by Vanessa Vale
I let my eyes slip closed, aching for a connection, knowing I was pathetic. I used sex as a way to validate my worth, and it wasn’t working. It only made it worse. A painful lump lodged in my throat. Tears. I wasn’t a crier. No. I didn’t cry. I wouldn’t cry here. Not in a roomful of people. Colleagues.
With shaking fingers, I typed out a text to Reed.
Me: Awake?
I lifted my head, listened to the woman at the far end of the table speaking about English historic preservation laws until I felt my cell vibrate in my palm.
Reed: Good thing you’re not a math professor. Your time zone calculations are terrible. It’s 9. Just finished my morning training.
The corner of my mouth tipped up and somehow, I felt better. Just knowing Reed was there, even from so far away. I’d reached out, and he’d responded. I could see him in those MMA shorts he wore, the black ones that rode low on his lean hips, the ones with the little slits on the sides of the thighs. I couldn’t miss the hard muscle there whenever he moved. He’d be wearing a T-shirt, damp with his sweat, his dark hair a mess, scruff on his jaw. I squirmed in my hard chair at the vision in my head.
Reed: How are the fish and chips? See the Loch Ness Monster?
I bit my lip to keep from smiling outright.
Me: Boring meeting.
Reed: That’s the problem with being so smart. You have to use your brain. I get to work with my fists.
I thought about those hands and what he’d been able to do with them. The way they’d touched me so gently even knowing how dangerous they could be.
Me: I’m not paying any attention to the meeting.
Reed: Are you being a bad girl, princess?
I bit back a laugh.
Me: Me?
Reed: You can be whatever you want with me.
Me: I don’t think I know how. To be bad, I mean.
Reed didn’t respond right away, and I panicked I’d said the wrong thing. I felt exposed and vulnerable even though Reed wasn’t even in the same country. What was he thinking? I saw Giles look my way, and I straightened, pretending to listen to the rules on modern encroachment and setbacks. I studied the past, the art and the buildings. While it was important to maintain what was so dear to me, the English legalese was something I could easily tune out.
Reed: Excuse yourself from the meeting and go to the ladies room.
I glanced up, looked at the eight other people in the room, all intently listening to the discussion.
Me: What?
Reed: You’re a PhD. I know you can read. Go.
I sat there for a moment, stunned. Should I do as Reed said? Why did he want me to go to the ladies’ room? I took a moment, realized no one knew about my conversation. A wicked thrill shot through me. Reed made me curious, made me feel a little wicked.
I pushed back my chair and stood, quietly excusing myself. I went out into the hall and passed the nearest ladies’ room and entered the one at the far end of the hall.
Me: OK
When the phone vibrated again, it wasn’t to signal another text, but a call from Reed. I fumbled to answer, then lifted it to my ear. “Hi.”
“What’s the matter?”
I leaned against the wall. “What do you mean?”
The bathroom hadn’t been modernized in decades, the sink and stalls straight from the fifties. The ancient radiator pumped out heat and made the small space dry and stuffy.
“I know you didn’t text to tell me you’re saying yes to my offer for dinner. What’s going on, princess?”
“Why do you call me that?”
“Because in comparison to me, you’re a princess.”
“You don’t know anything about me.”
Yeah, I grew up with money, but that was it. I wasn’t spoiled. I certainly wasn’t coddled or protected.
“Then tell me something.” His words were even, as if he hadn’t heard the defensive tone in my reply.
I sighed. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything.”
I didn’t reply. Was he joking?
“I mean it.”
“Why?” I turned sideways and pressed my shoulder against the wall as I held the phone to my ear.
“Why?” he repeated.
“Why do you want to know everything about me?”
He sighed. “I have no fucking idea. I just do. I want to know what’s inside your head.”
I laughed then, the sound echoing. “You already do.”
“I do?” The question had a serious tone to it.
“God, you made me cry. I’m not telling you that to make you feel bad, but I haven’t cried in two years.”
“Why not?”
“Because there weren’t any tears left.”
Shit. I’d said a lot, perhaps too much. When he didn’t say anything, I said his name to fill the void. “You need to tell me something about yourself now. It’s only fair.”
“All right. Let me think.” He was quiet for a few seconds, and I heard the crackle of the line. “My first time, I was fourteen.”
I couldn’t imagine him as a scrawny, gangly kid.
“She was older, sixteen. Amanda Carter. I was too nervous, too worked up to put the condom on, so she helped me. I, well—” I could hear the chagrin in his voice. “—let’s just say I didn’t last.”
“You didn’t—”
“Three times. I pumped into her three times, and I came. I think it was all of twelve seconds.”
I put my hand over my face, felt my smile.
“I’m afraid, princess, that when I finally sink into you, I won’t even last that long.”
My mouth fell open. “You mean you have a problem?”
He chuckled. “No, it means you have me so hot I’m probably going to make a fool of myself.”
I had absolutely no idea what to say to that.
“What about you?” he asked.
“Me?”
“Your first time.”
I was still stuck on his confident statement that we were going to have sex. “Oh, um, my brother’s friend.”
