I was going over it.
I saw it all in my mind: vaulting the counter, grabbing her in my arms, and kissing her until she begged me to take her. Then, losing my virginity to the only woman I had ever wanted that way.
Reality was slightly different.
I cleared the counter easily, my height and frame giving me the advantage. Her eyes widened at the sight of me hurtling toward her. She twisted so her feet hit the floor, but she clutched the pole with her hands, watching me advance. My foot caught my bag, though, sending tools and screws everywhere. Instead of lunging and grabbing her in my arms, I stumbled on the contents, crashing into her. I gripped at her arms, yanking her up, somehow wrapping her hair around the pole instead of my fist, making her gasp in pain. She slid from the pole to the floor with me on top of her, hitting her squarely in the chest, driving the air from her lungs in a painful-sounding whoosh. Her leg jerked, kneeing me in the groin, causing an agonizing groan to escape my mouth.
“My hair,” she gasped.
“My dick,” I squeaked.
We started laughing. The sound drowned out the loud, thumping music. Carefully, I untangled her hair, reached for the remote, and turned down the volume. I brushed back the damp tendrils from her face and lifted myself off her, hovering over her torso.
“Better?” I asked.
“Yes.”
She wrapped her leg around me, pulling me into the cradle of her body. “Okay?”
The heat of her shot through me. “Oh God, yes.”
Our eyes locked. She licked her lips. I gazed at the plump flesh, then met her gaze again.
“I want to kiss you.”
“You do?”
“You’re so fucking sexy.” I tilted my hips. “That show was for me, right?”
“Yes.”
“You want me to kiss you again? Like last week?”
“Please, Reid.”
“I need you to know something.”
“What now?” she demanded. “For someone who wants to kiss me, you talk a lot.” She pushed against me, her mouth so close I could almost taste her. “You need to shut up.”
God, I wanted to taste her. She was my obsession. But I had to tell her.
My mouth hovered over hers, desperate to connect. “We should talk.”
“Kiss first, talk later.”
“I’m serious.”
Her arm snaked around my neck, pulling me close. “So am I.”
I tightened my grip on her, frantically trying to control myself.
“I’m a virgin, Becca.”
She froze. “What?” she breathed out. Her hand gripped my ass, her body pressed tight to mine. The feel of her launched me into another orbit like a rocket and scrambled my already addled brain.
“I’m a virgin, and I want you to punch me,” I burst out.
“Punch you?”
She looked startled, and I realized what I said. “My card. I want you to punch my V-card.”
Her eyes became round and huge in her face. “Reid . . .”
“You. I want it to be you.”
I crashed my mouth to hers. As I slid my tongue along her bottom lip, she opened for me. She tasted salty, sweet, and all Becca.
Kissing her felt like coming home, to the only home I wanted.
I only hoped she felt the same.
Reid
I HAD NO idea how long we stayed on the floor. Our mouths never separated, our bodies tightly melded. She was warm, supple, and wrapped around me. Her mouth was heaven. I would never know how I had existed before kissing Becca. Going forward, I only knew it was going to happen daily, multiple times.
She was pure opium, and I was hooked.
She slipped her hands under my shirt, skimming along my back, and under the waistband of my sweats. I bucked into her with a groan, shifting, sliding as our bodies moved across the floor. Her answering groan was different from the other noise she had been making—the low, passion-filled whimpers that turned me on. This was more guttural, almost painful. Somehow, in my lust-filled haze, I realized her hands were no longer tugging me closer, but pushing on my shoulders.
I lifted my head, my breathing hard. “Becca?” I pleaded.
Don’t ask me to stop, please don’t say it.
“I think-I think you’re screwing me.”
I chuckled, dragging my mouth along her cheek. “I don’t know much, but I do know we haven’t gotten there yet, baby.”
“No, Reid. I think I’m lying on one of your screwdrivers. It hurts.”
