What Happens at Con Page 7

  “No. She likes you now,” Ani said.

  “So, you’re the only one who’s still pissed.” He grunted. “And Adam, kind of.”

  “I think she let you off the hook easy.” Ani put the take out container on a nearby counter. “Tessa’s more forgiving than I am.”

  He laughed, a rueful, short bark. “I like that you’re protective,” he said. “I am, too. And loyal, to friends.” He glanced at her, looking her up and down, and she swore it was like her nerve endings started firing. His gaze was as effective as a physical touch.

  He didn’t move closer, but his eyes were hypnotic. “I’ll give you all the space you need,” he said, that growly rough voice of his brushing over her. “But unless you tell me, point-blank, that you don’t want me to ever talk to you again, I’m going to keep holding out hope, darlin’. Because I have never been with anybody like you in my life.”

  She felt it like a jolt.

  “So, what’ll it be? Should I go now?”

  She felt light-headed. She didn’t realize she’d made a step forward until she was pressing him against a counter.

  It was the pressure, she thought. It was the damned stress. That on top of a secret six orgasms from a man who made her head spin.

  She kissed him.

  It was purely experimental, she thought. The con had been special. She’d felt like a goddess — she’d dressed like one, she’d been in the persona of one. And he’d been a gladiator god. The two of them together had been supernatural.

  Now, in her leggings and a dirty sweatshirt on her home turf in the lab, there was no way it could be as sexy, even if he did still look like a Viking god in a T-shirt and some jeans.

  But as soon as her lips touched his, there was an explosion of sensation. It was just like that night, she thought.

  No. It was even more so.

  He gently wove his fingers through her hair, holding her ponytail in place as he moved her head, maneuvering it until he got the right angles for his roving mouth. His tongue swept forward, tasting her, teasing her, before shifting gears and devouring her.

  She whimpered against his mouth. She didn’t care who came in in that moment — her fellow assistants, Dr. Peterson, hell, even her parents. She wanted him.

  “God, what is it about you?” he breathed against her mouth, his breathing ragged and gasping. He pressed hot, rough kisses against the column of her neck, spinning her until she was against the counter. Even though she was tall, at five ten, he still towered over her. She gripped his shoulders, first one leg and then the other wrapping around his waist.

  His growl was lower and even more powerful. She felt the hard length of him pressing right where she needed him.

  What happens in the lab stays in the lab, she thought. But no. What was she planning on doing?

  “I can’t have sex with you here,” she said, her own voice breathless.

  “Then where can we?”

  She thought about it. This was stupid. This was really, really stupid.

  “My apartment. After the experiment’s over and I get some sleep,” she said, wondering if it was mental exhaustion that was allowing her to make this rash decision.

  “Where do you live, baby?” he asked.

  She rattled off her address, then whimpered, grinding against him. “I wish I could do it now,” she said.

  He sighed roughly. “Me, too,” he said. “But I think we might be able to take care of you a little.”

  Before she could ask how, he started rocking into her, the rough fly of his jeans and the hard length of his cock behind it rubbing her right where she needed it. She clenched her thighs around him, locking her heels behind his waist, pulling him tighter.

  “Oh… right there,” she murmured, her hips tilting her body, moving more quickly. She could feel it, her body clenching, building toward a climax.

  “Come on, baby,” he said, nuzzling the juncture of her neck and shoulder. He bit her, just rough enough.

  She bit him back to hide her own shriek of pleasure. Her hips shifted hard. She heard the tinkle of broken glass.

  When she came back to herself, she looked over. “What the hell was that?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “Don’t really care, either.”

  She glanced over… then swore.

  “The pipettes.” She’d just cleaned a bunch of the glass pipettes… something Dr. Peterson had insisted on. “Shit! Shit, shit, shit!”

  “Oooh,” Abraham said. “Shit. I’ll help you clean it up.”

  “Dr. Peterson is going to be pissed.”

  “It was an accident.”

  “He’s not going to give a shit.” She rubbed her face. This was because she’d lost focus, she knew. Fuck.

