SHE IS DREAMING ABOUT HIM IN STAGES. And the way he adores I her in her dreams is like strawberries with whipped cream on a hot summer day, goosebumps along frisson, loved skin. And when he says her name it feels so good—like peppermint tea swirled with clouds of honey into a late afternoon.
Jacob. Jake. And her favourite, Jakie. She has so many names for the man who followed her into her thoughts while she was dreaming. And at this very moment, she was dreaming of Jakie.
She thinks he's mastered the art of true precision. He progresses it in every fibre of his being. He knows his smiles made her head swirl. His hands make her clam up, and Goodness, his voice breaks her softly with his words that feel like a love song written only for her. She knows she's feeling some type of way when his brown eyes catch hers- a certain flower blooms under her wallflower walls, and bursts through the cracks for him to admire and take care of. She knows, he knows how to read like an open book, drifting through her pages as though they were made of thin paper, reading all the lines in between her timid gestures. She knows, he knows that she will never be the same again after he's had his way with her.
He knows. Jakie knows she is broken, hiding it like a mask against her face, until he presses a fluttering kiss on her forehead, on her nose, on her cheek, on the corner of her lips, and the nape of her neck, whispering softly. "The stages of loving you are hard Evie, I can't think, I can't eat, I can't sleep without thinking about you. Without wanting you so much, Evie."
Evie. The way he says her name has her tugging him to her, until his smooth, plain shirt is crumbled under her grip, and a low exhale floods out of his mouth. Then she's underneath him, a tangle of arms and legs. His fingers are a ghost on her skin; soothing her and driving her wild.
Around her, the world is a mess. A hazy beige. But when she's inside his arms, she doesn't know what she wants anymore. She's stuck between the stages of arousal and pleasure. Where to kiss his lower lip, pull his hair or punch him.
They are in her bedroom. Blinds open, wind blowing in through so they sway, and his lips are kissing her neck, smudging them with his love. Slow, lovely, and soft. Almost teasing when she feels him grin into her flushed skin.
It feels so good.
She tangles her fingers in his orange hair, her eyes half-closed, getting lost in the southern boy's scent. He smells like fresh, summer day, fizzy cream-soda, and dew-drop strawberries.
So sweet, she almost whimpers.
She pulls at the ends of his hair, at the back of his neck. His voice is deeper, husky, and it makes her arch her back into him. She feels his arousal pressing into her as he groans against her neck, breathing out curses she doesn't care.
Then he calls out her name, kissing her again and travels her body until he reaches the inside of her thigh, his breath ghosting over her skin before he stops. He looks up at her, shy smirk on his face, dimple on show. His hair is wild flames of orange, his lips kissed so many times by her, he looks fanasting, and with his shirt unbuttoned, she can't help but travel her gaze down to his smooth abdomen, where his chest is rising and falling fast. His eyes when she looks at them again are darker, sparkling and luminous.
."Can I?" he asks. His voice is heaven. And his mouth is made for loving her. She holds her breath and then their stages of love move to together -
And she calls out his name.
***
She wakes up frantic, heart pounding in her ears, and wetness underneath the rims of her eyes. And other places she cannot name as shame overrides her shattered thoughts that it back together like patch-worked blankets with one stray piece of string undoing her again.
Oh, goodness.
It's the sunlight through her open blinds that's woken her from her dreams, and she can't be any more disappointed than she already is. Trust her brain to jump-start her awake when she was getting to the juicy content of her wildest dreams.
Stupid brain. Stupid hormones. Stupid Jacob Faith makes me think about him.
She rolls over, tangling her legs in the sheets of her bed, and it makes her motified. She's had crushes before. Liked loads of boys or men before. But never like this. Never in her wildest dreams has she ever had a sex dream before. Now that's formed, it had to be about the redhead boy didn't it?
Last night memories flood back to her front thoughts.
Oh, we kissed. Well, I kissed him. On the check, she thinks, but you wanted more, so your damn brain imagined the rest. How sad. Don't tell anyone. Definitely not the redhead boy. You'll never hear the end of it. You'll never look him in the eye again the same, Evie.
