Chapter 3
writhe beneath me
Lorien
The phone ringing startles me, such was the level of my concentration. I’m this close. So freaking close. If I think on it long enough, I know I’ll have it.
I can practically taste it.
I bobble the phone and nearly lose it among the equipment, gauges, and solutions that surround me. Multiple millions of dollars in equipment could be undone by a spam call.
…Or my brother.
“Hey, Strider. How’s my favorite brother?”
“I’m your only brother, baby sister. And I’m good. Same old, same old.”
Same old, same old isn’t good. But it will be. It can be. I just need more time.
“Glad to hear it. How’s the family?”
“Good. Listen—” The pause says too much. It says everything actually. “It’s my birthday next month and Mom’s throwing a shindig. I’d love it if you could come. The big four-oh, you know.”
He wasn’t expected to make it to forty. It’s a milestone we only dreamed of. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“I’ll send you the details. Now, how’s the new place?”
How do I explain the last week and a half? “It’s been… chaotic.” That’s true at least. “Moving sucks, and I hope I never have to do it again.” And that next time, my neighbor isn’t a grumpy, cheating asshole who’s too hot for his own good.
“Next time you’ll be a rich, world-famous scientist and people can move you. You can go on vacation and come back to everything being in order.”
“I like the way you think.”
Lines and lines of code scroll across my screen.
Genomic sequences that reveal countless data sets, and more importantly, how those react to our most recent formulation.
My mind follows all the pathways at once.
At least it tries to. Each one of these needs to be studied and researched.
Every one provides a way to cure so many illnesses, heal so many families.
Families like mine.
Illnesses like my brother’s.
He’s still talking. I wish I knew what he was saying, but the code… The code is telling me a story. It’s writing a symphony I can’t wait to conduct.
“Lorien? Earth to Lorien… Did you hear me?”
“Honestly, no. I’m on the verge of a huge breakthrough.” My voice holds awe I don’t mean for it to.
“Of course you are. You’ll get a Nobel. I know it. But Lo?” His tone is imploring. “It’s nearly nine here. You’ve been doing your thing for at least twelve hours. Even your brain needs a break to be at full strength.”
Pulling my phone from my ear, I look at the screen. It’s ten ’til eight. I’ve been at it for hours. And this data is too good to look at through muddy lenses.
“Good call. How do you always know?”
“I just do. Take care of yourself, Lo. It’s hard being so far away and unable to protect you. Even if it’s from yourself.”
“I’ve been gone for a decade, Strider. And you were gone long before that.”
“Not that gone. And not this far.”
“Love you, big brother. See you in a few weeks, okay?” I’m willing him to promise me. Somehow forty feels like the other side of a lethal journey, and I need the assurance.
“You know it. Love you too. Now, go home. Have a glass of wine. Watch some TV. Do normal girl shit.”
Yeah, right. “Whatever you say. Goodnight.”
“’Night.” He disconnects as I stare at the screen.
Normal girl shit? What is that? It doesn’t matter. I upload the data into our data vault, back it up to the cloud, and add a thumb drive I’ll lock in my desk for good measure. Medicine has waited a century for this kind of information. I’m not leaving it in one place.
Closing down procedures, locking up my lab, exiting the secure building, not to mention the thirty-minute commute means it’s after nine when I get home. Wine is out, and so is my typical female empowerment mood music since my neighbor’s lights are on.
Instead, I make a protein shake, since it’s too late to eat, and draw a bath. Cold, chalky protein with spinach is nowhere near as good as the lushness of good grapes, but the hot water and warm vanilla amber bubbles filling my senses will certainly do.
Yeah, wine would’ve been so much better. I plug my nose and drain the dregs of my smoothie. It’s wretched, but it’s nutritious and seeing as how I had a granola bar for lunch, I needed something with vitamins or minerals or whatever.
My mother would fuss. My father would worry. Strider would lecture. Sam— Well, she would smoke a joint and say I only get one life and whether that’s wine or a smoothie, so long as I enjoy it, that’s enough.
How my parents ended up with three polar opposites—is that a thing?—I have no idea. How they managed to raise us and support us with such vastly different interests and aptitudes is another.
My water has gone lukewarm. My mind has not calmed. I’m clean and antsy. Drying off, I slather shea butter into my skin. This dry weather is not what I’m used to. Winters in Illinois, sure. But all the time, not so much.
I polish my toenails and I pace.
All that data has my brain still hyped. Hearing from my brother and knowing his fortieth is just around the corner switches me to hyperdrive.
Add to that the monsters who tried to violate me in my own home, the fact they know what I look like, where I live, and the layout of my place…
and my brain isn’t going to rest anytime soon.
Liam
The banana muffins aren’t inedible exactly, but they should have been. The flavor is okay, but the texture is gritty, like she added sand out of spite. Maybe she did, though the anger seemed to emerge after she dropped them off. She was bouncy until that point.
I’m fairly certain she isn’t poisoning me. And only because I don’t think she’s a good enough cook to make that happen. It’s a good thing I’m not tempted by her baking.
The woman herself?
That’s a different story.
My dick took notice. I did too. It was hard not to. Not that she’s my type. I don’t have a type.
I have sex, but I can’t say—aside from the physical act of getting off and getting a woman off—that I’ve ever wanted dinner or breakfast on either end, much less both.
Yet, my mind is constantly tugged like a magnet pulling me toward the wall we share. Is it technically shitting where you live if it’s next door?
I managed not to watch the cameras after she came home. Her car pulling into her garage set off my motion detectors, so I know when she arrived.
It’s not a late night by my standards anyway, but for a chemist, it seems odd. I’d assume those days would be very rigid and structured. Like seven-thirty to four-thirty working with men with four gray hairs atop a liver-spotted head who stare at the floor and mutter to themselves.
Maybe she had a dinner date.
That thought annoys me. I’m self-aware enough that it doing so is problematic. I don’t need to feel any possession or jealousy over the cute, geeky neighbor who can’t bake and who shows random aggression toward my front door.
She’s free to see whomever she wants, fuck anyone for that matter— I cut that train of thought off at the station. I can envision her face in the throes. Her creamy skin flushing with pink heat rising up her chest, overcoming her cheeks.
She’s feisty enough that she wouldn’t just lie there in bed, letting me do the work and reaping the reward.
Blood rushes to my cock at the mere thought of watching her writhe beneath me. Yeah, this is going to be a problem.
I slide my hand under my waistband just as my phone chimes. If I didn’t love my family, and frankly my job, too, I’d chuck this thing over the Continental Divide and call it good.
Cian: {picture text}
It’s my brother holding a screaming baby, mostly-naked and red, aloft. Cian’s grin is unmatched. I’ve seen it only a handful of times in my life.
Cian: Mom and baby are doing well. His big sister is in love and keeps stealing him from me. It’s a good thing I love her.
Me: Where? When can I meet him?
Cian: Sky Ridge in Lone Tree. Room 323. Come anytime.