  “You need to go. Now,” she said.

  “So that’s it?” he said with an indulgent smile. “Hit it and quit it?”

  “I don’t know what it is about you that makes my brain drip out my ears, but I swear, I’m not going to fuck up my degree because I found a guy with a magic cock. You got it?”

  He blinked. “What, you’re serious?”

  “Out!” she said, pointing at the door.

  He grabbed his takeout box, then glared at her. “We’re going to talk about this,” he said, his voice tight.

  “Just go,” she responded. “I should’ve known better.”

  He left, and she cleaned up, feeling like shit. Dr. Peterson was going to be a beast about this. The aftershocks of her orgasm only made it worse, a reminder of what she was using to probably fuck up the most important thing in her life.

  The following Friday night, Abraham was at his parents’ house in Enumclaw, as he’d promised — or maybe as he’d been coerced. It was his nephew’s birthday, and he didn’t want to be that crappy uncle who just sent some cash in a card. He liked his nieces and nephews. He generally liked his family. His father had used his Marine pension and the pension that he’d gained after years of being a mechanic and engineer at Aircraft Dynamics, and now they lived on a small piece of farmland. His mother had a flock of a few geese, half a dozen chickens, and a demonic goat named Chester. Three of his five sisters were there, with their husbands. Two of his sisters were with his mother in the kitchen, cooking and otherwise chattering away. His father, his third sister, and all of the husbands were sitting in the living room, watching the local high school football team on Root Sports on TV.

  “They need better defense,” his father said, nodding at the screen. “Haven’t had a good linebacker since you were at the high school, Abe, I swear to God.”

  Abraham nodded diffidently, drinking his soda. His father noticed, then frowned.

  “There’s beer in the fridge.”

  “Taking it easy,” Abraham responded, then related his tale of the previous week’s hangover, leaving out the part about propositioning Ani and the result of the “bet” while he’d played video games stupid-drunk. His father laughed uproariously, and the husbands nudged each other. Even his sister grinned.

  His nephews came over to him, eyes bright. “Uncle Abe, you got any new games for us?” Carson, the younger of the two brothers, asked.

  Abraham rubbed at his beard. “Maybe.”

  Terrence nudged Carson. “Told you.”

  Abraham couldn’t hold out. “Look in my messenger bag. There should be a blue sleeve that has the demo for Cyberdinos.”

  “That sounds like baby stuff,” Carson said. At eleven, he wanted to be as far from baby stuff as possible.

  “Trust me, it kicks ass.”

  At thirteen, birthday boy Terence knew him well enough to trust him. The two boys sprinted off, each fighting to be first down the stairs.

  “Video games,” his father said, a scowl settling in on his face. “Jesus. That’s a job? I was tooling aircraft parts when I was your age.”

  Abraham fell silent.

  In the meantime, Jeannette wandered over to him, holding her hands high above her head. “Up,” she said plaintively.

  Abraham swung h
er up, enjoying her giggle, then rested her on his hip. He winced as she tugged at his beard. “You’re prickly,” she said, her tone and eyes serious. “Like our dog, Rusty.”

  He barked at her, then pretended to bite at her shoulders. She let out a scream of laughter. “Stop it, Uncle Abe!”

  He stopped immediately, smiling at her. Over her shoulder, he saw his father open the first beer. “Let’s go see what your grandma’s cookin’, huh?” he said, carrying her with him.

  “There you are, Abe,” his own mother said. She looked content, her smile gentle, her golden-brown hair tied back with a hairband so it wouldn’t get in the way of her cooking. “I’ve got Salisbury steaks and mashed potatoes, and those green beans you like.”

  Jeannette still in his arms, he leaned over and kissed his mom’s cheek. “You spoil me, Ma.”

  “God knows you don’t make it home often enough, so why shouldn’t I?” she said. “You got a girl yet?”

  “And it starts,” his sister Bette, mother of the boys, said with a laugh.

  “I’m only thirty,” he said. “I’ve got time.”

  His mother scoffed. “All men think that.”

