What Happens at Con Read online

  “Nah. Found somebody even better,” Dennis said easily. “Tits the size of grapefruit, I swear to God, and an ass you could bounce a quarter off.”

  Fezza let out a low whistle, and even Jose looked impressed.

  “And you hit it?” Fezza asked, sounding skeptical.

  “Hell yeah, I did,” Dennis boasted… just before he blew Fezza away. “Booyah!”

  “God damn it,” Fezza said, relinquishing the controller. “Next time. Give me some practice, and…”

  “Some of us are just naturally gifted,” Dennis said, laughing. “How about you, Abraham? I could use a challenge.”

  Abraham finished off his lunch, throwing the trash away. He shrugged, then picked up the controller.

  “So, you gonna see her again?” Jose asked Dennis, surprising Abraham.

  “Who?” Dennis asked, as Abraham chose his character and picked his characteristics. “Oh, you mean Big Tits?”

  “Nice,” Abraham murmured, shaking his head. He had his moments, but if his sisters ever heard him refer to a girl as Big Tits, they would probably punt him in the nutsack. God knows what Ani would do in response.

  Dennis seemed to take it as encouragement.

  “Nah, I’m not going to see her again. We had a great time, but she got needy, you know? The next morning.” Dennis shook his head. “I don’t need that. Don’t want it.”

  “Why not?” Jose asked.

  Dennis was thrown enough to look away from the game. “Seriously? I’m twenty-five. I’m in the prime of my sexual life. There are a lot of women out there, and I am not ready to give all that up just for one. Besides… I have ADHD. It’s like watching the same movie. I hate watching the same movie over again.”

  “Not even Star Wars?” Fezza sounded scandalized.

  “How about you?” Dennis glanced over at Abraham. “Saw you wandering off with some chick in a mask…”

  Abraham felt his muscles tighten, his whole body buzzing with tension — and anger.

  “Did you hit that…”

  “Watch it.”

  The bite in his words was like the crack of a whip. All the guys fell silent for a second, watching him warily.

  He sighed. He didn’t mean to show his hand. And what were they gonna think? If they knew that he was bringing food to this girl who barely gave him the time of day, they’d call him a pussy. And they’d be absolutely right, he thought with a grimace.

  “If you’re asking if I fucked her, yeah, I did.”

  Dennis let out a low whistle. “She looked hot as fuck,” he said with admiration.

  Abraham tamped down on the desire to ditch the game and just beat the shit out of Dennis IRL. “She was.” Is, he thought. Still is.

  “But you’re not thinking of hitting… I mean,” he quickly amended, “you’re not going to go for a repeat there, right?”

  “I am,” Abraham heard himself say.

  “Really? Why?” Dennis sounded genuinely shocked.

  “Because she’s fucking amazing, that’s why.”

  Again, quiet. They never really talked about feelings, or relationships. The fact that they’d talked about this was the equivalent of a hair-braiding slumber party. Dennis seemed baffled.

  “Did she do tricks? She was into the kink, huh?” Dennis continued.

  Abraham sighed. He’d moved past anger. Dennis was young, as he’d once been — and hopefully dumber than he’d been, although he doubted it. “I’m not giving you damned details, man. What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “I’m just curious,” Dennis said plaintively. “I mean, I’ve been with women, and I enjoy them, but I have never been with a woman who makes me think, damn, I have to get me some more of that.”

  “Maybe because you’re thinking of them as ‘that,’“ Jose said sourly.

  “This coming from you, Jose?” Fezza said with a laugh of disbelief. “Mr. Tinder, King of the Horndogs?”

  “I shut down my Tinder account,” Jose said carefully.

  “Pussy-whipped!” Dennis crowed.

  “Right.” Abraham had had enough. He dropped himself into game mode, his vision focusing on the screen, ignoring the prattling of the guys. He used Dennis’s tactics against him, moving through the virtual jungle until he drew Dennis out. Then he slaughtered him in a rain of electronic bullets.

  “Damn it!” Dennis said sharply.