Or, he'd make the dream a reality and she couldn't live with herself if he did. Because if he did make it come true, she'd be heaven in his arms, and his endless.
Biting her bottom lip, she rids herself away from her racy dreams. Rids herself away from her covers on her bed and stretches her legs, hearing her parents downstairs. Well, when she thinks downstairs, she knows exactly where they are at this precise moment. Her mother makes tea with a dash of sugar and milk in the kitchen with toast to accompany their morning breakfast. Her father will be in his study drinking morning coffee, reading the newspaper or making calls to get their family business started for the day. Evie wasn't so sure where she fit in anymore. Without Lewis, her family was shattered and she was dancing on the shards of where he was supposed to be. The in-between, where he glued them back together again and made all three of them share the same living space.
She dreads mornings. Dreads breakfast. Even before her brother's untimely passing, she was never a morning person. She preferred the late-afternoons with the radio humming music of her mother's favourite band: The BeeGees, American pancakes with melted butter on one side, then painting afterwards with smudges on her hands to prove it, stroking Lew in the stable, or getting ready for her classes. Everything was perfect, normal. Until Lewis, her brother died.
There were no American pancakes with melted butter on her plate. Lewis was the one to always mix up the batter in the morning and add an extra cube of butter on hers. There were no 80s BeeGees classics on the radio, just a stilling silence that went through her bones. There was no stroking the stallion she named after her brother because he was rented to Cora for her Pap's . And there were no paint stains on Evie's hands in the afternoon when she had a free day from college anymore due to her grief. She was drowning in it. Painting was a her safe heaven as point time, but she missed how her brother would pop his head in, sometimes critic paintings or ruin her good mood by guff-balling around by blowing in her ear when she was concentrating or stealing her cups of tea, drinking it down before it left to tend to the horses in the stables.
Those were the days she missed.
Lewis-filled-days.
She missed them so much, it hurt her to go downstairs into the kitchen. So, instead, she stays rooted to her bed, not quite ready to leave the space. Outside her window, the day was blooming. A lovely pale blue was stirring in the sky, birds chirping, and she sees her mother dressed in her riding clothings, hat and saddle being carried under one arm. From this viewpoint, her mother Wendy was the same as she always was; greying hair down to her shoulders, straight posture and prose and blue eyes the colour of bluebirds.
Evie's mother was the horse person in the family before Lewis got her genes.
Every morning, Evie's mother will be up at the crack of dawn, tending to the horses, or out riding them along the green fields of their newly bought Ranch. Evie will never get used to her new home. She came from England...from a quiet, small town. Ranches were only seen on American TV shows. And now she was living in one, it didn't really sink in.
Like Lewis's death.
He never got the chance to see the Ranch after the big build. Sure, he saw the plans being drawn up, but he never saw his dream become a reality.
There never will be normal again in her life. Never will this Ranch - no, home of Evie's ever have the sound of him flipping American pancakes in the morning, the sound of the butter melting in the pan, the sound of his cheesy laughter when the pancake didn't quite flip back into the pan as one whole pancake.
And that's what was missing.
Him.
To fill in the void that no one else could.
The ranch was just a ranch. Four walls, two parents unwilling to admit to each other that they are abandoning their sadness for each other by not acknowledging that their last remaining daughter is suffering in silence, thinking this sadness will last forever.
Evie lets the sadness in, until it shakes her bones, makes them cry out, and pain shatters in her chest. She was supposed to be in the car the day he died. In his place.
In his place, six feet under.
