her liked a teenager. After she’d mocked me for a bit, then cheered me on, she agreed to go through my clothes and go shopping with me for something nice to wear the day Jackson showed up, and for accessories to finish my best costume yet. I walked into my dressing room and ran my hands over the white feathers of the wings I’d built from scratch, wrapping cheese cloth over a thick wire frame Shelly’s boyfriend had helped me bend.
I had sewn every giant white feather in place to ensure that I, and the wings, could move without them coming loose. I’d searched fabric stores, costume shops, and scrap yards for the materials to build this costume, and every inch of it was intended to bring the character to life. But none of it compared to those wings. I pulled the leather strap hidden near the waist of the bodice and the wings sprang open with a whoosh that made my heart beat fast no matter how many times I opened them.
Their span was two inches wider than I was tall: a full six feet across from tip to tip. I had three garbage bags of discarded feathers that hadn’t made the cut, and the wings were flawless, whiter than paper and perfectly shaped. The bodice was cut so low I felt brave wearing it in the privacy of my own room, but the metal boning and hidden braces over the shoulders and around the waist allowed the wings to be worn and opened without weighing it down or threatening to tear it open.
I’d worked for two years on this costume and now, with Jackson in the audience, I would finally get to debut it. The thought wrenched my stomach with anxiety and I rushed to the bathroom.
“You never do anything by halves, do you?” I asked my reflection. Cold water dripped down my face, and I splashed some more across it, then ran my cool, wet hand over the back of my neck. I looked at my dripping reflection again, watching as color rose back into my face. For someone who chose the spotlight every time she had the opportunity, I sure was a pussy about putting myself out there.
Modeling had been easy. Eat barely enough to stay alive, hop on the treadmill to burn even that off, and follow direction. Not that doing what I was told was always easy, or that I’d liked it. But there was very little personal risk to “Slouch more” or “suck in your belly” or even being told to lose fifteen pounds when I was already ten pounds underweight. Someone else was in charge, which meant the risk was theirs.
Now I was healthier than I’d ever been, physically and emotionally. But, even though I was allowed to eat, I called my own shots, and I had the energy to even want to date instead of always hiding when I wasn’t forced to be in public, I had never been more afraid in my entire life. I needed more than cold water to bring back the feeling in my toes and slow my heart rate to a normal pace, so I took a long shower that I’d meant to be a quick one, and walked the mile or so to my favorite art supply store.
I was feeling much better by the time I opened the door, thrilling at the tinny jingle of the bell that the owner, Mack, hung there. It was nice to enjoy shopping as I slung my bag over one arm and wandered up and down the aisles looking for anything that struck me. It wasn’t often that I splurged and shopped without a plan, and I knew I could get myself in trouble in a place like that, but I couldn’t stop humming and smiling as I stumbled over paint colors I hadn’t seen before and patterned pieces of paper that most ladies used for scrapbooking, but I used for design inspiration.
Just as I was walking toward the cash register, Mack waved me over to him on the other end of the store. When I got there, he handed me a box too big to fit in my cloth shopping bag and a sack that jangled like it was full of metal of some kind. Finally, he handed me a book about leatherworking.
“Is this bag full of leatherworking tools?”
“Ayuh. Thought you might be ready for a new hobby.”
“How much is this going to cost me?”
He sighed and folded his arms. “Well, if you actually work at it, it will save you all the money you give me to do your leatherwork. If it’s just a little hobby, it will cost you for whatever leather you buy. All this,” he gestured to my armful of goodies, “is my gift to you. You made us all proud on that stage. I have every intention of putting the pictures we took up on my walls to promote my leatherwork and the store, so don’t get too misty over a few tools and an instruction manual.”
I glanced down at what had to be a couple hundred dollars in product. “Vicky going to let me out of the store with these?” I teased. Vicky was Mark’s long-time girlfriend and partner in the store. She spent her days in the front, running the registers and chatting with customers, and for a woman over fifty, she was in better shape than most people half her age. Something they usually found out when they tried to steal something from her precious store. I grinned at a memory of her taking a kid down by the collar, only to turn around and give the teen the supplies he’d been stealing, after he showed her some of his work. Now, that kid was on the cusp of fame and still only shopped at Vicky and Mark’s store for all his canvases and tools.
“Yeah, Vicky pre-approved the gift.” Mark chuckled. “But, she’ll be glad that you asked.”
I smiled at my bundle and shook my head. “It may take me a minute to get a piece done, but I know just where to set this up in my work room.” I thought for a moment. “But, now I have to Uber a ride home, unless you have a bigger bag I can borrow?” Mark snapped his fingers and disappeared into the back room. When he returned, he had a large knapsack in his hands. In went the box, the book, and the smaller bag of tools, and I carried the rest to the front of the store. As Vicky scanned the items, I slid them into the large backpack with the rest, thanking her for the gift. I knew it was probably her idea to give me something. Vicky was a woman who had no children, but adopted every lonely soul she met.
