Forever. (This. Is. Not. Over. Book 3) (10 page)

“Then you’re a damn liar, because you told me
—”

“That I had every intention of leaving Winnie. I know. But that’s because, for the life of me, though I
wanted to tell you goodbye, I just couldn’t say it.” I hear him inhale deeply. “I just couldn’t do it.”

“Well, nothing says goodbye like becoming another woman’s husband.”

“Better hers than yours.”

“What are talking about?”

“You were too
right
for me.”

“What does that even mean, Jacob?

“It means that we both would have had sleepless nights had we married. I would have been living with the weight of my demons and what they were doing to you. You would have been living with the weight of my demons and what they were doing to the family.”

             
“
Bull
, Jacob. That’s utter bull. I would have loved you regardless of what you did.”

             
“I know you would’ve, but it wouldn’t have made the weight any lighter.”

             
“So you’d rather Winnie love you? Like she’s better than me?”

“She’s not better than you. Both she and I are dirty, filthy. Both of us are reprehensible, fighters, instigators. We’re both the same kind of devil. You, on the other hand, were always like that angel of
my conscience that sat on my shoulder whispering the right way in my ear.”

“Well if you wanted me to shut up
, that’s all you had to say.”

“I didn’t want you to do anything but be yourself. The world needs people like you. Solid people who can whisper in the ears of devils.” He moves even closer to me. “But the longer you fucked with me Jazz, the unhappier you were going to get.”

“What are you talking about
unhappy
? I was happy with you.”

“You know, for years I tried to figure out why you stayed with me until the very end and I could only come up with one reason. Stockholm Syndrome.”

              “Oh God … no, I can’t do this with you. I’m leaving.” I make every resolve to move my legs, I really do. I warrant my feet to follow each other out the door. But for some reason, when it comes to Jacob Blair, I just can’t walk away. It’s funny, with Malcolm you just can
not
come to him. With Jacob, you just can’t leave him. I cannot walk away from this man.

And he knows that.

“I was holding you captive.” He’s standing right behind me now. “I’m holding you captive right now. Go ahead, try to leave.” I try to put one foot in front of the other. Resolving to end something always starts with the first step. Leaving only starts with one step. But I just can’t take that step. All I need to do is be the one to take the first step.

Why can’t I take the first step
?

“I was a cheat, a liar and manipulator and you knew th
at,” he says to me. “You made every excuse for me, it was never my fault. Or maybe it
was
my fault but you always gave me a copout: I was stressed because of law school; I stayed with Malcolm and we all know how he is; you missed the flight to Princeton that weekend and I was lonely. But Jazz, I’ve never,
ever
, been about shit. Yet you would never admit that. I trapped you; you loved me but you weren’t happy, you couldn’t have been. If you were, you would have never started fucking with Marlon while we were together.” Shoot, I knew that would come up sooner or later.

“About that, it’s just that … well … it was my freshman year of college and you were studying and it was my birthday weekend and Danielle didn’t tell me she had a hookup until I got down to New Orleans and I don’t know … Marlon was nice and
…” I shift uncomfortably from one leg to the other.

“Let me start off by saying that I fucking hate Marlon. Okay? I
hate
that muthafucka. He got you; I hate him for it. It’s that simple.” I shift uncomfortably to the other leg. I don’t know why but I feel protective of Marlon right now, even though I’m talking to Jacob. I kinda don’t want Jacob to disrespect him because if Marlon deserves anything, it’s respect. “But I understand why you started talking to somebody else. No one can be happy being cheated on, lied to and controlled. But no matter who you were with, you were mine. I made sure of it. I knew exactly what I wanted and that was you. I lied to you every step of the way; there was never a truthful moment. I slept with you and fucked other girls. I became engaged to another woman and lied to you about it.” His groin lightly presses against my bottom. “But still, through it all, you stayed with me. You told me you loved me. I made you promises that I would never keep and dreams that we would never create. You were my prisoner in this fantasyland that would never exist. I started getting into
your
head instead of you getting into mine. I started to be that voice whispering in
your
ear; I was louder than your own conscience. I hypnotized you with whispered lies; you’d tell me you knew they were lies but you loved me anyway. You were in a trance by the time it was all over.”

He leans down and places his mouth near my ear. “And that would have been your life
,” he whispers. “Day in and day out, wondering what I was doing, who I was fucking, and if I would ever change. And the answers would have always been:
I’m doing shit that could get me killed, I’m fucking any woman I can get my hands on and I’m never gonna change.
By the way, you smell good.” He sweeps my hair to one side and lowers his face into my neck, sliding his tongue along as he goes. “But if you wanna move back into our world,” he whispers, “that world just above hell and just below heaven, pack your bags.” He kisses me on the neck.

Our
world
. Jacob and I have our own world. That reminds me of what Malcolm said tonight, that he lives with Danielle in the land of Complicated. “But I have to be gone by nine every night.” Yet Jacob would just be visiting.

“I don’t want you to leave your family
,” I whisper back as my breathing catches in my throat. “I just want a proper goodbye.”

“Then what’s your room number?”

Jacob

(
gwyneth
.
yates
.)

“I just don’t get it
,” Laura says to us all. “Why did Malcolm go to the DNC? Who cares what they have to say?”

             
“Yeah,” Dena-Jo adds. “I don’t get it either. It can’t be a networking thing. Can it?” She looks between Nat and me.

“We network with everyone, sweetie
,” Nat says as he pours Dena-Jo another glass of wine. “Democrat or not. And, since Malcolm’s personality is more conducive to attaining connections of varying social sets, he’s the best man to be the face of the firm he, Jacob, Cadence and I want to start. It’s quite simple, dumpling.”