Lewis was the dreamer. The hard-worker. The glue to her family. Now he is gone, Evie was not so sure if it ever will be the same again—if she will ever be the same her again, and if she could, she wishes time travel was a real phenomenon. If it was, she'd go back in time, and turn the hands of fate—tell her big brother not to get into his car. No, tell her big brother is isn't worth picking her up from her friends' house where he was about to—
Evie feels her breathing crash out of her dry, chapped lips. The lips that still had the ghostly remains of what it was like to kiss Jacob Faith the night before. How her mouth smoothed over his cheek and kissed him near his dimple, underneath his glasses—
Her phone buzzes on her side table. She grabs it as soon as it hits the third buzz, reading over her texts, expecting the worst. Jacob Faith regrets it. He regrets taking her out. He regrets seeing the movie with her. He regrets everything—most certainly, the kiss she pecked on his cheek.
She is wrong.
Jacob: Good morning, love.
Jacob: Hope you had sweet dreams.
Jacob: Were you dreaming of me, sweetheart?
Jacob: That was a joke. I mean it would be cool if you were...but i don't wanna push it with you, Evs.
Jacob: I can call you that? Evs.
Evie feels her cheeks heat up—suddenly her room feels like a sona. Everything is too hot. She wonders if the redhead boy has telepathic powers and knows what she was dreaming of. How could he possibly know?
He doesn't, logic kicks, and she allows herself to smile.
Evie: You can call me whatever you want, cupcake. But Evs, I like.
She sees the text bumble appear moments after she sends the text to him. Her heart drops to her stomach, warming up to create butterflies. Nervous butterflies. What are you going to reply with, Jakie?
Jacob: Only if you keep callin' me Jakie.
Evie: Oh, I don't know...that was a one time thing. Didn't know you'd be fond of it. It was accidental. I can stop calling you Jakie. I like cupcake.
Jacob: NO. DON'T YOU DARE STOP. I LIKE CUPCAKES.
Jacob: I MEAN... JAKIE. KEEP CALLING ME JAKIE PLEASE.
Evie leaves him to simmer over her non-responsive text for a moment to brush her hair. Her chocolate stands all brushed out, fall over her neck as she places her phone in her back pocket, reviewing her reflection in a tall, standing mirror. She looks soft, happy. Bright brown eyes, beauty marks, and blue-bell eyeshadow, she looks like the cute girl next door. If Cora was over her place, her best friend would have complimented her style today. Dressed in boyfriend jeans, a plain grey t-shirt, golden necklace around her negligent neck, she was ready for the world.
Ready to face the world when her phone buzzes again.
Jacob: Don't ghost me, cutie. I haven't invited you over for breakfast yet.
Evie: This is interesting. And I'm not ghosting you. Just brushing my hair.
Evie: Oh. Anything new on the menu at this place?
Jacob: It's a surprise. Pick you up ten. You better be waiting for me, sweetheart.
Evie: Get here and see, Jakie.
Jacob: Yes Ma'am
***
When Jakie arrives at her doorstep, she hears her father stumbling in the study. A glass of whisky drops to the floor, the double doors to the study open just as Jacob is walking up her steps. Her body freezes, torn between two worlds. The one where Evie is drowning, having to tiptoe around her father. The one where she doesn't have to tiptoe around Jacob, and she chooses the latter. Darting out of the door before the redhead boy could lift his hand to the glass and knock.
She almost bumps into him when he catches her in his arms. His hands, larger than hers, wrap around her bare shoulders. She looks up at his face, his brown eyes taking in an inch of her mood. He moves her hair behind her ear, peering behind her.
"Is something wrong, Evs?"
She wants to blurt it all out. Right here on her doorstep. My father's drunk with grief. My mother's a world away. My brother is gone. My feelings are all over the place. My grief for my brother is too much to take. But she adds, " Everything is fine. Just happy to see you."
He grins, and embraces her in a hug again. It has her flooding back to the night before. When it was all dark, the tension between them was electric, pulsing, and harmonious. He was beautiful and rare and understanding. Interested but taking things slow, for her, she knows.
She reaches up on her tiptoes, finally noticing what he's wearing. No cap today. Grey shorts and thin white T-shirt with wolf on it.
"I like your T-shirt," she compliments him. "Wolves are my favourite animal, apart from horses, of course."
