The Walls of Jericho

Tangled Webs

In the next week, I get calls from two managers at KDS, wanting to schedule interviews. It sends me into a panicky tailspin and I don’t know what to do.

I’ve never interviewed for a job before. I just walked into Esteban’s diner and said, “You have a ‘Help Wanted’ sign in the window.” I didn’t have to say anything else. Esteban had given me a once over from head to toe, then tossed me an apron and demanded gruffly, “What’s your name?”

I’m sure at one point Mr. Adriani might have offered some pointers, but that’s not this week. This week he’s been carrying around the stuffed Hungrily Yours Babo UglyDoll that Channing brought back from Ireland for me. He’s having tea parties out by the pool with it. While they’re both wearing paper boat hats on their heads and drinking soda instead of tea.

Naturally.

Which leaves me only Rebecca to ask about interviewing, because I certainly can’t tell Channing that’s what I’m doing.

And frankly, I’d rather bite my own cheek with a mouthful of lemon than ask Rebecca for anything else.

Which is when another option pops into my head.

It’s been almost two weeks since I let Drake work his extrovert charms on me, then quashed the whole thing hard by rearranging my schedule and deliberately avoiding him over my own guilt. So if I call him now, essentially, I’m admitting—both to myself and to him—that I do want to see him again.

It’s an open can with worms all over the damn place.

A can that I know I should keep closed.

That’s the whole problem in a nutshell.

I’m not sure I want it to stay closed.  

Immediately, my brain offers a justification. I need help to ace my interviews, and who better than an KDS employee to coach me to do that? Besides, maybe he won’t even answer.

Channing has already left for the morning. Mr. Adriani and Babo are watching a little post-breakfast television. And I don’t expect to hear or see Rebecca, even when she does finally get up. I scroll through my phone, locating Drake’s number and hope I’m not interrupting something he’s doing at work.

He picks up on the second ring. “Jericho?”

He sounds surprised to hear from me, but not as surprised as I am to hear him answer with my name. That means he’s saved my contact information in his phone. Barring that, he recognizes my number. I’m betting it’s the former of those two options though.

“Uh. Hi Drake,” I begin awkwardly. “I’m so sorry to bother you—.”

“Jericho, it’s absolutely no trouble at all. I’m glad to hear from you,” he says genuinely.

My stomach does that weird little flip-flop thing hearing him say that. God, I’m in so far over my head, I don’t know which way is up anymore.

“What can I do for you?”

“I—I have an interview. Two interviews. At KDS.”

“Oh, yeah? That’s wonderful!” In the background, I can hear him clap his hands. “I knew you were a good fit! When are you scheduled?”

“One’s next Thursday and one’s next Friday.”

“Excellent! Hang on.” The familiar clicking of a keyboard echoes in the background. “Which managers? Do you remember?”

“Bridget Doss on Thursday and Jacob Chapman on Friday.”

There’s more clicking, and Drake repeating, “Bridget. Bridget. Ah! Here she is. One open position in her group that closes—,” more clicking, “—closes the end of the month. So she might have more people to interview after you. Who was the other one again?”

“Jacob Chapman.”

“Ja-cob Chap-man,” he reads along as his fingers fly over the keyboard. “Only one position in his group too. Looks like his closes next week, so you’ve got excellent timing on that one.. Hopefully, you’re his last interview that day.”

“Why?”

“Because when he makes his decision, you’ll be fresh in his mind.”

Great. Now I definitely need to pull off a flawless performance. “I need help.”

“What? Why? You’ll do great, Jericho. I know you will.”

“You don’t understand, Drake.” I inhale deeply and force myself to admit my inexperience to him. “I’ve never had to interview before.”

He laughs. “This is no different than any other interview. There’s no need to get so worked up about it.”

I swallow my pride. “No, Drake. I’ve never had to interview. Anywhere.”

Cue hysterical laughter. Only that’s not what comes.

“That’s because you’re so awesome. Ooh. I know! What time is it?”

He stops talking only long enough for me to get out: “It’s—.”

“Ten-thirty. Perfect.” More clicking echoes in the background. “Listen, I can help you prepare. No problem at all. Give me a half hour to check the KDS system and see if I can’t find some sample questions that they ask. I’ll pick you up in your drive circle and we’ll go study up at this little coffee shop not far from here. They make incredible panini. Just to die for.”

“Thanks, Drake.”

This time he does actually laugh. “Believe me. The instant one of these managers hires you, that’s all my pleasure. I can hardly wait. I’m excited to help you. I’ll see you in a bit.”

**

By some tacit arrangement, Drake and I spend the next four of his lunch breaks at the coffee shop. He found some required and recommended questions for managers on the KDS servers, so after we pick up our food, we hang out at a table, eat, go over the questions and he coaches me in my answers.

Since Drake works predominantly from home, he sets his own hours and he can spare the time for me in the middle of the day when Channing’s gone and Rebecca’s still getting her beauty sleep. Obviously, my schedule is flexible. Mr. Adriani’s harmless enough that I can park him in the Tassler house’s cinema and not worry about him for a couple hours at least. It still leaves me plenty of time to work on my final paper for school before everybody gets home in the evenings.