  “Technically, he’s right,” his other sister Mona said as she took Jeannette from him. “Men can have kids much longer than women. Jeannette, honey, what did you get into? Did you find candy downstairs?” Immediately she whisked the kid away, already doing the licked-finger wipe-and-dab at Jeannette’s face. It was funny to see his kid sister acting like such a mom.

  “I’m not saying are you getting married. But you haven’t even brought anybody by,” his mother complained.

  And this would be why he didn’t visit that often, Abraham thought ruefully. But he held his tongue.

  “Anyway, help put stuff on the table, will you?” she said, and he knew she’d be bringing it up again then. Still, he did as he was told. Bette called for the boys, who of course moaned and groaned before getting their butts up the stairs and setting the long farm table in the dining room. He helped his mother and sisters set the food out on hot pads, and the husbands took their places at various seats, discussing the prospects for the high school teams. His father sat at the head of the table, as he always had.

  With a minimum of chaos, they passed around dishes, spooning vegetables or meat or gravy onto plates. “This smells delicious, Mom,” Abraham said.

  “Are you eating well enough?” His mother pushed a basket of oven-warmed rolls at him. “I’m always afraid you’re eating nothing but cookies and mac’n’cheese when you’re not here.”

  “You know I can’t do without protein,” he said, shaking his head and laughing. “I don’t cook like you, but who does?”

  “He’s right,” Bette’s husband said, causing Bette to swat at him with one hand. “Hey! You agree with me.”

  “He’s not wrong,” Bette said.

  “Besides, after the MREs I ate in Iraq, I figure mac’n’cheese would be a step up,” Abraham admitted. “I eat okay. Probably eat out too often, but…”

  “Why didn’t you reenlist, anyway?” his father asked. “A military career would’ve provided for you long term.”

  The table went quiet. Only Jeannette started babbling. Mona broke up a dinner roll for her, buttering it.

  “I told you, I’d spent enough time in the sand,” Abraham said, keeping his voice steady. He loved his dad. They didn’t always have this conversation, and he wasn’t quite sure what triggered it tonight. He glanced at his mother, who looked both sorrowful and wary as she shrugged.

  “Making games. A grown damned man.” His father shook his head. “I just wonder what the hell you’re thinking sometimes.”

  Abraham made a fist, but it was beneath the table. He took a few deep breaths, wondering if he should get up and grab a beer of his own now.

  “Video games make more money than movies anymore, Dad,” his sister Bette said. Bette was the peacemaker, taking after his mother. “It’s a lucrative field. If either of the boys decide to go to college to become programmers, that’s—”

  “It’s no real way to make a living,” he yelled, and they all jolted. Jeannette started to cry.

  “Jesus, Dad,” Mona said, narrowing her eyes at him and picking Jeannette up. “Could you not?”

  “You watch your tone, young lady,” he said, but he was still glaring at Abraham.

  “No, you watch your tone around my kid,” Mona said, stepping closer to him. Mona was the baby, his little princess — and also the one who was most like him. She could get away with what the rest of them couldn’t.

  Her father stared at her for a second, then held out his hands. “Hand her over, would ya?”

  Abraham froze. He could see Mona’s husband, Ty, starting to get up, his eyes wide, his jaw clenched. Mona shook her head almost imperceptibly.

  His father took Jeannette. “Now, now, hush. Grandpa just yells sometimes. You know, you yell sometimes, too. Woke me and your grandma up all the time. For a little thing, you sure can holler!” He hummed a little, then spooned a buttery bite of mashed potatoes, holding it out for her. “Want some?”

  Jeannette eyed him warily, then nodded and took the spoon in her mouth.

  It was like the room breathed a collective sigh of relief. The rest of the dinner went without incident, largely. Abraham helped clean up, and his mother brought out ice cream and a family recipe chocolate pie. Afterward, his father got into a heated political debate with Mona while Jeannette fell asleep. The boys were still downstairs, playing video games.

  Abraham grabbed his messenger bag. “Gotta go,” he said, distributing hugs all around. “Long drive.”