He looks down at his shirt, smiling at the ground. She sees Jacob blush again and it's doing devastating things to her heart.
"Thank you," he says softly, and looks right into her eyes. Right into her soul, she forgets to breathe. "It will look better on you,"
Evie's mouth opens slightly before she shoves him in the arm, not knowing how to respond. "I thought you were taking me for breakfast, not trying to get me in your clothes. But, don't blame the T-shirt if is happens to go missing anything soon."
He chuckles. "Fighting talk?" And he suddenly lifts Evie from the ground, swinging her over his shoulder. Upside down, the blood rushes to her head, bumbles of laughter vibrating through her chest. "Over my shirt? Evs, don't you know I'd give you if you just asked, but since I've got you now...hey, are you okay? You're breathing hard?"
Evie giggling. "Yeah, that kind of happens when you pick a British woman up and swing them over your shoulder. The blood rushes to their head, and if you don't put her down soon, her head will explode."
He thinks on the spot, cradling her in his arms. On his shoulder, she feels light as a feather, and he had a perfect view of her ass. "Well, the view from here is pretty good."
Evie stumbles, trying to turn in his hold. "What did you say...perv."
"Evs, I'm only admiring the view."
She huffs but it ends up coming out like a strangled gasp when he runs to his truck with her still over his shoulder. "Put me down, Jake,"
"Wrong password."
"Jacob, put me down,"
"You're getting there, but not quite. Keep guessing the password, sweetheart."
"Place me down right now!" she shouts, thumping his back. He laughs and the sound goes through her—softly, madly, deeply. It's like wedding bells waking up the town in the morning.
"You won't come down until you guess the password."
Evie thinks, on the spot. Then it suddenly comes to her, like a bolt of lightning. "Jakie!" she squeals out. "Put me down, Jakie."
For a moment, she thinks it's the wrong password, and in whatever game he was playing, she was playing it wrong and she was fearful the younger man would have her on his shoulder all day if she didn't guess right.
But she did.
Slowly, he puts her down, on her feet, but his arms stay on her sides as she compouses herself. And before she knows it, his forehead pressed against hers, looking into her eyes, he whispers. "Is the blood back where it should be?" he asks, lifting his hand to her jawline, lifting her chin up to meet his gaze.
"Yes," she replies breathlessly, and she wonders why she's so out of breath. Like how her lungs can't seem to gain enough oxygen into them to work as normal. Then she knows why. It's him, the redhead boy in front of her, laced from her dreams....except he's real. Tall, handsome, and so, so real.
Dreams, they were good. But reality was spectacular. It was like dreaming while you are awake, and all of the moments are about him in stages.
The way he adores her real life is like strawberries with cream on a hot summer day, the goose bumps along her frisson snow-white skin when she says his name softly from her peppermint breath after drinking infusion tea before seeing him today.
The way he adores in her real is so heartbreaking and tragic, it only makes flowers bloom in her soul, and the rainy showers of her deepest sorrow drifts away for while. With Jacob, he is the stage she was always wants. Always will crave for, it was just a matter of timing, consequence, and a breakfast date that will settle her doubts once and for all.
"Ready for breakfast, Evs?" His mouth is close to the shell of her ear.
She nods, the adds. "Yes, Jakie."
The smile on boy's face is says it all—as a beautiful grin sweeps across his lips. It makes her feel all giddy inside.
The way he takes her hand in his, feels like a dream turning true—however this time she's living the stages with him . And the way he adores her in her reality is like strawberries with whipped cream on a hot summer day, goosebumps along frisson, loved skin. And when he says her name it feels so good—like peppermint tea swirled with clouds of honey into a late afternoon.
hello. I'm sorry for not updating yesterday—I was really busy with work, then my dog needed his haircut at the groomers (and he always gets stressed because he's frightened of the hairdryer noises) ! but we're here now. and rocky is all fresh, clean cut—and I had time to update today! hope you enjoy this chapter! are jake and evie cute? I'm dying to know, do you ship them? x