"So what happened with you and Lisa?" I asked.
Jett was driving us back from the mechanic, in her two year old Lexus. The car in the shop, my car, was my eight year old Nissan that usually started. It didn't feel great.
"What do you mean?" she asked. She smiled at me, a twinkle in her eye. Jett shifted her concentration back to the traffic, weaving between cars.
"Jett..." I said. She knew what I meant. I found them in Lisa's bedroom. Lisa tied up. Naked. Beaming.
"You were late," she said, "and I remembered your spanking story, how she taught you basic knots. We weren't busy, so I asked her for a lesson..."
She cut her attention back to traffic, laid on the horn then zoomed around a beat up old pickup truck.
"And things kind of went from there," she said.
"Why was she naked?" I asked. I knew better, to leave it alone, but I couldn't help it. There was a vibe between them I didn't understand, a kind of scab I was compelled to pick.
Jett twisted her neck to look at me, like she was sizing me up.
"Jealous?"
"No," I said.
"Of Lisa or me?"
"I want you," I said.
"That's not what I asked," Jett said. Her eyes were on the road now. "Are you jealous that I'm spending time with Lisa, or that she is spending time with me?"
"Jett..." I started.
"Afraid of sharing your sex slave?" she smiled but her body language was something different. Standoffish?
I sighed. This wasn't my fault. It's not that Jett or Lisa had done something wrong, but it was strange. The questions were reasonable. Lisa had few boundaries, and Jett's limits were unclear.
"What I am afraid of," I said, "and what I don't want, is to have conversations like this."
My voice was too stern, but it was true. No matter how cool Jett seemed, something was off. Lisa was an exhibitionist, and more than a flirt, but even so, tied up and naked was a stretch.
"Sure," Jett said, her voice cold. "Then we should stop talking."
So we did, awkward silence until she approached my apartment building.
"Parking looks rough," I said.
"I'm dropping you off," she said.
"Oh?"
"I need to go back to the studio. Something isn't working, but I don't know what," she said.
Jett meant her latest painting, but that's not how it felt. She didn't make eye contact. Didn't smile.
Fuck.
--
I didn't see Jett for the next two days. It felt bad, but I actually needed the time. Class had never been an issue, but for the first time I found myself behind. Lessons from the week before weren't sticking.
I knew the reason. Jett. We were having mind blowing sex five nights a week. Most evenings and several mornings. Wonderful moments not spent in study. This was new problem for me.
So it sucked that Jett ditched me, but it was necessary. I studied.
--
We met at a coffee shop near the studio. It had only been a couple of days, but the time apart had been a struggle. It's how I pictured detox, at first wanting her company and her smile, then becoming a desperate pile of want. Needing her body.
This overwhelming feeling of lust and loss drained a little each day. I jerked off. Then I did it again. I could survive without her, even if I didn't want to.
Jett was already at a table when I arrived, drinking an iced coffee. She had a t-shirt from a rock band I hadn't heard of, rough cut with scissors to show off her navel and the edge of her tattoo. She gave me a tired smile when I finally caught her eye.
I sat down. We started to talk.
"It isn't working," Jett said. She looked frustrated, her hair more a mess than usual, subtle rings around her eyes that most people would never notice. I wasn't most people.
My heart was pounding. She didn't mean us. Something else wasn't working. That was the story I told myself, desperately hoping it was true. I didn't trust myself to speak. I waited, my heart ready to break, but my face was stoic.
"The painting isn't coming together," she said.
The fucking painting. This was about art. I knew Jett, understood that she would throw herself against her projects like a captured elk, over and over and over until she was dead or free. This wasn't about us. I should have known better.
As relief flooded my brain, I did everything in my power not to smile.
"It's not funny," Jett said. Her voice was tired. Indignant.
"I know. I'm sorry," I said. "I'm just happy to see you."
She smiled, finally warming up. Perfect white teeth. Pale pink lips. I needed Jett in my life.
"I need a favor," she said.
Jett didn't ask for favors. She was wealthy and beautiful. Most problems could be solve with money, and the rest with the goodwill of the various men (and sometimes women) hoping to catch her attention.
The only obstacle she couldn't bypass was her art, the creative process. That's probably why she found it so compelling.
I didn't say anything, just nodded for her to continue.
"I want to take some pictures of Lisa. Probably naked. Probably tied up," she said. "I need a new form for my painting. Something different."
Danger.
I ignored it, filled with relief. I wanted to bask in her tired smile and feel her soft hands, to watch that straw click against her teeth.
"Why are you asking me?" I said.
My position felt delicate. We weren't even officially fighting. Even so, I could count the number of negative conversations on one hand, and our last one had been about Lisa, about me being jealous.
No matter what Jett said next, I would agree. Insecurity was weakness, and I couldn't afford be weak with Jett. Not right now.
"What about the whole sex slavery things?" Jett said. Even tired, she liked saying it. After all, it was the wildest shit she had ever heard of.
"Pretend," I said.
"Right..."
"You're enjoying this aren't you?" I smiled at her.
"Maybe Lisa is right..." she said.
I crinkled my brow. Right about what?
"I should try tormenting you more," Jett said. She flicked her tongue against her straw. "So?"
"Of course you can-- well it's not my decision either way," I said. "You need to ask Lisa."
"Maybe I can come by later?" she asked.
"How about now?"
She smiled.