  “You could always crash here,” his father said, even though his tone was still surly. “You know we’ve got an extra room.”

  “Messed up my back on Adam’s sofa,” Abraham said easily, avoiding his father’s eyes. “But I’ll probably be back before August, to help you with the woodshed before leaves start falling. Okay?”

  After giving hugs and goodbyes all around, he went outside.

  “Abraham, wait.”

  He turned, seeing his mother on the porch. “Ma, go back inside. The mosquitos are nuts tonight. You’ll get eaten alive.”

  She shook her head. “He didn’t mean it.”

  Abraham clenched his jaw. “He never does.”

  “He’s just unhappy. He wants to make sure you’re settled, you know?” She smiled weakly. “Maybe you can bring a girl by.”

  Hell, I want that, too! But the thought of bringing home a girl that his father wouldn’t outright hate… How would that work?

  “Yeah, well, maybe he can just…” Abraham stopped, let out another breath. “I’ll see. Okay?”

  “Okay,” she said. “Love you.”

  “Love you, too,” he said, hugging her. Then he got in his car.

  He felt like a raw nerve all the way home. He knew he could let out some of his anger online, playing Call of Duty or something. But what did he do about… whatever emotion it was that made him feel like shit because his dad thought he had a pussy job and should’ve stayed in the army? When his mom’s constant reminders just put salt in the wound of how lonely he was suddenly realizing he was?

  He didn’t know what to do. At least, not until a vision of Ani flashed in his mind, and he had an overwhelming desire to see her.

  It wasn’t just the sex, he thought. Not that he’d say no to sex — he wasn’t stupid or insane or dead, and he’d probably need to be all three to turn down sex with Ani. But he just wanted to be with her. Even when she was prodding him, challenging him, he felt… well, he couldn’t describe how he felt. It wasn’t contentment, because they weren’t at that stage. But he felt less alone.

  Maybe that was all he could ask for.

  He still remembered her address, he realized. Pulling over, he popped it into his phone’s GPS. She might chase after him with a broom, or throw glassware at him, he realized. But the least he could do was try.

  Chapter 5

 
; It was nine thirty at night, and Ani was sluggishly eating some Thai food at her coffee table, watching reruns of…. something. Law & Order, she thought. She wasn’t paying attention.

  Her kitchen table was covered with all the papers she needed to grade. Golden Boy Jeffrey had dumped them on her after she’d had a blow-out with Dr. Peterson after what she was now calling PipetteGate. She’d known he wouldn’t be happy, and he’d probably blow it out of proportion. Apparently, she’d underestimated his response, which she hadn’t known was possible.

  “You broke an entire box of pipettes! What were you thinking? How could you be so clumsy?” he’d railed, as if she’d somehow killed a small child in the process.

  “It was an accident…”

  “It’s coming out of your stipend,” he said. “The lab is not made of money, you know.”

  Yes, Dad. She bit her lip. She was well aware that, despite its great reputation, the lab was not well funded. Or so they always claimed when the researchers complained about things like the autoclave or the centrifuge breaking down in the middle of experiments.

  “I’m very sorry,” she’d said instead. “It won’t happen again.”

  “You’re damned right there,” he had said darkly. “I’m going to need you to show me that you’re not going to be clumsy again.”

  And what was his proof?

  Today, she’d spent the better part of the day doing all the clearing, cleaning, muck work that only assistants who were being given the “Cinderella” treatment received. She had to clean out the pump oil and clear out the autoclave, again. She had to dump all the pee samples that were outdated. She had to clean the “poopshake blender,” the blender that processed fecal samples.

  By the time she got home, she felt sick to her stomach and she’d already showered twice and washed her hands raw.

  Now, she was eating, and wishing she could sleep, but there were tons of papers to handle. Not to mention work that she needed to do on her thesis proposal defense.

  A small — okay, not so small — part of her wondered if this was Dr. Peterson’s way of hazing her. He hadn’t said anything outrageously or actionably shitty, but he’d thrown lots of work her way. She knew that Linda was getting ground down, as well.