His Name Is Jake Saunders

A Kiss To Make You Feel Better

***It's only been three days since I last posted but, what the hell! Enjoy! Soul xo***

"What were you doing before I came here?" Jake asked, narrowing his eyes curiously.

I blushed a light pink and headed for the fridge so he couldn't take notice. "Nothing. Want a drink?"

"Sure," he said, taking off his jacket and plonking it over the sofa.

"Red?"

"Sure."

The apartment was filled the glugging sounds of the wine sloshing about in the glass. Besides that, it was dead silent. It's moments like these where I wondered what Jake was thinking. What he was looking at, where his thoughts took him. I guess it was because I just wanted to prepare myself for what's to come.

I didn't know what to initially take from his words. 'My name is not Jake Saunders'; I repeated the line over and over in my mind as I was pouring the wine. I poured so much that the wine nearly spilled over at the top. I glanced over my shoulder, took notice of Jake staring out the window with his hands in his pockets, and then took a few sips. Hey, my nerves were getting the best of me and I didn't want to waste the wine; it's expensive!

Then I held two glasses in each hand and walked over, sitting myself on the sofa. I waited, not one to pry, especially when someone was telling me something so vague. My name is not Jake Saunders; another thought that ran through my mind was that he was undercover or under the witness protection program. An assassin maybe? All logical, of course.

Before I knew it, Jake sat across from me on the coffee table. I fixed myself to sit cross-legged on the sofa, both feet up and intertwined, oddly cold, up against my thighs. My feet are always cold.

"How have you been?" he asked,

I nodded. "Good. Your wine, by the way," I pointed.

He didn't look. "Thanks." Then he sighed. "I don't normally open up to people. I just want you to know that." I nodded and waited silently and patiently for him to continue. "It's hard for me. I'm not used to people digging deeper into me, into something that might be a little touchy-feely."

"I don't mean to dig at you," I said, guiltily.

"No, I know," he shook his head. "I don't mean to imply that you have, I'm just pointing this out."

"Why?"

"Well, I've never taken my lack of openness from my mother because I've never met her. That I know. The woman my father is with now is somewhat my step-mother, unofficially. Except one day I woke up finding out everything was a lie."

I narrowed my eyes confusedly. Wondering if I had missed something. "I'm sorry? A lie?"

He nodded. "My mother never wanted me. She gave me up for adoption, to a desperate-for-a-child woman and a man whose Fortune 500 company was the talk of the town. You'd think someone would have figured out by now."

"You're adopted."

"You see, my father lied about being my biological father because he didn't want me to feel entirely unwanted. He figured a half-and-half deal was enough to keep me going. Have my biological mother 'die giving birth to me' instead of completely abandoning me." He chuckled lightly and turned his gaze into a faraway inexistent distance.

"He was trying to protect you," I muttered lowly, watching his reaction carefully. Now I understand why he never got along with his father.

A slow smile crept on his lips and he glanced back at me. "Sure. It's not enough, though. For the rest of my life, I have to live with the fact that I actually don't really know who I truly am. Where I truly came from. What my life could have been. Don't get me wrong, my life is pretty great," we laughed a little, "but, I'll always miss that part of me that could have been truer than-" he gestured up and down himself with his hands "-than this."

I wanted to tell him he was living a truthful life. That he was real; not a lie. But I didn't know how to go about telling him that. I didn't want to sound overly know-it-all, but I also felt like I needed to say something. I was in a position where I had no idea what to do and how to give support. No one had ever told me they were adopted before; so what am I supposed to say?

"Thank you for telling me this," I said after a quiet moment. "I know it must be hard. I hope I didn't force you into doing something you didn't want to do."

He chuckled, lighter and brightening the mood. "No, it's okay. I wanted to tell you." Then he leaned closer, cupping my face, pressing his lips upon mine. Flashes of earlier today chimed through me. Then we parted. "Now you."

"Me?"

He grinned. "What's your story?"

I stood and turned my shoulders back and forth in flirtation. I walked towards the bedroom and stopped just before the doorway. "My story can wait." I unbuttoned and unzipped my shorts, letting it drop to the ground.

Jake licked and bit his lips and then hurriedly hopped up, trying to jump over the coffee table and the single armchair. His foot got caught, however, misjudging the distance, and he tumbled over and rolled before me, his body knocking me over him with full force. Down below, it probably sounded like we were having a wrestling match. We laughed uncontrollably and sank into each other.

Jake tore off his shirt and climbed over me. "Are you hurt?" he smiled.

I chuckled, squeezing his back closer into me. "A little."

"Well, then, allow me to kiss it better," he winked, grinning mischievously, wriggling downwards.

Oh, where to start?