CHAPTER ELEVEN
MASON
My mind is reeling as I lie beside Jeanie, my hand still on the hot skin of her ribcage, below the heaving pillow of her breast.
I’ve never been with a virgin before. The thought feeds something primitive and wild in me.
I’ve done some shitty things, things I wish I could go back and change, but I’m wondering if this tops the list.
You don’t deserve something this pure, this decent and innocent.
Still, I can’t bring myself to regret it. Selfishly, I’ll carry the memory of this with me forever. It wasn’t the kinkiest sex I’ve ever had, but there was no question it was easily the most satisfying, the most thrilling.
So very unlike the casual, mindless pleasure seeking of my past, it felt almost sacred, spiritual even, in a way. Everything about the woman beside me is perfection.
It took everything in me to go slowly. It’s been months, the longest I’ve been sexless since I was sixteen, but I wanted to make it as painless as I could. I’m not sure I succeeded, but she seems to have recovered from the initial pain enough to enjoy it. The way she even took control at the end was just about enough to finish me on its own.
I want to pull her against me and hold her, an entirely new desire, but I remember the condom.
Leaning down, I kiss her shoulder. “I’ll be right back. Do you need anything? Water? Are you hungry?”
“Water would be great,” she says, still breathing hard.
I kiss her again before jumping to my feet. I wash up quickly in the bathroom and walk down the hall to the kitchen to pour her water, wondering what it would be like to have her sleep over, to wake up next to her.
I look quickly in the fridge, checking to see if I have anything to cook for breakfast.
What are you doing? You know you’re just going to fuck this up and she’s going to end up getting hurt. You’re not this kind of guy.
But what if I could be?
You can’t. You’re the one they screw before they meet Mr. Right and that’s how you like it. Let them save their demands and expectations for the next guy and leave you your freedom. You’re not fit for anything more.
I’m not usually this disoriented or unsure after sex. There’s a usual script to this, but I threw that out tonight. It seemed like a great idea, but now I’m wondering what happens next.
She is a virgin… correction, was a virgin. She’s probably expecting something.
I walk back in to find she’s slipped under the sheet, checking her phone.
“Everything okay?” I ask, sitting on the bed next to her, handing her the glass.
She looks up, clicking the phone off and setting it on the night stand.
“Yeah, I was just checking to make sure my uncle Jerry hadn’t called. He doesn’t keep close tabs on me as much these days, but I don’t want him to worry.”
I forgot she lives with her great uncle. What would that be like? To be raised by someone who actually cares enough to pay attention to your comings and goings. My parents only bothered to concern themselves with things that would affect the family reputation or could jeopardize the future they had plotted for me.
She sits up to drink the water. Her hair has long since fallen out of the bun and cascades down her shoulders and back. I drink in the sight of her like this. She’s got a wholesome, raw beauty that leaves me breathless.
Jeanie places the glass on the night stand and leans back, propping herself on one arm. I relax back beside her, angling myself to face her.
“You look nice naked,” she says, with an impish grin.
I stroke her arm, unable to resist feeling her smooth skin. “I could say the same.”
I lean closer and kiss her, savoring the warm intimacy of the moment. Somehow, even though the sex is over, I still want her there, want to bask in the glow emanating from her.
“How are you feeling?” I ask.
Did you really just ask a woman about her feelings? What the hell is happening to you?
She smiles. “A little sore, a little surprised with myself… with you… with everything, I guess.”
“I’m a little surprised, myself, especially considering how we started off.”
She laughs. “I know. You’re not the guy I thought you were at first.”
Or maybe I am.
I clear my throat, feeling like I need to come clean about myself—not everything, but she ought to know I’m not exactly the knight-in-shining-armor type. I have no talent for that.
“Flattered as I am you don’t think I’m the kind of guy who solicits prostitution, you should know… I’m not the kind of guy you deserve, the kind of guy I can’t believe hasn’t swooped in and taken off with you already.”
She looks confused. “I don’t understand. What are you saying?”
“Just that I’m not… good at relationships. I’ve never really been in one. My life before now didn’t leave time for them, and I’m not sure I know how to be in one.”
I don’t want to end this, or have her pull back, but I don’t want her to expect more than I know how to give.
Her face is hard to read in the dark. I’m expecting a tirade. I deserve it. I’m an asshole for taking her virginity then turning around and telling her I don’t know how to be in a relationship.
Instead, I feel Jeanie’s foot sliding on my calf. “To be totally honest, I don’t know that I’m any expert on relationships either. I’ve only had one boyfriend, and as you saw from that first day we met, it didn’t go particularly well. Maybe we both need practice?”
Practice, huh?
The idea of getting her ready for someone else doesn’t sit well with me. I feel a strong possessiveness that’s not at all familiar.
“I just don’t want to hurt you,” I say, meaning it.