I sat up, pulling her with me. Sure enough, not only was she lying on a screwdriver, there was an assortment of anchors and screws under her. I rubbed her back in contrition.
“I’m sorry. I guess we got carried away.”
She snuggled into me, wrapping her arms around my waist. “I don’t mind getting carried away with you.”
“Are you okay?”
She tilted her head, meeting my eyes. “Yeah, I’m fine.” She traced my lips with her finger. “More than fine.”
I captured her hand, kissing her fingertips. “Me too.”
“Are you really?” she whispered.
“Really what?”
“A virgin.”
“I am.” I sucked in a deep breath. “I guess we actually need to talk.”
“We should,” she agreed.
“I would rather keep kissing you.”
She smiled, pushing my hair off my forehead. “Why don’t I have a shower while you work on the system? After, we can talk and figure out the rest of the day.”
“The kissing sounds so much better.”
She leaned forward, brushing her lips to mine. “We will kiss more.”
“Yeah?”
“Promise.”
“But you have plans. You told me you were going out.”
She lowered her eyes and shrugged. “I may have fibbed a little.”
I recalled Aiden’s words. She’s good.
“You were setting me up?”
She met my gaze. “I didn’t know what else to do.”
“Did you fake the password thing yesterday too?”
“Yes.”
I gripped her hips tight. “Did you really want Craig here?”
“No. I wanted you. But you were so distant.” She lifted her hand, running a finger over my jaw. “I . . . ah, I know, Reid.”
“Know what?”
“That you’ve been to prison.”
I jerked as if she had slapped me. “You know that, and you still want to kiss me?”
“Yes.”
“Did Aiden . . . ?” I found it difficult to believe he would have said anything.
“No one actually. I had lunch with Sandy. But she said nothing. She didn’t break your confidence.”
“Oh. She did one of her obvious, say-nothing-but-lead-you-in-the-right-direction moves . . . The slight bobbing or shaking of the head?”
“Yes.”
“She’s good at that. An expert, really. She could patent it, I swear.”
“Are you angry?”
I sighed, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “No. I’m partially relieved, to be honest. Shocked you let me kiss you, though.”
She inched forward, so our bodies were tight together. “I know how much they all respect you at the office. I also know you wouldn’t be where you are if they didn’t trust you. That says a lot about the person you are now. I don’t know what happened in your past, but if you want to tell me, I will listen.”
“I have to tell you. You deserve to know, regardless of your decision.” I swallowed hard, feeling my nerves kicking in. “You should know about me.”
“Okay. Let me grab a shower.”
Becca
We sat on the sofa, facing each other, our legs crossed. Reid looked nervous, his gaze flitting around the room. Unsure how to help him, I scooted nearer so our knees touched. Reid looked down at our position and offered me a small smile. I slipped my hand into his and squeezed.
“Whatever
you want to tell me, I’ll listen.”
He gazed over my shoulder absently as he gathered his thoughts.
“I was found in a bus station when I was about two weeks old. It was around the holidays, and the station was crazy with travelers and package pickups. A woman found me in the washroom with a note pinned to my blanket reading, ‘Please take care of me because my mother can’t.’”
I held his hand a little harder. “Oh, Reid.”
“The cops were called, and I was taken to the hospital. They tried to locate my mother, but they never found her. She could have boarded a bus or purposely come to the station to drop me off or brought me from somewhere else. It was too hectic, and no one noticed.” He lifted one shoulder. “Nowadays, there are cameras everywhere tracking people—twenty-five years ago, not so much. My mother picked the perfect spot to desert me. It was crowded and busy, and she was a faceless woman in a sea of people. Even carrying a baby, she didn’t stand out.” He sighed heavily. “I suppose I should be grateful she left me where I would be discovered easily.”
“What happened?”
“I was placed in foster care.”
“Babies are usually adopted, aren’t they?”
