So, That Got Weird

by Amelia Kingston

  I bend down beside her, grazing her soft neck as I pull back her headphones and brush my lips against her ear. “Who you chatting with, Goose?” I put my other hand above her knee and tickle the inside of her naked thigh with my long fingers.

  She almost jumps out of her chair. I can’t help but smile. While she composes herself, I unplug her headset. On her screen is a young, petite woman. She’s got thick-rimmed glasses, a nose ring and fire-engine-red hair. Something tells me this girl doesn’t take shit from anyone.

  “Fuck me sideways, Lizbit, he’s hot. The guys you pick are usually such goob troopers.” The woman’s voice rings out through the computer speakers.

  “Sideways? Not my favorite position, but I’m sure I could be convinced to give it another shot,” I chime in. Elizabeth pulls off her headset and traces the cord to the plug in my hand. She yanks it from me with a huff.

  “Bye, Jackie!” Elizabeth growls, slamming a few keys, causing the screens to go black before Jackie can respond.

  “What the hell is a goob trooper?” I stand and gaze down at her as she spins around in her chair, noticing for the first time that she’s wearing my shirt again. Or, maybe still? She’s as sexy in it as she was yesterday. Standing over her, I can see down the shirt to the curve of her full breasts.

  I can’t wait to have my hands on her again.

  “Cross between a goober and stormtrooper.” The timbre of her voice is enough to add the “duh, idiot!” to the end of her definition. “You’re early.” The annoyance is written all over her flushed face.

  “You’re welcome,” I retort.

  “And you didn’t knock.”

  “My hands were full.” I gesture to the grocery bags sitting on the kitchen counter. “And that’s what you get for not locking your front door. Any sort of mischief can stroll right in.” I smile down at her.

  “Fine.” She sighs, hopping up from her chair. She marches over to the front door and locks it.

  “I have to be on the other side for that to work,” I tease as I sit down in the office chair she just vacated. Fuck, this thing is comfortable.

  “So, who’s Jackie?” I play with her mouse to wake up her computer.

  “A friend.” She stalks back over to her desk.

  “Don’t touch that!” she orders, standing over me, trying to be intimidating. Her hands are on her hips and there’s a scowl on her cute face. She’s about as intimidating as a teddy bear.

  “She seems like a character.” I spin away from the desk and face her, answering her challenge.

  “She’s a firecracker,” she mutters, dropping her hands off her hips and fidgeting. She’s burned out the fire inside her for now.

  “Firecracker?” I ask as I place my hands on the outside of her naked thighs. Her warm skin under my palms confirms that she’s only wearing a pair of panties under the shirt.

  “Nothing,” she whispers. Her body is already tensing under my touch and she’s pulling away. I’m not in the mood to let her.

  “Nothing?” I stand, running my hands under the shirt, resting them on her hips. She steps back. I step forward, a weird sort of dance.

  “Nothing,” she sputters again as she takes yet another step back from me.

  I’m tired of playing cat and mouse. Chasing her is fun, but catching her is better. I tighten my hold on her hips, turn her slightly and have her back pinned against the wall before she’s able to object.

  “You’re wearing my shirt,” I growl.

  I pull her leg around my waist with one hand and continue my journey up her body with the other. I slip my fingers under her shirt, teasing the soft skin on her stomach. Her abs clench as she shudders against me.

  “I was trying to explain it to Jackie and it was easier to just put it on.” Her words are breathy in my ear.

  “I think you like wearing it,” I whisper against the delicious skin on her neck before dipping my mouth to leave a trail of kisses down to her tits. “I was right. It makes you feel sexy, doesn’t it?”

  “Do you think I’m sexy?” Her voice is timid, her eyes closed tightly. She can’t pull away from me, but she’s trying to hide. She brings her trembling hands up to rest on my shoulders.

  “What do you think?” I pull her other leg up around me, lifting her off the ground completely. I pin her to the wall and rock my hips into her so she can feel how hard I am. She tightens her legs around me and a soft moan escapes her pink lips.