  “Never underestimate the big dog,” Abraham said, putting down the controller. “Lunch break’s over. Time to get some work done.”

  Fezza and Jose grumbled good naturedly. Dennis seemed a little pouty after losing the game. He glanced at Abraham. “Guess you’ve got some skills after all these years,” he said. “Thinking of settling down, too?”

  Abraham froze.

  She’s never gonna settle for a guy like you.

  Then again, maybe that was exactly what she wanted. She said she didn’t want a relationship, but she also said that the drive for getting her doctorate was making her loopy, not thinking straight.

  Maybe she was waiting for him to man up, take the reins, and get them into a relationship.

  It was decided. He was tired of being the nice guy. Nice guys got nowhere. He was going to go to see her — and then they were going to have some off-the-charts sex, settle on being some sort of couple, and he’d bet that they’d both feel a hell of a lot better.

  Ani sat in Dr. Peterson’s TA office, finishing up the rest of her grading. Or, she thought resentfully, finishing up the rest of Jeffrey’s grading. Ever since Dr. Peterson told Jeffrey that she was going to be a TA also, he’d been shoving more and more work on her. Between grading and the menial shit work they’d been shoving on her at the lab, she felt like she could barely keep her head above water. It would be worth it, she thought. She just needed to get past this thesis proposal presentation, and then she’d at least feel a little less stressed. She’d still be struggling with shit work until Delilah was back in action — and she prayed that would be soon, for a number of reasons — but it wouldn’t be as stressful. Her experiments could fail, her research could drag on for years, she could get sidetracked or set back any of a million ways, but if she could just get past her thesis defense, odds were good she’d make it and get her doctorate. At least, she had to hope so.

  She had her fingers crossed for this one. She had her board together. She knew her stuff. It was just a matter of getting the presentation together, keeping it together, and proving it.

  She was just about finished with grading a number of basic molecular cell biology 101 stuff when there was a knock on the door. Before she could answer, the door swung open, revealing a young man with sandy hair and a T-shirt, and a girl with glossy brown hair and a baby-doll dress.

  “Are you Dr. Peterson’s TA?”

  “Um… sort of,” she said. “I think you’re probably looking for Jeffrey…”

  “No,” the girl said, her voice curt. “I got a bad grade, and when I asked the professor, Dr. Peterson, he said there was a new grader, and there was a good chance that there were mistakes. He said we were to come here to look at regrading.”

  “Yeah,” the boy said, echoing the more forceful girl. “I mean, I think I could do better. And a bunch of us heard him — we can ask for a regrade.”

  Ani felt her heart sink. She was going to get out of here… damn it, it sounded like more people were coming. “You all want these regraded?” she asked, feeling dread envelope her.

  “Yes,” the girl said. “When will we see the results?”

  Ani bit her lip, grimacing. Then she frowned.

  “How do you know I won’t grade it harder?”

  The boy looked shocked, then clutched his paper harder. The girl just looked pissed.

  “That wouldn’t be fair!”

  “It’s MCB. It’s either right or it isn’t,” Ani said, rolling her eyes, and the boy relaxed. “If you really want me to, I’ll go over them again, but I promise you, the answers won’t change. Although — why don’t you just have Jeffrey
regrade them for you? He’s your regular TA. That’s his job, isn’t it?”

  The girl shrugged. “You’re the grader,” she said, then dropped her paper on Ani’s small, clean desk. Within minutes, a small herd of students had tromped in, depositing their papers on the previously clear surface.

  What the actual fuck, she thought, as her hopes for getting off early faded, getting work done on her presentation, and maybe — just maybe — cleaning up a little. She was hardly OCD by any means, but the state of her apartment was starting to get depressing, and she had enough to be depressed about as it was.

  Jeffrey strolled in. “Lotta stuff there,” he said.

  “Please tell me you don’t have more things to dump on me, Jeffrey,” she said, allowing some bite to come through in her words. “I have a ton to do on my presentation.”