He nodded. “Unless they have what had been described as the ‘worst case of colic ever known.’ Apparently, I exhausted many prospective parents. All I did was cry and scream. I was too much for anyone long term, I guess. They passed me from place to place, and eventually, they gave up and I ended up back in the system in an orphanage. No one wanted me.”
My heart broke at his words. I couldn’t imagine a small child being passed around, never having a home or someone to love him. Unbidden, a tear ran down my cheek and, startled, Reid leaned over, wiping it from my skin. He stared at the wetness on his finger as if mystified by my emotion.
“Tell me more,” I whispered.
“I finally got over the colic, but I was still sickly and hard to deal with. I was sort of lost in the cracks. I went from place to place but never found the right fit since I required so much work. As I got older, I never seemed to connect to anyone. They described me as being dissociated. But no one had ever shown me how to love, so I had no idea how to show it back.”
“Of course not,” I murmured.
“When I was seven, I got into a foster home. The woman who took me in was Ellie Reid. She was older and kind. Like a grandmother, I think. There were six of us and it was crowded, but she tried hard. It was the first time I ever felt as if someone cared. She wasn’t rich, in fact, she could barely scrape by, but she did her best. We shared a room with bunk beds, my clothes were hand-me-downs, but she was patient, made sure we had food and a place to sleep. She walked us to school every day, and she helped me with my homework. I was there for three years.” He ran a shaky hand over his face. “It was the closest thing to a home I ever knew.”
“What happened?” I asked, already dreading the answer.
“She died. She didn’t show at school one day, and I walked home with the other kids. I wasn’t the youngest anymore, so I made sure they came with me. When we arrived, there was an ambulance at the house and police. I was taken away and put back into the system.” Reid stood and walked around restlessly, picking up things then setting them down. He stared out the window for a while, his throat working constantly. I knew he was trying to control his emotions.
I held out my hand, grateful when he took it. I tugged him down to the sofa. “Do you want to stop?”
“No. It’s always hard to talk about her. The rest—” he shrugged “—is simply history.”
“Okay.”
He turned to face me, moving until our knees touched again. I leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to his mouth. He wrapped his hand around the nape of my neck, keeping our lips joined. Neither of us deepened the kiss—it was a simple show of support, one I felt he needed.
He drew back, running his fingers over his mouth, pressing them into the flesh. I had noticed him do it every time we kissed. I wondered if it was a nervous habit, but I decided to ask him another time.
“What happened to you next?”
“I went back into the system. I was ten, and not a lot of people are looking to adopt a ten-year-old. They sent me to a group home. After that, there was a disastrous attempt with a foster family, then back to the group home, and finally, I ended up with another woman who took in foster kids.” Reid’s facial expression indicated disgust. “But unlike Ellie Reid, she was only in it for the money. There were nine of us, all between ten and fourteen, crowded into her basement. It was a fend-for-yourself type of place.”
“Did you tell anyone? Complain?”
He shook his head with a sad smile. “So I could return to the group home, Becca? That place was worse than hell. I spent all my time trying not to get beat up, forced into a gang, or worse. At least at Mrs. Keen’s place, she ignored me most of the time. There was one meal a day. If you were lucky enough to be around when the food went on the table, you grabbed what you could. If not, you waited until next time. I forgot what it was like to have decent clothes and sleep in a bed. Usually, I slept on the floor. Everyone ignored me there and overlooked me at school. I was basically invisible.”
My chest ached at his words. The way his voice shook at times, trying to conceal his emotions as he spoke. I wanted to erase his pain, but I knew it was impossible. All I could do was hold his hand and listen.
“One day, I was so hungry I wandered into the neighbor’s garden. It was overgrown and full of weeds, but things were still growing. There was a long row of carrots. I dug some out and ate them.” He chuckled without humor at the memory. “I hardly wiped the dirt off of them. Then I found some potatoes and ate those too, before the neighbor found me in his yard.”
“Oh no! What did he do?”