I told her about Jackson, and how crazy I felt for inviting a total stranger to come meet me after several days of talking. I expected her to scold me for being reckless, but she reminded me that lots of relationships that started in person ended in heartbreak. “Besides,” she added after thinking for a moment, “weeks of talking before you meet is better than a drunken bar-hookup.” I scoffed and agreed. I had never been one for hookups, and I was happy that Jackson didn’t count as one.
I went home after a couple of quick stops for things I actually did need, grateful that the backpack gave me the extra shopping bag room for food for both Stiles and me. I kept wanting to text Jackson, but I was determined not to look clingy or needy, so the phone stayed tucked away in my purse until I emptied the groceries into the fridge, filled the cat bowl with stinky chicken pate, and set up my leatherworking kit on one end of my work table.
I grabbed the phone to take a picture of my new setup for Vicky, and saw that Jackson had left me a couple of texts. My pulse sped a little at the selfie he’d taken on his horse. Damn, the man was like a Hollywood cowboy, rugged and hot. I immediately repented for my raunchy thoughts when I saw the next picture: a selfie of him with his mom. The mountains were behind them, and even though she was smiling, it was tinged with sadness at the edges.
In return, I took a picture of my new leatherworking center with Stiles in the center of it, since he was sniffing out the new tools and leather. It wasn’t nearly as pretty as the pictures he’d sent, but the more of him I saw, the more I realized that could very well be us. I might have been the model, but he was definitely the pretty one. Then I glanced back over my shoulder at the costume draped over the mannequin in the center of the room. I couldn’t wait for him to see me in it. I took a picture of the bodice and wings, but deleted the message before I hit send. He’d be in the room, in person, soon enough. He could see it then.
A glance at the clock told me it was time to get the stream going, but I really didn’t want to work. I wanted to straighten the apartment, deep clean the stuff I usually ignored unless company was coming, and figure out how to get a bed in the bedroom, so I’d have somewhere to sleep. I felt the heat of a blush rise in my cheeks, even though I was alone. No, it wouldn’t do me any good to assume that he’d want to throw me down on the first available soft surface and ravage my body... But, a girl could hope.
He was late to the stream, but I didn’t mind. It was just as fun texting him between notifications and telling him about stream drama as it was having him online seeing it in person. In fact, it felt nice, feeling like I could talk to him about work, because he wasn’t there to see it.
After a couple of hours of occasional texts, and screenshots of the massive debacle that was the viewer-run stream, I felt brave enough to send him a text that was more personal than I’d been before.
“I can’t wait to see your face.” I regretted it them moment I sent it, sure that he’d think I was an idiot, since he’d sent pictures before. I almost added, “in person” to clarify, but a text had already come in from him.
“I can’t wait to put my arm around you on the sofa.”
My chest got tight and my mouth went dry. Heart in my throat, I replied, “I can’t wait to hold your hand.” It wasn’t exactly what I was thinking, but I was trying not to keep it light, even though my thighs ached and things low in my stomach tightened as an image of what I really wanted filled my head.
“I can’t wait to kiss you,” he sent.
My heart pounded. “I can’t wait for you to undress me.” I hit send, and swallowed hard. It was too much, I’d gone too far, as usual, and ruined it. I cursed and tried to pay attention to the game at hand, grateful that for the viewer controlled stream, I’d chosen not to be on camera.
The phone pinged and I ignored it, afraid that he’d shut me down, or been embarrassed, or pulled back. It was exactly what I would have done if our positions were reversed. I had a date any day of the week, if I wanted, and I was chasing a man who lived two thousand miles away, who obviously wasn’t going to be hurting for company either. The reminder notification dinged again, and with a curse, I turned the phone over.
“There are so many things I want to do to you, for you, that I can’t list them now. Later, when I’m not sitting at dinner with my entire family and crew trying to not get turned on thinking about you, I’ll give you the full list. Hint… it’s long, and it gets dirty.”
I gasped from the heat that rushed to both ends of my body simultaneously. It couldn’t focus on the game, and just put it on auto-follow to the nearest viewer while I wriggled in my seat, and took a few long drinks from my bottle of water. Unbidden images of all the things I thought he might want flooded my brain. He’d warned me that he wasn’t alone, and I knew that meant I should stop. But I couldn’t leave it at that. I thought for a couple of minutes. What was I really looking forward to the most? It wasn’t the sex that, apparently, we’d be having, or showing off my setup to a fan of the stream, or even having company. I smiled and picked up my phone.
“I can’t wait to lie next to you and feel your arms around me just holding me, and feel happy because you’re there.” I hit send before I could change my mind, and put the phone on silent. I needed to work, he was with his whole damn ranch full of people, and I’d never met a man yet who wouldn’t be uncomfortable seeing that on his phone from a woman he’d never met.
“Good job, C.J.,” I said under my breath. “Way to go the extra mile, just to chase a nice guy off.” I cursed, and blamed it on a dumbass who had gotten everyone killed in the game. It was strange, and comforting, the way I could focus on the stream after that. As it turned out, avoidance was great for my concentration. I just hoped that when the stream was over and I ran out of ways to avoid him, Jackson wanted to talk to me at all.