The Mighty Storm (The Storm 1)

I overheard Susie talking to my mum one day. I never told Jake though.

He shrugs again, and I get the feeling there’s something more, but I don’t press it, and then the waiter appears with our pizza.

After that we just fall into conversation like we’ve never been apart.

We talk school and childhood memories.

He tells me stuff about the band and his label, which bands he has signed to it.

I tell him about my time at university, living with Simone and my job as a music journalist at the magazine.

But mainly we just talk music, like we used to. Recent and old stuff. And Jakes music.

I haven’t spoken to anyone about music in the way I’m speaking to Jake now. Not in all my time at university while studying it, and not even in all the time I’ve worked at the magazine.

It’s how we used to talk about it, with real passion. And to me Jake was and is music, it’s what glued us together, and now it’s like a dam is opening back up and everything Jake is just flowing out of me.

One thing I don’t talk about it is Will. And he doesn’t ask.

I also notice he doesn’t mention Jonny. It must still be so raw for him to talk about.

I also notice he’s only had the one beer all night. I’m glad because he’s driving. I like that he’s being responsible. Because the Jake I’m used to seeing in the news, never appears responsible, despite all his success.

But the more time I spend with him, the more I feel like there are two Jake’s.

The one the world sees, and the one I’m getting to see here. The one I used to know.

I’ve kept light on the drink too. Funny, because earlier I thought I would need it to get me through the night. But not at all.

This is one of the best nights I have had in a long time.

We talk for hours, and when we’re finished, Jake calls Stuart to let him know he needs him to bring the car, then he pays the bill.

“Let me pay my half,” I press, as we walk to the exit.

He laughs. “No Tru. Just call it birthday present number one of twelve.”

“I owe you twelve birthday presents too, remember?”

“Oh, I haven’t forgotten. I’ll start collecting on them soon.”

And there it is, that flirty undertone again.

No wonder women are always throwing themselves at him. I’m having a pretty difficult time myself not doing just that.

Jake gestures for me to go first up the stairs.

“You still eat like a dude,” he says from behind me. “But your ass is definitely all woman.”

I gasp.

Pausing, I turn and look at him, agape.

“What?” he feigns innocence, stopping behind me, but I can see the look in his eyes and he’s close, so very close to me. “I told you I’d let you know what I thought of your ass, and I’m telling you it’s perfect. Even better than I remember.”

Eyes back front and I’m up those stairs quick march. My insides turning over with embarrassment and want.

Okay, there I’ve said it. I want Jake.

He’s beautiful and sexy, and flirty. And he’s a rock star. And he was my boy next-door. But of course nothing is ever going to happen.

Because he’s Jake Wethers … and I’m just Trudy Bennett.

And also I have a boyfriend, which is actually reason number one.

Stuart is there waiting with the James Bond car, just like Jake said he would be. His security guy in his car behind, ready to follow us.

The ride back to my place with Jake is a lot quieter than we were in the restaurant.

I’m not really sure why for him. But for me it’s because I feel sad that the night is over, more than likely I won’t ever see him again. Well apart from on the TV that is.

He’s pulls up outside my place way too quickly for my liking.

“Thanks for dinner,” I say taking off my seatbelt, turning in my seat. “I had a great time.”

“Me too.” His voice sounds deeper, huskier in the dark.

It does funny things to me.

I don’t want to get out of the car, I have that same feeling of loss I had when I was leaving him at the hotel, but at least then I knew I was seeing him tonight, but now the night’s over and I don’t have any reason to see him again.

“So, I guess I’ll go in, thanks again for the pizza and beer.”

I reach for the handle, just clicking open the door, when he says, “I’ll walk you to your door. Too many weirdo’s about in London. I want to make sure you get in okay.”

Pushing open the door, I smile to myself as I exit the car. Jake gets out at the same time. My front door is only thirty feet away, I hardly think anything is going to happen to me in thirty feet.

Jake walks me up my path, and I get that feeling of being a teenager again. Butterflies and giddiness. The way I would feel when I was crazy about him back then and, he would look at me and my insides would just go nuts.

I reach my door and fish my keys out of my bag.

Should I invite him in? I guess it would be rude not to. Even though Simone will die of heart failure when she sees him.

“Do you want to come in for a coffee?” I gesture.

He looks at my door, then at my face. “I’ve got an early start tomorrow. I really should get back to the hotel.”

A no then.

“Oh, okay, sure.” I try not to sound as disappointed as I feel.

Not very rock star sounding to need his sleep … Oh God … I was just blown out wasn’t I.

I’m so slow.