“Rodney Matthews was his name. He was a gruff old man. Huge. Used two canes to walk. He yelled at me about trespassing, asked me where I lived. When I pointed out the Keen place, he sort of growled under his breath about her. He told me rather than get me in trouble with the old cow that he was going to let me work off the food.”
“How?”
“I had to weed the garden. He sat and watched me, yelling if I tried to pull the wrong thing. I think he would have scared most people, but I found his yelling almost comforting—because he saw me. He watched me. I wasn’t invisible. It took me all day, but I got it done. He had me pick more vegetables, and I had to carry them inside for him.” A glimmer of a smile crossed his face. “That was the day my life changed.”
I rubbed my thumb back and forth on his hand.
“He lived alone—his wife had died over twenty years prior. His house was small, but compared to where I lived it was a palace. He had his entire living room filled with computers. Working ones, dead ones, parts, pieces—and he had a massive table that he called his workstation. I had never seen anything like it.”
“Is that what he did? Fix computers?”
He shot me grin. “That was his hobby. He was captivated by them. He knew everything there was to know about computers—how to build them, run them, and anything else to do with them. He did online work for computer companies, like a help desk. That was his day job anyway. His other job was much more interesting.”
“He was a hacker?”
“Yes, he was.”
I pursed my lips. “I see.”
Reid chuckled. “That gruff, cantankerous old man became the reason I am where I am today. For some reason, he liked me. He let me hang around. He’d feed me. He showed me his computers. I was interested, so he let me mess around with some of his spare parts, and I built myself my first computer.” He laughed lightly. “It was shit, but I did it.”
“How?” I asked.
“He had lots of books, and he let me read them. My teachers never thought much of me, but I loved to learn. They overlooked me a lot, so I read and taught myself—and I absorbed. Rodney’s books fascinated me. What he did fascinated me. I watched and learned. The next compu
ter I built was better. So was the one after. He started to teach me how to use them.” Reid sighed. “I was in love. All I thought about was computers. I couldn’t get enough. I spent so much time at his place you would think I lived there.”
“Your foster place didn’t question it?”
He laughed again, a bitter sound. “Not even once. It was one less mouth to feed, one less kid to take up room. As long as I was around on inspection day, she didn’t care. I made sure I was present, said exactly what the caseworker wanted to hear, then I was gone.”
He grew quiet for a minute. “Rodney’s health was failing. I started doing more of his work—taking over things. He started paying me for my jobs. I stopped showing up for inspection day. I stopped going to school. He spent hours teaching me, showing me everything he knew.” Reid shook his head. “I’ll never forget the day he looked at me and said I had surpassed him. There was nothing more he could teach me.”
“How old were you?”
“Seventeen.” He lifted his shoulders and rolled his eyes. “A very cocky seventeen. I thought I knew everything. Rodney yelled at me all the time to watch my attitude.”
I could picture him—young, brash, with a chip on his shoulder.
“Mrs. Keen kicked me out. I was old enough I didn’t need social services, and I was on my own. I stayed with Rodney, sleeping on the couch, doing his errands, and helping him. His one rule was that I had to finish school. I was so far ahead of my class, it was easy, and I did it online.” He exhaled. “That was when it started.”
“When you got into trouble, you mean?”
“Yeah. I was looking for a job, but with no experience, plus my age, I wasn’t finding much. Fast food places, that sort of thing. I thought I was better than that. Rodney told me to get an attitude adjustment and it would teach me some humility flipping burgers. But with his health issues, he convinced his employer to hire me, so I worked with him. He wanted me to get some experience and find a job in the real world. He warned me often enough not to fall into the trap of becoming a hermit like him.”
He was quiet as he stared past my shoulder out the window, a frown on his face.
“What happened, Reid?”
“It started simple enough. Rodney was having trouble with his bank. Online banking was becoming mainstream, and he used it since he had so much trouble getting around. But every month, it seemed there were issues. I decided to check into it, and I hacked into their system.”
Reid: Vested Interest #4 Page 7