“Well, I’m a big girl… Want me to show you?” she says, dipping her head to my stomach and kissing along the lines of my stomach.
Her hair fans across my stomach and the sight of her like that has me straining again. She wants practice and I can certainly provide her plenty of that. At least I can be good for something.
*
There are far worse things to be good for, I’m learning.
Jeanie keeps the shop running smoothly, an unspoken agreement between us to keep things professional at work… mostly, anyway.
Having her around still has me in a near-constant state of arousal, but I’m finding I work with much more precision and efficiency, flying through jobs, when I know I get to practice with Jeanie after work.
Working in such close proximity to her is almost foreplay on its own.
I’m working under the hood of a car and feel her eyes on me. I look up and meet them, daring her to turn away.
“That feeling when we kiss, the way your body moves. No matter how much I get, I’m always craving you.”
The country song plays over the speakers and I suspect it’s not an accident. My body responds. I fight the urge to stride over and take her there, against the counter.
It’s my business, after all, nothing to stop me.
Except the fact you don’t want expectations and having the Reverend or some old busybody catch you, won’t exactly be good for that… or business for that matter.
I settle for stolen moments—coming up behind her while she’s working at the counter and standing just a little too close, breathing in the smell of her. Taking a box from her and letting my hands slide up her arms, savoring the feel of her skin against mine.
The heat builds between us and, when she gets off work at the diner, I wait for her. Hands locked together, we race towards my car behind the shop like outlaws fleeing the scene of the crime, headed towards the spoils of our plunder.
Sometimes we even make it all the way back to my place. Other times, I pull off onto a backroad, park beneath the stars, and test our flexibility in the close quarters of the car.
“I’d like to photograph you,” she says one night, as we’re twisted together in my bed.
“Oh?” I say, surprised.
“Maybe I could make a hot mechanic calendar,” she says, teasingly.
I mimic a pinup pose and she laughs, pretending to snap a photo with an imaginary camera. “Perfect, we can replace the pinups above your bench.”
“Mmm, you’d look sexy as a pinup and a much better replacement for my calendar,” I say, kissing my way down her stomach. “Then again, I’m not sure I want anyone else seeing you like that… or this,” I say, tasting her, caressing her with my tongue.
I’m drunk on watching her face as the range of earnest, unbridled feeling plays across it when she comes for me.
Seeing her back in the shop in the light of day, composed and innocent, is like some kind of erotic torture. All I can think about is getting her back in my hands, under me, over me, around me.
I’m in the garage working. Jeanie has just left and I’m smiling to myself, humming along to the music she left on, when the phone rings.
I walk over to the bench and pull it out. It’s my old phone, but I’m too distracted to pay attention to details like that.
“You’ve got Mason,” I answer, still grinning.
“Mason Beckett?” a woman’s voice asks from the other end.
“Yes, who is this?” I ask, growing nervous.
“Hello, my name is Claire VanMeter.”
VanMeter. The name is familiar.
“I’m sorry, are you a former client?”
“No, I’m Madeline VanMeter’s mother. You attended Abbottsleigh at the same time.”
Shit.
“Yes, that’s right. I do recall your daughter, though we were not directly acquainted,” I tell her honestly.
“So, you’re familiar with what happened at the Omega Pi Spring Mixer? I heard you may be able to help me. I’m trying to get information about that night.”
A few minutes later, I hang up the phone, feeling shaky and wondering if this is Buddy’s way of sending me a message. He doesn’t seem the type to sacrifice himself to get a dig in at someone else, but I don’t know him now… Maybe I never did.
If this is his way of getting under my skin, it’s proving effective.
I go to the diner to eat, troubled and looking to escape the demons chasing me. Jeanie is throwing me looks, leaning over me as she refills my cup.
She whispers as she passes by. “I’m getting off early tonight, which should leave us plenty of time to practice… a few times.”
She’s a quick learner. Her tastes have turned out to be a touch rougher than I would have guessed. I’m loving acting as her erotic guide of sorts. There is so much more I want to explore with her.
But the grinning idiot who answered that phone earlier, who thought he had finally gotten a shot at a different kind of life, is gone.
I watch her working as this sinking feeling in my stomach registers, and I realize this thing with Jeanie really has no future, never really did. I’ll let it run its course, but I can already see the end from here.
I am never going to escape my past; this weight would hang over me for the rest of my life. Fighting it was useless. The amends I never made have caught up to me. Not even a wholesome, perfect girl like Jeanie could fix all the damaged parts of my soul.
I need to call Buddy, take the job, and stop deluding myself I had ever really broken free. All the blackest marks on my soul can be traced back to him. Fitting then, that he’d be the one to drag me back to hell with him.
I start calculating what I need to do to get Jerry’s car fixed before I leave. It’s the least I can do, but it’s not even a drop in the bucket of what I wish I could do.