ten: in which she takes betsy for a ride (among other things)

"Don't know what I want, but I know it's not you" –Paramore, I Caught Myself

********************************

Jake was looking at me expectantly, clearly waiting for me to say something. His hand was still on my skin and, without making it too obvious that I wanted to get away from his touch, I stepped back, my car keys burning a hole in my hand.

"I know you lied, Captain Obvious," I said slowly. "I kind of figured that Sharon's letter was an excuse to – I don't know – try to find penance for what happened with Ella? But really, Jacob, there's nothing to atone for. There never was."

"Maya –"

"So did you really want to take Betsy for a spin?"

"For someone so intelligent, you can really be..." His voice trailed off when he saw the glare on my face. He cleared his throat, fighting the grin off his face. "Sure, babe. I'll lead the way."

I followed him down to the parking lot outside my apartment building. Jake hadn't mentioned the new coat of vivid cerulean paint, or that he'd fixed the heating and installed a new stereo. My Beetle was virtually brand-spanking-new.

"You shouldn't have," I whispered, fighting back tears. We were in the confines of my car and for the first time in years, the heat was working."Seriously, I don't even know how I'm going to repay –"

"You're not going to pay me back," he cut in, adding a long-suffering sigh. "I don't know how many times I gotta say this to you."

The money I'd deposited in his account earlier that week to reimburse him for my rent money had been returned to my account. Sure that it had been a mistake, I'd returned to the bank, where the nice bank teller informed me that she'd been instructed by Mr. Jacob Ford to not accept any deposits from Maya Fenton into his bank account. So yeah, I was starting to understand how strong Jacob Ford's resolve could be when he wanted something.

"Jacob, thank you," I repeated, looking him in the eye. "This means a lot to me."

He absently tapped his fingers on his thigh. "Don't mention it. So, where are you taking me?"

"What?"

"You mentioned something about taking a ride."

"Oh, right. Can I take you home?"

"Yeah," he said. "You can take me home, sweetheart."

When I started the car, I found out that the last song that big, bad Jacob Ford had been listening to was Florence and the Machine's Cosmic Love. He wasn't ashamed of it, but he had a horrible singing voice, especially when it came to the high notes. It turned out that road trips meant sing-along time, much to the protests of my eardrums.

"God, please make it stop," I begged, when it seemed like we'd never get to Jake's house fast enough.

"Maybe you should drive a little faster," he suggested.

"Hey, you want me to be safe, remember?"

"I do. I guess you can't get much safer than driving like a pensioner."

"Jake?"

"Yeah, babe?"

"Shut up."

***

The last time I'd been in Jake's house of my own free will, he'd been sleeping off a threesome.

"You could've joined and made it a foursome, you know," Jake cracked, gesturing at his couch.

I gingerly sat down. "Did I say that aloud?"

"Yeah. In a weird stage-whisper."

"I do that sometimes. Annoying habit." I shrugged. "If I ever say something that shouldn't be said out loud, you're basically eavesdropping on my thoughts."

"Duly noted," he said, stooping to unlace his boots. He glanced at me, straightening. "You want a drink or something?"

"Water, please."

He kicked his shoes off and I happened to notice his socks. They were bright green and had little caricatures of a well-known cartoon character dotted all over. He caught me looking.

"Birthday present," he explained with a lopsided grin. "You heard about Ghost's newfound kid sister? She's a sock giver."

"They're cute." Any guy who wore a goofy present bought by a little girl was a real man, in my book.

"Cute? Good thing we're alone. No one else needs to hear that," he said, disappearing out the room.

Alone.

There was something disturbing about that word. It sent a shiver racing down my spine. It made me rethink accepting Jake's invitation into his home. Here, I was on Jake's turf. Sitting on his couch. In his house. With him.

It was a nice living room, obviously made for relaxing in. The couches were black leather and the carpet was a black-and-white checkers board. He'd hung up what looked like a fifty-inch screen above the fireplace and tall, stately speakers were placed near the couches. Just to find something to do, I grabbed a remote control from the coffee table and turned the TV on.

"Ah, Pawn Stars." Jake's voice came from the doorway as he glanced at the screen. He had a beer in one hand and a glass of water in the other. "The other day, some guy comes in to sell a 1940 Harley-Davidson that belonged to his great-grandfather, or something. Great condition, few modifications – and the idiot 's asking for ten grand. Could've gotten four times more than that, dumb fucķ."

He handed me my water, a frown on his face at the memory of the man who had, in essence, shortchanged himself. I gulped the liquid down so fast I choked, coughing like an idiot and forcing Jake to thump my back ineffectively.

"Not helping at all, Mike Tyson," I gasped, recovering. I sucked in air.

"Shit, sorry. You OK now?"

Nodding, I leaned back, closing my eyes. "Just went down the wrong pipe, is all."

"It happens."

A comfortable silence descended between us, and I listened to the voices on the TV, eyes still shut. Jake's body heat radiated from beside me, definitely because he was sitting too close. But his closeness gave me an inner peace. It was the strangest thing

"That guy's pawning his mother's wedding ring?" My eyes snapped open, finding the camera zoomed in on the ring in question. It was a beautiful solitaire diamond, and the guy was asking for a chunk-load of cash, greed painted all over his face.

