by Alexa Davis
“You know,” she finally said in a soft voice, “if you ever wanted me to go with you to prove my intentions, I would. I’m not afraid to stand by your side. Hell, you already did the same for me, and you managed it in less than five days.”
I chuckled and leaned in so she could reach farther down my back, and was rewarded with a back scratch that would’ve made Stiles jealous. But, she had me thinking. What if we did go back? My family had never been able to correlate my near-genius IQ with the ability to take care of myself or make good choices. Maybe getting to meet C.J. would set them at ease. Or at least assure them she was real.
“Hypothetically speaking, how much notice would you need to go to Texas?” I asked, my eyes still closed as I savored her fingernails on my back and shoulders. I felt her tense, and waited for her to back track.
“I don’t have another competition for months, and frankly, I don’t have any ideas to even start a new project, so, with a good long stream tomorrow while you go to Stanford, I could leave as early as Tuesday morning.” I opened one eye to peer at her and she shrugged.
“Well, from the yelling, it sounded important,” she scoffed and shook her head again. “I wish I had family to care about, or to care about me.” I sat up and held her hand, examining the long graceful fingers that I held against my own.
“Well, it is my fault that my brother’s having issues… career, not legal,” I added hastily. “I won’t ask you to adopt my family or anything, but it would be pretty cool to watch their faces when I show up with a hotter woman than any of them have seen outside the pages of a magazine.”
“You do mean high fashion magazine, right?” She urged.
“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Miss November.” She punched me in the arm and I coughed out a laugh past the sharp pain in my bicep. I responded with a tweak to her nipple through her tank top and then dove on top of her before she could retaliate, until my tickling turned to groping and her kisses went from teasing to searching. In a heartbeat, our clothing was gone and we were back to one of the things we did best, hot and sweaty and wet.
She didn’t take her time, but was on top of me gliding over me like wet silk, digging her fingernails into my chest as she closed her eyes and threw back her head. I tilted my hips for the best angle to keep her rhythm, and bit off a painful snarl from the scratches she plowed into my chest in narrow pink troughs that quickly turned red. She screamed wordlessly as her muscles tightened around me and pulled me into the abyss with her.
She collapsed onto me and let me hold her while our heartbeats slowed their frantic pounding. She smelled of sex and sweat and the sweet florals of her perfume. Her scent was a memory of everything good I’d ever wanted to create or have in my life, and I felt a flash of hot anger at my brother that I fought to push away before it could ruin the perfection of the moment.
Carina was mine. Wild, unpredictable, moody, artistic and spontaneous, she was mine, and I was willing to fight anyone, Hargrave or not, who tried to come between us.
31. Carina
The way Jackson had defended me to his brother made me feel proud and low simultaneously. I cared about Jackson, and I knew how important his family was to him. I didn’t want to be part of anything that came between him and the people he loved. While he slept, I traced the claw marks I’d left in his skin. I hadn’t meant to, but now that he was marked, I claimed him as mine. Let his family come. I wouldn’t tear them apart, but I would show them that I was more than a friend, but that no one would have his back more than me.
I set my alarm and snuggled up to Jackson, and Stiles took it as an invitation to jump back up on the bed and recline behind me, stretching his feline form the length of my back, ensuring I didn’t move by hanging on with his front claws. I felt a flutter in my stomach at the thought of going to Texas with Jackson. I could stream to twenty thousand people, but the thought of meeting my lover’s family after being together such a short time made my throat dry and my ears ring.
I rested my head and closed my eyes, and let the steady rumble of Stile’s purring lull me to sleep. There was nothing I could do tonight that would make tomorrow easier. Instead, I rested between the two creatures I loved most in the world, and dreamt a plan for the morning.
Neither of us slept as much as I would’ve liked. Jackson tossed and turned, and when he was still, muttered and mumbled gibberish in his sleep that made me wish I could see inside his head. Not that it was the first time for that, anyway. It didn’t take an extraordinary brain to know that whatever was going on with his brother was affecting him deeply. I’d watched his face the night before, go from excited and happy to hurt and betrayed, as his brother plied him with guilt for leaving.
Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing that they needed him so badly. Everything I’d heard from Jackson was that they’d stopped recognizing his progression after the age of five. I didn’t have any younger siblings, but I could imagine in a big family how a youngest child, everyone’s baby, everyone’s favorite, could cause a family wide identity crisis when it came time to let go.
My father was long gone by the time I was born, and while mom still got high and screwed strangers for booze or drugs or money, she learned one lesson at least, because I didn’t have any siblings to think I was still just a kid, or worry that someone would take advantage of me. I’d Googled his family, I knew what he was worth. What they didn’t realize is that I had a good start with modelling, and I banked almost everything I made. I was already a millionaire, and even though I didn’t have as much as I wanted, I was twenty-thousand dollars closer than I had been the week before, and when I streamed later, I’d make another few thousand, in the five and ten-dollar donations that I measured my success in, most days.
I snuck out of bed and slipped into the booth to upload another brief YouTube video from all the footage I’d gotten from convention on my own phone, and given to me by Shelby and Jackson and other friends who had attended, including Ray and his husband. I taped myself the way I always did, without bothering with my hair and makeup and gave a quick intro to the clip of me and my wings on the convention floor, taking pictures and having fun with the character.
I’d learned that all I had to do was take off the makeup, not bother with a bra, and not wash the smudged mascara from the day before off my face, and people decided I was being “raw” and “honest.” I guess it made sense. Models, even those who had turned their backs on fame and fortune at the top and become professional video game players, were part of the big lies the world told itself. Half my viewers watched me because they thought it was cool that a girl they’d screw could understand what they said if they talked about gaming. The other half watched because I broke the stereotype, and if I could be socially acceptable and a professional gamer, then maybe they weren’t the trolls movies and television made them out to be.
They were right. There was nothing wrong with these guys, aside from a few jerks who were just perverts. Dating my first gamer had brought me to this world. Now, if I was lucky, a gamer would complete the family I was trying to create for myself. I edited my introduction onto the video clip and uploaded it, automatically sending a message through the social media universe for people to watch. It would give the viewers something to watch while I showered, ate, and had a morning coffee with Jackson, once he woke up.
My chest got a little constricted as I hung out in my booth for a little longer to give Jackson time to sleep more before I started making noise around the apartment. I’d been damaged, and thought I was broken when I’d given myself over to the appraisal of the gamer geeks of the world and asked to join their ranks, starting with only three people who decided to watch my stream, and kept coming back to hang out with me.
They’d accepted me and brought their friends to my stream. Now, two years later, I was grossing what I had at the top of my modeling career, and it felt like my job was to hang out with my friends. Added to what had to be the greatest professional success I could have hoped for, the sexiest ma
n to ever click a mouse now slept in my living room, and I could still feel the sweet ache he left behind whenever he was inside me. I glanced over my equipment one last time before shutting off the light. I had come from nothing, and no one. Only I had been responsible for what I had now. I sure as hell didn’t need to be a damned gold digger to survive. I shut the booth up tight to keep a curious Stiles out, and snuck back into the kitchen to make breakfast.
It was a small disappointment that Jackson was already out of bed and in the bathroom when I looked for him, but I used the opportunity to do what he’d been doing for me all weekend. I put the bed away, did a breakneck dash around the room to tidy up and threw away the beer bottles from the night before. I tied back my hair so it wouldn’t look quite as gross and in need of washing as it was, and by the time he had done his business in the bathroom and came walking out with nothing on but a towel around his waist, breakfast was well on its way to being done.