“How old were you?”
“Thirteen.”
I thought I heard him swear, but it was barely a whisper. “How old was he?”
“Eighteen.”
“Were you dating or going out or whatever they called it in your prep school world?”
“Oh, um. No. Cam—my brother—and his friend were watching movies, and they came into the kitchen where I was studying. They invited me to join them, so I did. Then halfway through the movie, Cam told me to go with Brad for a little fun.”
“Go where?” Reed’s voice was darker, almost black.
“To my brother’s room. It wasn’t too bad. I heard it hurts for every girl the first time. He was… nice. I heard he died a few years later. Car accident.”
I heard a thud, perhaps a door closing. “Princess, that’s um, I think I need to have a little talk with your brother.”
I turned to the wall, leaned my forehead against it. Picked at a flake in the cream paint. “You can’t. He’s in prison.” Realizing I said too much, I backtracked. “You’re not interested in all that. Look, I should probably get back to the meeting.”
“Right.”
I didn’t want to end the call, but I didn’t want to talk about my past either. My life was what it was. It wasn’t going to change, especially my past. “Thanks, Reed.”
“For what?”
“Being there.”
13
REED
I was glad Harper was so far away. If she saw me now, she’d be afraid. I’d been so angry when she told me what had happened to her, I heel palmed the cinderblock wall. The throbbing pain dulled my need to beat the shit out of her brother, and I shook my wrist to work it out. I knew better than to injure myself, but fuck, this woman pulled out every one of my protective instincts. I’d been born to fight. Hell, I’d survived by fighting, and I wouldn’t hesitate to defend someone I cared about.
Did I care
about Harper? Fuck, yes.
Why? I had no idea. I just knew the second I saw her she was different.
More.
When I’d seen her text, I’d just finished my workout and was heading upstairs to shower. Sweat dripped down my face, made my t-shirt cling. I was ripe and ready for a protein shake and my usual lunch of salmon and brown rice.
I’d walked out of the gym and into the emergency stairs leading to our apartments, sat down on the hard steps as we talked, but when she’d shared about what her brother had done, given her to his friend, I couldn’t hold back. I’d had to hit something. I wanted to hit the fucker Brad. Good thing he was dead. No, I wanted to hit her brother more. An older brother was supposed to watch out for a sister, not give her to a friend. Fuck!
I’d had to keep my cool, to hide the rage that seeped from me like the sweat from my morning training session. Harper had done nothing wrong, and she didn’t need to feel bad about what had happened to her. She’d been practically a child. Thirteen! What the hell did she know about sex at thirteen? From the sound of it, she played it off as something that wasn’t rape. It hadn’t sounded like the guy forced her, but what kind of consent could she give? She might not have said no, but I doubted she’d been into it, that she’d said yes. She’d been thirteen.
Jesus.
Maybe that was how she coped although knowing she’d been ready to fuck Larry in this damn stairwell meant she wasn’t completely straightened out. She’d left the country. Fled to London. Maybe what we’d done in my apartment had set her off, but I was sure it wasn’t the only reason she’d run. Something else was going on. She’d texted me though—and not because she was bored. Although if I had to sit through a meeting about a seven-hundred-year-old cathedral, I’d lose my mind. No, she didn’t know anything about me except that I was safe. That I’d listen, hold her, protect her.
Since she’d just let slip that her brother gave her to his friend, it was a sign that she trusted me, at least a little but, in a way she’d never expected. Our friendship, whatever the fuck it was, was unexpected. The princess and the guy on the wrong side of the tracks. Somehow, I could give her things no one else could. I wasn’t exactly sure what that was since I had no idea what the fuck I was doing. When it came to women, I didn’t do relationships. I didn’t do anything deep because I didn’t want anyone to see past the fighter veneer because no one would like what they found.
I just knew I had to be there for her. The rest, I’d figure out.
I went back into the gym, tracked down Gray, who was with a client by the punching bags warming up. The guy, Wiley, was debating going pro. He was good, and if anyone was going to get him there, it was Gray. Wiley was kicking the crap out of the bag, one after the other, the dense sound of it louder than the music through the overhead speakers.
“Good, now roll your hip over. Yes, like that. Again.”
Gray kept his eyes on his client but gave a little chin lift, a sign I could interrupt.
I stepped close, murmured, “Who’s the cop who comes to the BJJ class?”
Gray arched one dark brow, crossed his arms over his chest. He wore a gym T-shirt and his black grappling shorts. His feet were bare since he was on the mats. “Jasper?”
I nodded. “That’s him. I need him to find out about someone.”
“Go grab a drink, grab your gloves, and I’ll meet you in the ring,” Gray said to Wiley.
Wiley said hi to me on the way to the bench where he grabbed his towel, mopped the sweat from his face as he grabbed his water bottle.
Gray and I stood alone in the far side of the gym. “Someone?”
“Harper’s brother. Said his name was Cam, and he’s in prison.”
“From your tone, it sounds bad.”
I met his steel colored eyes. “Real bad.”