  Jeffrey stiffened. “You unhappy working with Dr. Peterson? Being his TA? Because I guess you don’t have to be…”

  She realized she’d have to watch her words very carefully. She could feel it — a trap, another fucking obstacle. “I just need time,” she said, keeping her tone modulated. It wouldn’t do to be branded the “hysterical woman” after all.

  And didn’t it suck that she had to consider that, on top of everything else?

  Jeffrey shrugged. “I don’t have anything else to give you, but we’re gonna have exams soon,” he said. “Like, in two weeks.”

  That meant just before her presentation.

  “Oh, and Dr. Peterson wanted me to tell you that the grinder is dirty, as is the fecal sample blender,” he said, with something like smugness. “So, if you have time in your busy schedule, you’ll need to get that done.”

  Ani stared at Jeffrey’s smirk until he shut the door. Then the pen that she held in her hand snapped, spilling red ink over her.

  “God damn it,” she yelled, quickly wiping off what she could and going down the hall to wash. She looked at herself in the mirror. She wasn’t wearing makeup, and she looked exhausted. There was red all over her hands, and a bit on her neck, her cheek, her shirt.

  Today sucked, she thought, as she went back to the office. She knew what was happening. Dr. Peterson was deliberately sabotaging her. He didn’t believe women belonged in the lab, probably thought they were distracting or unqualified to do serious research. So, he was trying to guarantee the F… prevent her from having the time to do the presentation justice, and then he’d scrub her out.

  She felt exhaustion creep up on her, and tears stung at her eyes. No. She wasn’t going to let some sexist old fucker stop her from achieving her dream. She could work harder than he’d ever imagined. And he’d never know what hit him…

  But God, I’m tired, she thought.

  Her phone buzzed, and she checked it, wondering if it were Tessa. Instead, it was Abraham.

  Abraham: Hey. YT?

  She thought about ignoring it, since Abraham made her feel even more confused about her life. But she found herself typing back.

  Ani: Yeah. What’s up?

  Abraham: Thought I’d bring you dinner. See you tonight.

  Ani sighed. It sounded good, but it wouldn’t do. She was starting to get addicted to him stopping by… not because he was eye candy, although he was. But because he was supportive, or seemed to be. Sure, it was probably because he wanted to get into her pants…

  Or get into a relationship with her, for whatever reason.

  What the hell, she thought. Maybe him getting into her pants wouldn’t be a bad thing. Maybe that was the easiest way to keep it purely physical and not emotionally complicated. It’d be… a cork popping, just like Tessa had once said. She just needed a pressure release. She hated feeling so helpless, hated feeling like she was going to cry. She needed to get her groove back.

  Ani: Sure. Why don’t you bring it by my place tonight? I’m hungry for whatever you’re bringing.

  If that wasn’t an invitation, she didn’t know what was. And if she needed to… well, she could spell it out more clearly that night.

  Tonight was the night. He’d talked about waiting, but what the hell for? Ani was inviting him over, and it was clear from her text that she was in the mood. He hated to admit it, but maybe Dennis was right: he just needed to man up and get the job done.

  Not that Ani was work of any sort. She was one of the least dramatic women he knew. Well, the rest of the bookstore crew, as well. He liked Kyla, and Tessa was quickly becoming one of his best friends. But Ani was special.

  Stop that. Get out of your head.

  The bottom line was, if he was going to have a relationship with Ani, and he was sure that was what he wanted, then he needed to make a stronger move. Their sex was off the charts, even she couldn’t deny that. So he’d just seduce the hell out of her, and then they’d go from there.

  He headed over to Ani’s with determination. He felt his stomach knot slightly with tension. He wasn’t nervous. It just reminded him of how he felt before game time — a mix of adrenaline and excitement. He didn’t know how else to put it.

  It was game time, and he was a go.

  He knocked on her door, and she opened it. He felt his tongue thicken in his mouth.

  “Hey,” he said, taking her in. Her black hair was glossy and still damp from a shower, looking like an inky river with the slight waves that curled through it. She was wearing a tank top and a pair of shorty pajamas.

  “Come in,” she said, gesturing to him, all but grabbing him by the shirt and hauling him inside. “Let’s do this.”