  Damn, that’s a sexy sound.

  I’m already on the edge of losing it to my craving for her tight little body. Knowing I have to wait makes me want her more than I’ve ever wanted anyone before.

  She’s my forbidden fruit.

  I skim my hands over her ribcage, brushing against the underside of her tits. I lift the swell of each to meet my eagerly awaiting lips. I kiss the soft exposed skin and her nipples get hard against my chest as I continue to rock my hips into her.

  I line my cock up with the apex of her thighs. Her thin panties do little to hide how turned on she is. She smells like sex. I get lost in her moans in my ear, her warm skin under my fingers and lips. The air is charged with sexual tension. I grind into her against the wall, fucking her over our clothes. The friction is driving us both crazy, but it’s not enough to push either of us over the edge. I need more.

  I want her right here.

  Right now.

  “First base!” she screams as I ease my fingers inside her panties.

  Despite how badly I want to keep going, the trepidation in her voice washes over me, freezing me faster than a bucket of ice water. I tear my hands off her body and slap them against the wall on either side of her. I have her pinned, my body pressed against hers, but I’m stopped dead in my tracks. I bring my forehead to hers and let out a deep sigh.

  “First base,” I reply in acknowledgment.

  “Thank you,” she whimpers.

  She slides her legs back down to the ground, supporting her own weight again as we both try to catch our breath. I shove off the wall and run my fingers through my hair.

  Old people doing jumping jacks naked on a windy day. Fat rolls. Wrinkles. Jiggling.

  I turn around and face her again. Her cheeks are flushed and she’s breathing heavily, the exaggerated rise and fall of her chest straining the buttons on her shirt.

  My shirt.

  I’m fucked.

  “You need to change. And we need to get out of this apartment,” I command. “Now.”

  “What? Why?” she asks.

  “Because I haven’t been this close to jizzing in my pants since junior high,” I confess.

  She lets out a soft giggle. That sound is as much of a turn-on as hearing her moan. She needs to realize what the stakes are right now.

  “We can either get out of here or I find out if your pussy tastes as good as it smells. Your call.”

  Her grin drops as she sees the fire in my eyes. I’m two seconds away from taking her in ways her little sex-abus doesn’t begin to cover.

  She sets off for her bedroom at a jog, which is enough of an answer for me. While she changes into what I hope is a shapeless muumuu, I finish putting away the rest of the groceries and desperately try to think about anything but having her naked body under mine.

  “I’m ready. Where to?” She pops out of her room in a few minutes. I’ve never known any girl who can get ready as fast as she can. Then again, she’s the no-frills type. I appreciate that about her, among her other assets.

  She’s in her standard attire, baggy jeans and a formless T-shirt. It’s better than seeing her in my shirt, but somehow knowing the curves she’s hiding under that hideous excuse for an outfit keeps me pretty revved up. We can’t get out of this apartment fast enough.

  “Since I’m not cooking, I guess we’re eating out. Come on.” I grab my keys off the counter and we head down to my truck.

  I take her to a small diner across town. The place isn’t fancy, but the food is good and it’s a cozy family-run joint. More importantly, it�
�s far enough away from campus we aren’t going to run into anyone I know. I haven’t told any of my teammates about my new ‘job’ because it’s none of their damn business. No one knows except Devin. I’m in no mood to explain why I’m out with Elizabeth.

  I don’t date, but if I did, she’s definitely not my type. We’re from different worlds.

  I’d ruin her.

  We order quickly, and now I’m sitting across from her, wondering what to do. We haven’t spent much time talking, and I’ve purposefully engineered us into a situation where that’s all there is to do. I didn’t really think this plan through. She’s fidgeting and avoiding eye contact.

  Is she sorting the different types of sugar packets?

  There’s more awkwardness between us than there has ever been before, and that’s saying something. Dating clearly isn’t her thing either.

  “Don’t tell me you’ve never been on a date.” It’s a dick thing to say, but I can’t help myself. I’m a little annoyed at her on behalf of my aching blue balls. Luckily she doesn’t seem to take offense.