             
“Well yes, my love, I know that Malcolm is—”

             
“Perfect in each and every way,” Laura says as she bats her lashes.

“Gregarious
,” Dena-Jo says. “But to go there alone?” He’s not alone; he’s actually at the DNC (Democrat National Convention) with Jasmine after she confirmed that Jon would be a no-show. Apparently Jon was tired. That was his only excuse.

It was Malcolm who arranged the admission tickets and it was Jasmine who begged him to take her instead of me. It’s been a month since Jasmine’s been crowned Queen Jasmine, Miss Black Massachusetts and she’s taking her royal title seriously. She’ll
be reporting back to her subjects on the going-ons of the DNC and her article will be showcased in
The Black Boston Gazette.
So I freely passed her my ticket with one exception: no one can know that Malcolm or I gave it to her. She’d have to find some bullshit excuse as to why she came across an extra ticket. I would have loved to attend. I’m republican but I lean liberal; everyone knows that about me. But I know how important it is for Jasmine to get her face out there and there’s no better way than to do it at the DNC standing side by side with a twenty-year-old redheaded feminist who’s set to give a speech there. Sure the speech isn’t on camera but just being asked to speak is an accomplishment in itself. It’s also the reason Malcolm had to go there in order to actually see what Danielle has to say. He’s beyond impressed that she was given this chance and he refused to miss one of the biggest accomplishments she’ll have in her life. For him, she’s the perfect girl: she has her own shit, does her own thing and looks good as hell while doing it. But Nat and I say nothing as we each dig into our crab cakes, trying to hurry before we all head to the Ritz with the rest of the politicos in our set. We have the presidential suite rented out so that we can all cram in there and watch the DNC on the big screens in peace.

Right now, I’m sitting on the pier of Flounders Seafood and Steak, the sun still high but slowly slinking. Winnie, a recent hookup, is sitting across from me, listening to the conversation, not offering input. She and I have been fucking for about three weeks now
—no big deal. She’s definitely not wife material; I flew into Boston and fucked her after the second date. But she’s fine, she’s fun and a damn good lay. She’ll do. Dena-Jo is sitting next to me, Laura is across from her and Nat sits between them. The point is that we all have a privileged view of everyone’s face and expressions but the girls have yet to pick up that there’s anything wrong with Nat and my silence on the Malcolm matter. Then again, I doubt I’ll ever come into contact with a woman who’s as quick as I’d like her to be. I love Jasmine, I do, but shit just flies over her head sometimes. Naïve, innocent, lost … I don’t know what to call it but it’s a common trait among women these days. I do believe that Malcolm’s mother, aunt Angie, and my mother are the last set of women who are quick as hell and actually outthink their husbands. Aunt Angie and my mother would have picked up on Malcolm’s scheming ass in a minute. Too bad they don’t make women like they used to.

             
Nat and I flew into Boston this morning, the day the Democrats formally acknowledge their presidential pick. We’ll have to fly out tomorrow morning in order to make it to our first class at ten. But there was no way we were staying at Yale during the final night of the DNC. When you’re born into politics, every day of the presidential election season feels like New Year’s Eve. Until the Republicans and Democrats officially confirm their nominations, there’s nothing but phones blaring, CNN blasting, giddy professors, nominee bashing and predictions of who will win the actual presidential election. The day when a candidate steps on stage and agrees to bring his party to victory is one the most exciting times in a politico’s life. But the girls are right, Malcolm did not have to head to Minneapolis in order to see a candidate declare the Democrat’s party supreme. He went for a reason.  But of course the girls would never put two and two together because remember, they don’t make women like they used to.

“I hear one of our own will be in attendance
,” Winnie says as she takes a sly sip of her wine and looks at me. What’s that all about? I narrow my eyes at her.

             
“That’s not saying much,” Dena-Jo says. Boston is die-hard Democrat. She let out a shudder. “People here won’t be happy until every street is named Martin Luther King Boulevard, every sign is written in Spanish and all the gays are married with gay kids.”

             
“Hmm,” Winnie says as she takes another sip of her wine, her lips lingering on the glass. Have I mentioned that Winnie’s an excellent lay? I think I have but it bears repeating again. I’ve been back to Boston twice since I met her a few weeks ago and that last time I got a nice sweaty fuck in before heading over to Jasmine’s condo in the Waterfront. I’m not throwing shade on Jasmine, it’s just that Winnie is—shall we say—loose. Damn, I hate to say that. She’s not loose she’s just … easy. No, that doesn’t sound right either. Winnie’s not loose and she’s not easy; she is a man in a woman’s body. She owns her shit, takes a shot of whiskey, opens her legs, screws who she wants, slips out of bed and doesn’t call you in the morning.

             
Hell, yeah.

             
Though she is by no means wife material, to her credit she’ll only give a certain type of man a chance: old money, connected and degreed. When a woman screws a guy like that and she has her own credentials, not to mention her own family to fall back on, she’s not loose. She’s liberal. Possibly even a feminist. But since ‘feminist’ is a dirty word, and ‘loose’ is derogatory, we’ll just call her liberal. So right now, Winnie’s liberal ass is looking at me over the rim of her glass, a smirk on her face.

             
“What’s that about?” I ask with a smile as I nod to her.

             
“I hear that a Rouge is speaking at the convention.” Oh shit. “I was on the phone with Jacob when Malcolm came in his room and mentioned it,” she says to the table. I watch Nat adjust his tie and resettle in his seat. The last thing he wants is for Malcolm and Laura to break up. We need her.

             
“Oh yeah?” Laura asks as she cracks a crab leg open. “Who’s speaking? Attorney Rouge or Dr. Rouge?” Everyone, black or white, knows of the Rouges.