I watched him dress as I cooked on the stovetop in the island, silently praising the tenant before me who had demanded updates and an upgraded kitchen. The way his muscles rippled as he dried off and started to dress, made me wish I’d not bothered with breakfast, and had just been waiting naked for him when he came out. He looked every inch of his six foot, six-inch height when there was nothing but skin to draw the eye up his body. The only part of him that wasn’t tanned a dark, golden brown was what ended up under the speedo he’d worn as a swimmer on his high school and college teams.
“My God, you are an unusual specimen of man-flesh, aren’t you?” I gasped as I realized I was about to burn the bacon and eggs I was cooking. I cursed and transferred the pans to hot pads and quickly shoved bread into the toaster to cook while I plated the rest.
“And a good morning to you too, Hot stuff,” he replied before burying his head in his towel and rubbing it hard. He was still shirtless, and as he shook out his long hair, I chuckled to myself. He might wear boots and know how to rope and ride, but my cowboy looked like a fit, tan surfer with those shoulder length, sun-touched curls. He was the best of both worlds. Loyal, a gentleman, and fiercely independent, but easy-going and hard to anger. More than any other trait, I appreciated his patience.
“My Lord, you are nice to look at naked. Here, let me feed you fried foods and carbs so you’re less attractive to other girls.” He sauntered over and leaned against the counter, rolling his eyes at me before he sat on a barstool and pointed in front of him. I set a plate and utensils in front of him and turned toward the fridge for something to drink, when I heard a moan of carnal pleasure behind me.
“Jesus Christ. Are you a figment of my imagination?” I grinned into the recesses of the fridge as I dug around for the orange juice. “You are the hottest woman I’ve ever seen, naked or otherwise, even without all the makeup and crap women do to themselves. Now I find out you put crack in your food.”
I laughed out loud at the last. “I did not put drugs in your food.”
“Uh, yeah, you had to. I love bacon. I’m a damned bacon aficionado, and I don’t have the words to describe how amazing this fucking bacon is,” he cursed. I took the bacon off my plate and set it on his with a wink, then handed him a glass of juice to wash the whole thing down.
“If you’re wondering, I’m not telling. You’ll just have to stick around to learn my cooking secrets slowly, over the next few decades,” I teased. “I told you I could cook.”
“You’re right, my bad. I’m never taking you out again. From now on, woman, you get to stay in the kitchen, as my slave-chef.”
“Because I’m female?”
“God no. Because you’re a freaking genius in the kitchen. I’d make you my slave no matter what, you being female only means I have the added benefit of bending you over the counter and ravishing you on occasion. I’m thinking of doing it now. Well, you know, after I finish breakfast.” He grinned and I laughed at him, glad to see him in good spirit after the way his night had ended.
“You ready for Stanford?” I asked as I rinsed pans and put them in the dishwasher.
“Not really. It isn’t a priority in my head anymore. I keep thinking about Tucker, and how stressed he must be. That guy has been giving him hell for a couple years now. It isn’t fair that he has to keep putting up with the bullshit. He’s never done anything to anybody, you know?”
I nodded and chewed my lip. I wanted Jackson to be happy. Stanford would give him that. But, I knew his family came first, and if they needed him, he’d give up Stanford and go back. He’d give up California, and me, and never look back.
“Hey, what are you thinking, Gorgeous? Your eyes just went from sunny skies to depths of the ocean in about two seconds.”
“You’re going to give up Stanford and go back to Texas, aren’t you?” I was proud of how even my voice was, considering the tears stinging my eyelids.
“Maybe. If they need me that bad, then maybe Stanford wasn’t meant to be. It all works out in the end.” He looked puzzled, as if my world crashing down around me wasn’t even a parenthesis in his equation.
“Well, okay then. What do you need from me before you go?” Recognition dawned on his face and he slid off the barstool and crossed the distance between us.
“I need you to pack and book plane tickets for us, C.J. I told you I wanted you with me. Would it be so bad to stream for a few days from the most beautiful location in the continental U.S.? How could you think that all they had to do was call and I’d walk away from all the potential we have here?” He kissed me, then flicked me on the nose, making me yelp.