  “No, I’ve had dates. But this isn’t really a date. This is…” She pauses, studying me. “I’m not sure what this is, but it’s not a date,” she declares definitively. I have a feeling she’s trying to convince herself more than anything.

  “Business dinner? Right, boss?” I mock her. She doesn’t respond, but the way she crosses her arms and stares out of the window lets me know she doesn’t appreciate my categorization. She’s quiet for another few minutes, refusing to look at me. It’s obnoxious as fuck. This isn’t awkward silence anymore.

  This is intentional. I’m getting the silent treatment.

  Being ignored by this woman has got to be one of the top ten most annoying things in the world. When someone decides they aren’t interested, I decide I don’t need them. I’ve made an art form out of not giving a shit when people blow me off.

  Something is different with Elizabeth.

  I want her attention, even when she’s being a brat. I’ll take her sarcastic mouth and snide comments over this silence.

  “You weren’t kidding about your lack of conversation skills.” I push, trying to get her to engage with me. Her eyes finally meet mine, but instead of getting a rise out of her, she seems to retreat back into herself, slouching in her seat and wrapping her arms around her stomach. Mocking her isn’t the best way to get her to open up. A twinge of guilt twists my stomach for being a dick.

  “All right, I’ve got an idea. How about we add first date etiquette to that sex-abus of yours?” She shuffles in her seat and side-eyes me without answering. “Pretend this is our first date. Forget everything else. We’re just two people trying to get to know each other.” It’s cheesy, but I’m okay with faking it through one dinner if it means we aren’t sitting here staring at each other the whole time.

  “I guess we could do that.” Her voice is hesitant, but she seems a bit excited by the idea.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Elizabeth. So, where are you from originally?” I plaster a giant fake smile on my face and launch right into small talk mode.

  “Nice to meet you, Austin.” The shy smile on her lips matches the embarrassed tone of her voice. “I grew up in Atherton.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “It’s up north. Couple hours’ drive, maybe.”

  “How was it growing up there?”

  “Nice. I guess. Quiet.” I watch her, waiting for her to tell me more. She doesn’t. I can’t tell if she doesn’t want to talk about where she’s from or she simply doesn’t know what to say.

  “Small town?” I ask. Guess I’m going to have to carry most of this conversation.

  “Decent size, I guess.” She again doesn’t elaborate, not seeming comfortable with talking about her past.

  “Is that why…” I gesture to her, but she doesn’t catch my insinuation. “The lack of experience. Not enough options at the stud buffet for you?” I ask with an eyebrow raise.

  “Oh.” She flinches as she catches my meaning. “No! I mean, maybe. The guys I’ve dated before aren’t…” She gestures at me and I catch her insinuation. They aren’t like me.

  Is that a good thing?

  “They’ve all been…” She pauses, bites her lip and gazes off into the distance for a minute. “Soft,” she says tentatively.

  “Soft?” I can’t help but chuckle. “Does that make me hard?” I tease.

  “No. Well, I guess. You’re definitely different.” The nervous fidgeting keeping her hands flying around doesn’t distract me. My eyes are locked on hers and I am desperate to hear what she thinks makes me different.

  “They were all apprehensive. I think they were as nervous as I was. I usually pick guys who are non-threatening. You’re confident and bold. You push me. Scare me. In a good way. Mostly.” She breaks our eye contact, obviously flustered. I’m starting to understand her. Understand why she needs me.

  “Goob troopers.” I try to keep a straight face and fail, earning myself the mother of all eye-rolls.

  “Thanks, Jackie! Anyway, I was homeschooled mostly. Boys were kind of a non-factor.”

  “Homeschooled? Your family super religious or something?”

  “God no.” We both chuckle.

  She’s quiet and contemplative for a moment, weighing her words carefully.

  “Growing up, I had two options. Be perfect or be invisible. The harder I tried to be perfect, the worse I failed. I’ve got being weird nailed, though,” she quips, trying to keep her voice lighthearted. But the way she fidgets in her seat means she isn’t too comfortable with the confession. “I was always doing something that would embarrass my mother. It was just easier to stay home with tutors.”

