I was growing hard, and I knew she could feel it against her stomach, but I was finding it very hard to care.
Human connection. I didn’t know how much I’d been internally longing for it, but damn, it felt so good to have the warmth of another person pressed against me. Jessica had been the last woman I held in my arms.
Jess. Dammit.
As a kid, my foster parents scrubbed me up and dragged me to church every Sunday, parading me in front of the other parishioners who constantly told them “how self-sacrificing they were” to take on such a “troubled youth.” That was me. And I was troubled. I was troubled by how my parents overdosed when I was eight, leaving me to find their dead bodies after school. I was troubled to be thrust into a foster system the next day. I was troubled when the first home was abusive. The second home was too.
Then I’d gone to live with the Petersons for a while. It was heaven. They were kind, had good food. Mr. Peterson helped me with my homework and showed me how things worked. Mrs. Peterson ruffled my hair and kissed my cheek as she asked me about my day, and really listened like she cared. Then she got cancer, began to whither into a skeleton, and I was moved to live with the Morris family. In many ways, I’d wished I’d never known how good things could be with the Petersons. I wouldn’t have been able to miss something I never knew. Long for it. Grieve for it. Feel a bone deep anger that it was gone.
In the Morris’s church, I’d sit still and listen to the preacher shouting at the congregation. He shouted about sin and eternal damnation. Heaven and hell.
I didn’t know if heaven or hell actually existed, but what if it did? What if Jessica was there, “watching over me” as all the Bible people said she would? That meant she was watching me lust after this girl. Kiss this girl. Possibly fuck this girl.
The thought was deeply disturbing.
With supreme effort, I released Zoe and slowly stepped away. “You okay?”
Those eyes. So light green they could be confused for gray when they weren’t lit up with humor lifted to mine. “Yeah. Just wasn’t expecting all that noise. My head is still throbbing, although I think I’m getting used to it more than it’s getting better.”
I glanced at the grinder. “How about you go into the bedroom while I finish the beans? It’ll just take a few seconds.”
She licked her lips and nodded before walking away. I blew out a breath, adjusted my boxers, and waited to hear the click of the door before pushing the button. After the promised few seconds, I called out, “Done,” and the door clicked open again.
Quiet as a cat, she padded back into the kitchen, a bright smile plastered on her face. “So… you’ll show me the French press?”
She followed my instructions on measuring out the grounds and then pouring the hot water over them, giving them a good stir. “Now we wait. I like my coffee strong, so I usually wait five or six minutes. But we can do four today. I’m not picky.”
Zoe glanced at the clock and returned to the stove. Turning on the burner, she started to work on the omelet, but I noticed her fingers trembling a bit. I was making her nervous, and the animal inside me was glad.
“What do you do for a living?” she asked as she poured the egg mixture into the sizzling skillet.
I considered the question, remembering the hungry eyes of the gold diggers at Jessica’s funeral. She hadn’t been six feet under for more than five minutes when offers of condolences were purred in my direction.
“I write security software.”
She lifted a brow. “Like for virus protection?”
I grinned. “Something like that.”
“That’s really interesting. I’ve taken computer courses, and when I look at a code, I’m always amazed that so much gibberish makes sense to anyone. That all those seemingly random numbers and letters and characters actually talk to the computer in a way it understands.”
“Yeah. I’ve always been fascinated by how things work. When I was a kid, I loved taking things apart and putting them back together again.” And getting the hell beat out of me by my foster family didn’t stop the curiosity.
Zoe was too busy fiddling with the omelet to see the black cloud settle onto my shoulders, but she must have felt my change of mood because she looked up at me with concern in her eyes. “Do you still like to take things apart and put them back together?”
Yeah. I’d like to shatter you, watch your face while you break apart under me, then kiss you until you’re whole again.
“Gray?”
“Yeah. I’ve always been good with my hands. I built the sunroom on the back, expanded the deck. When I feel like it, I write software.”
As I watched, she jiggled the eggs in the pan, and with the smoothness I’d never quite duplicated myself, she flipped it, grinning at her success.
Just like Jessica.
My heart ached then leaped with the thought. Confusion and guilt and longing collided inside me, swirling around like the blizzard that had brought us together.
Still smiling, she reduced the heat and turned back to the press. “Coffee time. What do I do next?”
Stepping behind her, I showed her how to put the filter stem on top of the beaker and press it down, my hands on top of hers. “Ah… and so the name French press was born,” she said, her voice morphing into a weird British accent. “I’m sure the snooty French never considered that we mountain people would be pressing their invention.”
I laughed, enjoying doing something so simple. I also enjoyed having a reason for my arms to be around her like this. She fit me perfectly. I wouldn’t have to lower my head much to rest my chin on top of hers.
Even when the coffee was done, we continued to stand like that, neither of us moving. Gravity changed again as we stood there, my hands on hers, her back to my front. Her fingers flexed, then turned until they threaded with mine. Her breathing had shallowed, grown faster. Just like my own.
“Gray?” My name was soft on the air.
“Yes.”
“I’ve never done this before.”
I wished I could see her face, read her eyes. “Done what?”
She squeezed my fingers but didn’t continue. A long sigh escaped her instead.
It hit me. No fucking way. “Zoe, are you a virgin?” I stepped away, let her go. Watched her turn to face me.
A single tear fell, and she swiped it away with the sleeve of her robe. “No.”
A rush of relief settled over me. “Okay,” I said without thinking. “I didn’t think that was possible.”
She stiffened, her face growing darker as I watched her move back to the omelet, adding more cheese on top. She plated it and began working on the second one. Her hands moved furiously as she added everything to the skillet. Then she turned on me, her eyes angry now.
“Why don’t you think that’s possible? Do I give off a slutty vibe or something?”
That surprised the shit out of me. “No. I—”
She poked me in the chest, her nail digging into the thin material. “Do you think that just because I have tits and ass I show them to anyone with a dick?”