“Then let’s keep it from the cops. I’ll call Quake Baker.”
The man had taken Emory under his protection. He ran a diner on the far side of town, a business legitimate, but I had no doubt he dabbled in less legal endeavors as president of a motorcycle club. I wasn’t going to ask about them, but I’d learned from Gray he’d taken care of the asshole who’d broken into Emory’s house. Quake was a good ally to have, especially with situations like this. He had the same thoughts as me and Gray—no one fucked with anyone’s woman.
“Good.”
“Want back in the ring?” he asked as we walked toward Wiley.
I glanced to Gray, grinned. My roiling anger was obvious, and there was one way to burn some of it off. With my fists, just as I wanted. Wiley would be good competition. “Definitely.”
14
HARPER
Reed: Do you like Thai food?
Me: Yes. Why?
Reed: I want to know what you like for when we go out.
Me: I never said yes.
Reed: Say yes.
Me: To Thai food?
Reed: To me.
Me: About what?
Reed: I told you before. Everything.
Me: I told you no to phone sex.
Reed: OK. How about texting sex?
Me: I have no idea how to do that.
Reed: What are you wearing?
Me: It’s midnight.
Reed: I didn’t ask what time it was.
Me: A T-shirt and underwear.
Reed: Underwear? Like boxers?
Me: Panties. Like lace.
Reed: Shit. Slip your hand inside those hot-as-fuck lace panties and play with your clit.
Me: I can’t do this.
Reed: What? Come? You came for me before.
Me: No, I can’t do texting sex.
Reed: Why not? It’s more fun than I thought. Touch yourself, princess.
Me: Is it all one-sided with you?
Reed: Sex?
Me: Yes.
Reed: Princess, I have my hand on my dick and pre-cum is dripping from it like a faucet. This is not one sided.
Oh my God. I was in bed reading. I pushed myself up and leaned against the headboard and stared at the texts. Reed may have gotten me off in his lap, and I knew he was into me, but he’d never actually said anything so… sexual to me before. I was imagining Reed sitting in his recliner with his hands down his workout shorts. I imagined him big, thick. Perfect.
Reed: Princess? Did I scare you away?
I blinked then panicked that he worried I was freaking out.
Me: No. I was… thinking about what you said.
Reed: Me rubbing one out while thinking of you?
Me: Yes.
Reed: I want you to come with me. Over your panties like before if you want.
I wanted. God, did I want. I was five thousand miles away from Reed. He couldn’t see me. He couldn’t hear me. He wouldn’t judge. I didn’t think, just dropped the cell on the bed and tugged off my T-shirt, then pushed my undies down my legs and tossed them onto the floor. I settled back into the bed, parted my legs.
Me: OK
Reed: Sorry, I dropped the phone. Fuck, ok.
I smiled and felt… silly. Light. As if I were sharing something secret. This was one of the most intimate things I’d ever done with someone, and yet he wasn’t even here. I began to touch myself in the way I knew would get me off. I didn’t play, just put my three fingers together and rubbed in circles just the right way. My feet slid up, and my knees spread. I cried out into the empty hotel room as I came, harder than I could ever remember. I was sweaty and breathing hard and… happy. I slapped my hand down on the bed searching for the cell, grabbed it up.
Me: Ok
Reed: You came?
Me: Yes
Reed: Shit… kde*d. S ksdfs we2
I stared and tried to figure out what he was saying.
Reed: Fuck, sorry. Can’t type one handed and can’t type shit when I’m coming all over my hand.
Me: Oh
I flushed thinking about him. He’d come because of me. Thinking of me. I’d made him that way. It was powerful. Exhilarating.
Reed:
Go to sleep, princess. You need me, I’m here.
REED
“They’re back.” Gray stood before the wall of windows that overlooked the parking lot. His arms were crossed, his gaze serious. He was always serious. The only person I knew who could make him smile was Emory.
I moved to stand beside him, my jump rope hanging from my fingers.
“Shit.”
The sky was leaden, the air almost foggy, which meant it was cold as shit out. Flurries were starting to fall. By morning, there would be a few inches of it on the ground. The gym was warm, and I was sweating from my workout. “I think it’s time to go say hi.”
Gray looked to me. Nodded.
We walked out the doors to the lot, the cold air hitting me, my skin instantly drying. My T-shirt would be frozen if I lingered. I wasn’t planning on it.
I walked over to the driver’s window as Gray stood in front of the car. The man rolled down the window as I approached, hot air and the smell of cigarettes hitting me.
“Tell Dominguez hello for me.”
The punk was in his thirties, a thick, black cap on his head, the Broncos logo on the front. He was white and pasty, had greasy hair and when he grinned at me, a gold tooth.
“Who the fuck is Dominguez?” he asked. “If you’re looking to score, you’re at the wrong car.”
I slowly shook my head. “You want to play it like that?” I rolled my shoulders, and the guy’s smile slipped.
The one in the passenger seat, at least fifty pounds overweight and looking like Jabba the Hut with his bald, sweaty head, piped up. “Dude, we don’t want anything to do with you.”