  Her shoulders are tense and her forehead is furrowed. She’s exposed and vulnerable right now. While my curiosity is piqued, if I push her too hard, she’ll shut down. She’s been brave with her confessions tonight. I decide not to push her this time.

  “What! You mean I’m not your first tutor?” My voice is full of mock incredulity. It makes her giggle, and tension releases from both of us.

  “Not my first, but maybe my favorite.” My chest swells at the teasing compliment, and I try to ignore it. What kind of pussy gets the feels from being called a girl’s favorite tutor?

  Watch yourself, Jacobs.

  “Oh my, are you actually flirting with me? Well done, Goose.” I give her a genuine smile.

  “Thanks, Maverick.” Her lips curve up into a coy smile. The sight is enough to make me want to drag her to the bathroom and pick up where we left off at the apartment. There’s no way Elizabeth Wilde is going to let her first time be in a dirty diner bathroom. I clear my throat and think about root canals and oil changes.

  “Where are you from?” she asks in the sexually charged silence.

  “Orland.” My voice is flat. I don’t really want to talk about where I come from or my childhood. We have that in common.

  “I’ve never heard of it.”

  “I’m not surprised. It’s not worth knowing. Just a shit town a few hours east, full of fuck-ups and drug addicts,” I reply sharply, trying to force down the memories. This is why I don’t date. This getting-to-know-you small talk is bullshit. Talking about my childhood is about as much fun as getting my eyes carved out with a rusty spoon.

  “Okay…” She glances toward the kitchen, eager for the distraction of our food.

  I change the subject, asking, “What’s your major?”

  “Pre-med.” Her eyes sparkle with her response.

  “You want to be a doctor?” I can’t keep the surprise out of my voice, unable to picture her bedside manner.

  “Technically, I guess. But I am really hoping to go into medical research.” She answers my question without me having to ask it.

  “Why medical research?”

  She balks at the question, picking imaginary lint off her T-shirt instead of answering me. I sit and stare at her until she answers with, “I’ve just always thought biolo
gy was interesting.” I give her a go-on gesture and she meekly continues, “Humans are basically insanely complex machines that took hundreds of thousands of years of evolution to create. We’re just beginning to understand that even though we’re these complicated and sophisticated organisms, we’re all so fragile and flawed.” She stares at her hands in her lap, embarrassed by her own enthusiasm.

  “That’s almost poetic.”

  She shifts in her seat and says, “It’s really lame, I know. I’m such a nerd, right?

  “Don’t do that.” Her eyes snap to mine at the reprimand. “Don’t belittle yourself or what you care about. The world is going to beat you down enough, you don’t need to help it out. If you believe something, own it. Fuck everybody else.” She blinks several times, holding back tears. She gazes at me like I saved a litter of puppies from a burning building. Now it’s my turn to shift awkwardly in my seat. I’m no one’s hero. “I just want to make money. Lots of it.”

  “There’s a lot more to life than money.”

  “Spoken like someone who has a lot of it,” I scoff. “Exactly how rich are you, anyway?”

  “I’m not rich.” She sounds almost offended. “I mean, my father has money, but—”

  I interrupt her. “Same difference. You have lots of brothers and sisters?”

  “No. It’s just me.” Her face goes squishy, eyebrows pinched together, lips scrunched to one side. Her eyes dart up and left, trying to see inside her own mind. She’s working out what I’m getting at. It’s hideously captivating.

  “You’re the only child of a rich man. I bet if you decided tomorrow you never wanted to work another day in your life, you wouldn’t have to.”

  She seems lost in thought. I can’t help but wonder if she’s actually adding up her net worth in her head.

  “It never occurred to me not to work. That’s just what people do. But I guess you’re right. If I didn’t want to, I wouldn’t have to work.” She isn’t bragging. If anything, she seems a bit self-conscious about being wealthy, as if it will make me see her differently. I’m surprised by her honesty.