Depending on how long it takes at lunch, we often wind up at his house afterwards. With a casualness I miss entirely until it’s too late, I realize how he’s trained me to feel comfortable at his place while he goes about his business. He bought another executive chair for me and set it up in his office so I can visit with him while he works. And I know where the glasses are and think nothing of helping myself to a drink from the refrigerator.

The following week, Channing leaves again on Monday, this time for three days. A storm rolls in the day he departs, and the lingering drizzle and bleak overcast quickly cast a gloom over my whole day. So once I get Mr. Adriani squared away for the morning, I grab an umbrella and start along the trail down into the valley and Drake’s house.

I guess the weather must put a damper on everyone, because I don’t meet anyone on the trail, and even the busier streets I have to cross to get to his house are deserted. I arrive earlier than our usual meeting time of eleven, but I figure it’s close enough, so I knock on the door.

I’m completely unprepared for the sight of him when he opens it.

“Oh, hey! You came early. That’s great.” With one hand he gestures me in and with the other he rubs a towel over his neatly trimmed hair.

He isn’t wearing a shirt, just a pair of his signature athletic shorts, and his feet are bare on the cold tile floor. It takes some serious effort to drag my eyes from his chiseled chest and when I finally do, they immediately bolt downward to settle on the waistband of his shorts. I get the whole glorious view of his breathtaking abs.

“Were you in the pool again yesterday?” he asks, tossing the towel onto the back of a chair at his kitchen table. “You have some really sensitive skin. Your face is a little red.” Opening the refrigerator, he grabs a bottle of water and takes a quick drink, then caps it and grabs another offering it to me.

I reach for it blindly, unable to take my eyes off the rippling and bulging of his oblique muscles and the few lingering drops of water cupped in the hard lines of him that he missed with the towel. “You just got out of the shower.”

If he hears the single-minded harlot in my voice, he doesn’t let on. I try not to think about how quickly we’ve become comfortable like this. Especially the bit where it overrides everything and makes it seem okay, because I’m really enjoying looking at him.

Really.

“Yeah. I skip tai chi when the weather’s bad and run on the treadmill instead.” He opens his water bottle again, this time draining half of it. “I got a late start this morning though. You want a turn?”

I most certainly do, but not on the treadmill. God, that chest. And those magnificent holy abs. And those suddenly remarkably kissable lips.

Lips that are curling up in a lazy smile. “Or maybe you’re thinking something else.” There’s no disguising the invitation in his voice. He leans against the kitchen counter, propping his elbows up behind him with the heels of his palms on the edge.

Thinking? Uh-uh. No. The last thing I’m doing right now is thinking. Drooling, absolutely, but not thinking.

He’s studying me with absolutely feral half-lidded eyes, so intense they almost seem like they’re glowing, but I know that has to be my imagination. The impression of a jaguar is ferociously strong, and right now he looks like a jungle cat stalking its prey before it delivers the fatal blow.

I suppress the urge to tuck the water bottle against the pounding pulse in my neck as I gaze at Drake’s taut abdominals. “Uh—I—uh. No. Not—not really.” I give my head a little shake, mesmerized by the way the light plays off his dark skin as he pushes himself off the counter and takes a slow step towards me, and then another one.

It takes a Herculean force of will to drag my eyes away from him and attempt to look casual as I make an escape from the room. But Drake is closer than I thought and less clumsy than me. His warm hand wraps my upper arm as I wedge myself between him and the counter in the general direction of the kitchen door.

In that instant, we both fall still as statues. He stares down at me with that lush mouth and those golden-orange eyes, intent and focused not on mine, but on my mouth. The blood roars past my ears and I feel lightheaded in the heat he’s radiating.

“He left you alone again, didn’t he?” he whispers, pulling me against his chest. “A woman like you should never be left alone.”  

Drake’s head dips and he pushes his tongue into my mouth, tasting my lips and commandeering my tongue. Before I know what’s happening, he’s kissing my cheeks like a ravenous animal, along my jaw and down my neck. The assault of his mouth is everywhere at once, his lips scorching my skin, His breath fans the flames so much higher that I’m nearly delirious with his heat. The rough scruff of his jaw leaves my flesh singed and tingling madly and I want him to stop and don’t want him to ever stop.

He gives a low moan when his hands slip under the hem of my t-shirt and his skin meets my skin. God, he’s so warm. It’s like he’s on fire. I don’t get the chance to give much thought to it though because at that point, his fingertips reach my spine and start the slow climb up that bumpy ladder towards my nape.

Suddenly, he stops and lays his hand flat between my shoulder blades. “Oh God,” he groans. “You’re not wearing a bra.”

The words hit me like an icy cold breeze, one that’s quickly overwhelmed by his heat. Still, I flatten my palms against his chest, trying ineffectually to push him away. “Drake, we—ah—this is a bad idea.”

“No, it’s not,” he replies in a husky murmur in the soft behind my ear. “Even if it is, let’s do it anyway.”