  “What do…”

  Before he could say another word, she was on him, kissing him frantically. Their teeth clinked softly, and he couldn’t help himself, he laughed. “Eager, huh?” he said.

  She was five foot ten, easily — not exactly tiny. But he was six foot three, and built like a boulder where she was built like a sapling. She tangled herself around him like a vine, her arms curving around the back of his throat, giving her leverage. She leaped a little, wrapping her legs around his waist. He felt his body spring to attention.

  “Bedroom?” he said. He’d meant to make things last a little longer, but if she was all for it, he was going to go with the flow. They could do slow and sexy the next round, he thought. It had been weeks since he’d been inside this woman, and damn it, he wanted to feel that incredible sensation again.

  She nodded toward a door, and he opened it. There was laundry on the floor, he noticed, and the bed was unmade. There were books and papers on the bed, as well. “Are any of those important?”

  “Oh, shit.” She disengaged from him, quickly gathering up the papers and stuff. Then she looked around and saw that there wasn’t much empty floor. An equally crowded chair, presumably with clean clothes, was mounded nearby. “Give me a sec.”

  “No problem,” he said. He watched as she walked out to the living room. There was a small office desk against one wall. The kitchen table was mounded high with papers and textbooks. The walls had giant Post-it Notes and a whiteboard. The desk was littered with notebooks. There were dishes piled in the sink, he noticed, and the trash overflowed with takeout boxes. He remembered this from last time, the week or two ago when she’d said she wanted a wife.

  When he turned to her, her bronze cheeks were a deep, dusky red with embarrassment. “I’ve been too busy to clean,” she said, and he could hear the self-consciousness in every syllable. “I don’t normally live like a slob.”

  “I wasn’t judging you,” he said, and meant it. “For God’s sake, I hang out with Fezza, and he’s almost set his place on fire. Twice. You cannot possibly be worse.”

  She smiled softly. “Well, as long as the bar’s set low,” she joked, then tugged him by the hand and crawled up on the bed. He stroked her ass, then followed the graceful curve of her hip and her back. She spread herself out on the bedding, arching like a cat, presenting her breasts for him like a buffet.

  “Oh, yes,” he breathed, leaning down and sucking first one, then the other through the thin T-shirt material.
She wasn’t wearing a bra! Hallelujah, he thought, sucking harder.

  She gasped, writhing against him, her thighs rubbing against him. His cock went hard in a rush. He’d get her ready for him with an appetizer, he thought, then really rock her world, and his own, when they got to the main course.

  He thought about the “feast” they’d had at the Erotic City convention. Ain’t got nothing on us, he thought with a grin, as he tugged her pajama shorts off. No underwear under there, either, he noted with gratitude. She’d been prepared. Hell, yes, she wanted this.

  He wanted this, too.

  He tugged his shirt off, then pulled her tank top off, leaving her nude on the bed, looking like a mahogany sculpture. She was unspeakably beautiful, unconsciously graceful. He went back to how he’d first felt about her, at the con. She was like a goddess.

  My goddess. He smiled hungrily.

  Then he went back to touching her, his mouth devouring every inch of her, starting with her mouth. They exchanged carnivorous kisses, vicious in their intensity, until they pulled apart to breathe. He moved from there to the juncture of her throat and her collarbone, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. Her gasp and the way she wove her fingers into his hair told him she liked that maneuver. He stroked the mark with his tongue before moving lower, tracing a pattern to her still pebbled nipples, taking her perfectly curved breasts into his mouth one at a time.

  He headed lower, dipping into her belly button, then parting her legs and stroking her slippery seam. She gasped again, then let out soft, panting breaths as her hips levered up to meet him. He obliged her, leaning down and licking her soft folds. She jerked against him, but he held her hips taut while he went to town, savoring the tangy taste of her, reveling in the feel of her hard clit under its fleshy hood.

  She was gasping hard now, wriggling against him, her thighs gripping him on either side of his face, and he kept delving, adding his fingers to press inside her wetness. He reached up, searching for her spot, and loved the sound she made when he found it.