“Abuse!” I choked out in a half-laugh, as the pain caused my unshed tears to fall.
“That’s for thinking I was going to walk out on you. Brat.” I dropped my eyes and let him hold my head against his chest. His heartbeat was steady and strong against my cheek, and his skin was still warm from his shower. I put my arms around his waist and hugged him back, while my mind raced, panicked and nervous. I’d been dating Jackson a week, and now I was going to fly halfway across the country to meet his large, close-knit, protective family. Grandma had always said, “Be careful what you wish for.” I hugged him tighter and prayed silently that I could somehow miraculously change everything about me, and be the kind of girl they’d approve of. Because hey, why wouldn’t now be the one time life threw me an easy underhanded pitch?
32. Jackson
C.J. convinced me before I flew out to make the long drive to the campus, rather than a charter flight. So, while she packed, found flights to Texas for after I got back from my interview, and did a good, long stream. We didn’t want her to lose followers from being gone too long. I hopped in the Jeep and started the four-hour drive up the coast. I was grateful she’d woken up extra early, so I could see her before I left, but I was glad to make the drive in quiet, with the radio off and my phone silenced and in the console. The road was always a good place to think, and I didn’t want a frantic call from one of my brothers, or even a text from C.J., to affect my decision.
Stanford represented everything I’d worked for. A program that had connections in the FBI and the CIA, the opportunity to be renowned, instead of infamous, and if I played my cards right, the chance to do what I did best without ever having to look over my shoulder again.
On the other hand, C.J. had made a good argument for just carving my own path with an innovative technology stream. Aside from live streaming and video clips, I could draw, write articles about what I’d streamed, and maybe even finally draw that comic book I’d dreamed of when I was a kid and that was my imaginary road to fame.
It was a long four hours in the jeep with only my thoughts to keep me company. I didn’t even realize I hadn’t eaten until I stopped for gas. It was late morning, but early for lunch, so I settled for a gas station donut I’d regret later, and finished the last leg of the drive as quickly as possible.
The visitors’ parking lot was packed when I arrived, and I called the Dean of Admissions and left a message with his assistant that I was
cruising the parking lot looking for a space and I’d be in as soon as I could find one. When I found parking, an older man was waiting for me by the tall map of the campus.
“Jackson Hargrave?” he queried, holding out his hand. I nodded and shook it a little more vigorously than I’d intended, and he laughed as he took his hand back. “It’s good to meet you, son. I’ve heard some amazing things about you.”
I flinched inwardly. That was the one thing I had hoped wasn’t going to happen. “Well, I do my best to keep on the front edge of new technology and stay ahead of the cyber-learning curve.”
He clapped me on the back and chuckled. “Ahead of the authorities’ learning curve as well, I hear.”
I nodded my head. “I take security very personally, which is why I don’t leave doors open, once I’m out. I’ve also written multiple safe-door programs to provide security well above and beyond anything Norton or McAfee offer, and gave it away for free to people who were subjected to hacking and theft.”
Dean Michaels looked duly impressed. He steered me toward the Quad. The stale donut in my stomach rebelled, but the rest of me agreed that lunch was a good idea.
The Dean pointed out the different buildings as we passed. It was a beautiful campus, completely different from what I was used to at Texas A&M, but reassuringly familiar. School was a safe place. A place where I didn’t have to feel the pressures of being an adult. If I was a student, and a trust-fund baby to boot, the outside world didn’t matter as much.
At the Quad, he took me into the café, instead of the cafeteria. The menu rivaled any city restaurant, and I ordered a burger in the hopes of overcoming the unease in my stomach with some good, greasy protein. As I politely sipped a California-style abomination they called sweet tea, Dean Michaels gave me the rundown of the program, listing a hundred more selling points than anyone should need to convince them to attend, and told me that if I wanted, I could spend the day following Dean Carpenter of the Computer and Math Sciences Department just to get a feel for what I could achieve at Stanford.