"Yeah. His ma's probably only been dead five minutes," Jake remarked, sounding disgusted. He took a long swig of his beer. "The Haven got me to collect my ma's personal items when I got out. All those years, and they held onto her stuff. I figure my brother might find a use for her wedding ring."

I turned in my seat to look at him. "Does that mean you'll never get married?"

"Don't know," he said with a shrug of one shoulder. "But my brother's dating some nice French broad and it's pretty damn serious. Ma would've wanted him to give her the ring."

"You keep in touch with Baron?"

"Something like that."

"Something like that?"

"Maya, I don't want to talk about my brother," he said curtly, putting his feet up on the table. He wiggled his toes, bringing the tiny cartoon character on each one come to life. "I'd much rather talk about...anything else."

"Anything else?"

"Hit me with your best shot."

I had to smile at that. "OK. What does this mean?" I reached out and ran a finger down his right bicep, tracing the tattoo there. It was a strange pattern of black spirals and even darker crosses and it took up a large chunk of the tanned skin that was exposed below the sleeve of his T-shirt.

"Nothing and everything," he replied, absently touching the place where my finger had just been. "It's something I had done to cover my Phantom's ink. You know, since I left the Club."

"Why'd you have to cover it up?"

"Because I'm not a Phantom anymore." He said it matter-of-factly, but there was a flicker of resentment in his eyes. Leaving the Phantoms had not been his choice.

"I was thinking of getting a tattoo," I lied, taking the subject of discussion off the Phantoms and onto me. "Something small."

Jake's eyes lit up like Christmas lights. "Oh, yeah? What'd you have in mind?"

I thought about it. If I were to get a tattoo, I'd get a Bible verse, or one of those inspirational quotes I saw online all the time. I didn't see the point in getting something obscure or meaningless just because it looked good. I said this to Jake and he looked thoughtful for a minute.

"A tat might look meaningless to you, but mean something important to the owner," he said quietly, emptying his beer down his throat. "I had a guy once ask me to ink a crow flying out of a pie and after I asked him a hundred times if he was sure he wanted that shιt on his skin for the rest of his life, he told me that Crow Pie had been his older brother's nickname and he'd died in Iraq a few months earlier. I felt like scum."

"You're absolutely right," I whispered. Now, my heart ached for this faceless Crow Pie and his little brother. So much death, so much suffering. There was no escaping it. Sometimes it just overwhelmed me. It was a wonder that I was able to work in a rest home, where the patients dropped dead like flies.

"Hey, I didn't tell you this to make you feel bad," said Jake, stroking my cheek. "I was just saying."

"I know."

"So...where would you get it? Your ink."

I automatically held up my arm. "My wrist, maybe?

Jake's hand shot out to grip it, and his index finger traced a circle on the inside of my wrist. It tickled something awful but I said nothing. Instead, I felt my heart rate pick up a few beats.

"You look like a script kinda girl. Something sentimental, maybe a quote, or lyrics to a song," he declared, his hand remaining firm around my wrist.

"Um." Speech eluded me. Stupid, I know. "Why did you invite me inside?"

Jake took his feet off the table. "Because I wanted to."

"That's not an answer."

He gave me a half-smile and released my arm. "Why did you stay?"

That was easy. "Because, surprisingly, I like hanging out with you. These days, you're more fun to be around than my other friends."

"I'm flattered."

"I answered your question. Now answer mine." Honestly, he could've been doing a myriad of other things at this time of night than sit on his couch and watch Pawn Shop with me.

"The truth? Sometimes I just want to be around you for no fucking reason whatsoever." He looked pissed off. Me? I was mostly just taken aback by the intensity of his tone.

"I'm not sleeping with you," I blurted out. "No offence."

"None taken," he muttered. "Trust me, I know that."

I turned my gaze to the TV, seeing nothing. God, why had I said that?

"You wanna watch a movie?" asked Jake, and maybe I was a sucker for awkwardness because I said yes.

He went to make the popcorn and I toed my shoes off. By the time he got back and settled down beside me, I had my apology ready.

"I'm sorry for assuming that you invited me over as some kind of booty call."

"But I do want to fucķ you, sweetheart. I get a fucķing hard-on just thinking about what it would be like with you."

My mouth gaped open and he threw a popcorn kernel inside, forcing me to close my mouth and chew.

Laughing, he leaned back and snatched the remote from where it lay between us. "What're you in the mood for?" he wanted to know, immediately starting to channel-surf. "Action or comedy?"

"Action," I replied, my voice hoarse.

The movie he picked sucked – something starring a bunch of ageing action stars leaving their rest homes to be in the film's third installment – and I fell asleep at the halfway mark. By the time the movie's end credits rolled and woke me up, I found that I'd curled up on the couch and my head was on Jake's lap. His fingers were in my hair, and since that felt so good, I went back to sleep, only waking up when I heard his phone ring. Gently, he lifted my head off him and got to his feet, choosing to take the call in another room.

I was so tired. So boneless and tired.

His angry voice filtered into the living room, but I was unable to make out the words. And then he was back, covering me with a blanket, assuming that I was still fast asleep.

I wasn't. I heard him leave the house.