But it’s fine because I wasn’t inviting him in for anything other than coffee anyway. Obviously he doesn’t think I’m attractive at all. I mean he sleeps with anything with a pulse. But not me apparently. Not that I would have, but anyway, it doesn’t matter. He didn’t fancy me when we were younger, so why should it be any different now.

‘Because I’m not fourteen anymore. And I’m a little prettier than I used to be back then,’ shouts my inner self.

I suddenly feel like stamping my teenage foot and asking him just what’s wrong with me that I’m not good enough for him now, and why I wasn’t back then.

But I won’t obviously, because that would be way too weird and majorly embarrassing.

“Well, it was really great seeing you again. Surreal, but great.”

Did I just say surreal? Oh God.

He smiles at me, humour clear in his eyes. “Can I have your number? I don’t want to lose contact again.”

“Yes, of course!” My voice has gone way squeaky, totally giving me away. Traitor voice. And my heart is pounding at my ribs, threatening a break very soon.

Jake pulls his phone out of his pocket and I recite my phone number to him, watching as he types it in.

Adele starts to sing in my bag. As I look down, he lifts his phone, gesturing. “And now you have mine.”

I have Jake’s number!

I’m tapping out a happy number inside my head myself right now.

He suddenly leans close to me, lifting his hand, tucking my hair behind my ear, fingers tipping my jaw, he kisses my cheek.

I close my eyes, absorbing the feel and smell of him. Cigarettes, beer and aftershave.

“Seeing you again was way better than I ever thought it could be,” he murmurs.

What?

By the time my eyes are open, he’s already retreating down the path, heading to his car.

He stops near the bottom and turns back as if remembering something. “Oh, Tru, when I said earlier that you looked great, what I actually should have said was that you look beautiful,” he smiles. “I’ll call you soon.”

And then he’s back in his car, pulling away.

I let myself in my flat and fall back against the door, heart still pounding up a storm.

Then the very next thing I do is get my phone out and save Jake’s number to my contacts.

Chapter Seven

“What did you do to that boy last night?”

Vicky is already advancing through the office toward me and I haven’t even sat down yet.

“Because whatever it was, just keep on doing it please.” She grins.

“Eh?”

I’m still trying to recover from last night. It took me hours to get to sleep after my night with Jake, so I overslept. This morning was a rush and the interrogation from Simone prevented me from even grabbing a coffee. I’m also still coming down off my Jake cloud and dealing with the probability of never seeing him again.

I’ll call you soon.

He won’t call. Why would he? And even though I have his number, I’m not calling him. Well not yet anyway.

“I just got off the phone with him.”

“Who?”

“Jake Wethers!” She screams like a teenager. Not like the owner of the successful magazine.

“Jake?” I’m confused. “Why’s he calling you? No offence,” I add when I see the disappointed look on her face.

“Because you my darling are a skinful of magic, and delicious to boot!”

I hate it when she starts talking in riddles.

“Vicky, I’m a little lost here – help me out will you?” I chuckle so not to offend her.

“Did he not speak to you about it last night – no – wow, okay, well Jake Wethers just called me and has asked the magazine to host his official bio! Arrghhh!” she screams.

It’s way too early for Vicky’s hysterical screaming. But wow that is so totally cool.

“He called you himself? Don’t they usually have their PA’s do this stuff?”

“Yes!” She screams again. “I know I could not believe it!”

“Wow. That is awesome Vicky! Really awesome! I’m so pleased for you – for us – for the magazine!”

And I might get a chance to see Jake again, maybe.

I feel a little frisson of excitement buzz inside me at the thought.

“So who is his biographer?” I ask taking my jacket off and hanging it on the back of my chair. I wonder if it’s anyone I know. I’m going to probably have to work with them for the spreads … that is if Vicky is putting me on it. God, I hope she is.

She cocks her eyebrow at me in confusion. “Jake really hasn’t spoken with you about any of this? He never mentioned anything at dinner?”

“No. Mentioned what?”

“Well, my darling girl, I’m happy to tell you that Jake’s official biographer is … well – you.”

What? What?!

All I can do is stare at her dumbfounded. And then my mobile starts to ring on my desk.

But I can’t move. I’m frozen to the spot.

He’s hired me? Jake’s hired me to write his bio without even asking me. Is that even legal?

Vicky walks over to my desk, peering over at my phone, she picks it up and holds it out to me.

“You might want to take this call. It’s Jake.”

All I can do is stare down at it like it’s a bomb about to go off.

Why would he do this?

I mean of course it’s awesome and very flattering that he thinks I could do it, but I’ve never written a book before. I write articles. Little ones that fit on the page of a magazine.

I don’t think I can write a book.

Oh God.

I just don’t understand why he’s done this and why he never talked to me about it. He had ample opportunity last night.