Page 9

Chapter Eight

Reed

“ W hat you want to do is really read through what they’re looking for, and tailor your resume toward those elements.

You want your skill set to be presented as a solution to their staffing problem, so if the company focuses on Linux, have your Linux work and course load be first on your resume,” Elijah says, circling an item on my resume before sliding it back to me.

“This internship has been pretty vague about what they need,” I reply, taking note of his adjustments.

I read through them, and once again, am amazed and impressed by how much Elijah knows.

The truth is, I’d been dreading the day my mom meets someone.

I always thought she’d meet some stuck up asshole who wanted her money.

Then she met Elijah Beaumont… online. They were both in a single parents grief group, Elijah still working th rough the loss of his wife years ago, and my mother still mourning my father, who passed away just four years ago.

The way they met allowed them to see each other at their truest, most stripped down form.

He didn’t know she was Maribel Lancaster, of the Lancaster Oil family.

And my mother didn’t know she was dating Elijah Beaumont, one of the top developers of quantum computing.

Their love was organic and real, based on the foundational shit, not money or status.

I never anticipated liking the man my mother chose, but not only do I like Elijah, I respect him.

I look up to him. Hell, one day, I want to be like him.

Well versed in so many computer languages, working diversely on many different levels and projects, helping create programs that change the world.

Hell, Elijah Lancaster was part of the dev team that created the first microchip designed to alert diabetics of rising or falling blood sugar, eliminating the need to continually test their blood.

Sure, it’s in the beta phase but still. He’s brilliant, and of all the rich people my mother rubs elbows with, he’s the first infrastructural architect and developer in the group.

Elijah takes the computer, turning it to face him as he sips his morning coffee.

He takes it black, and he likes it strong, and I tried it his way and found I liked it better that way, too.

I take a drink of my own black coffee, watching his face as he reads the mission statement on the internship posting online.

“Hmm,” he hums thoughtfully as he comes to the end, pushing the laptop back to face me.

“The internship is looking for entry coders, so I’d highlight your coding experience first.” He takes another sip, and so do I.

“Let me see it when you’re done, we can go through it together. ”

I nod. “Thanks, Elijah.”

I’ve never had a parent sitting around, their attention and help at the ready. I’m twenty, I don’t need guidance on how to be a man, advice with girls or rides anywhere, but I can’t deny that I like that Elijah wants to be here, out in the open, part of the family.

My mom clicks into the kitchen, her high heels almost as high as her hair, styled in her favorite bun. She shoves a mug beneath the Nespresso, and tucks her blouse into her skirt as the machine runs.

“You don’t want any from the press?” Elijah asks, nodding toward the press on the counter, returning his focus to his own laptop.

Elijah works from home, and he does all his work at the island in the kitchen.

I overheard him telling my mother that he wants to work there instead of being holed up in a home office.

Mom wrinkles her nose before shooting me a smile. “Morning, honey,” she says. “The press is too strong,” she says, pulling a carton of cream from the fridge. “I like my coffee with cream. Stirred until it’s the color of peanut butter.”

Elijah’s brows lift. “How funny,” he deadpans. “That’s how Vivienne takes it.”

Heat creeps up my collar, burning the back of my neck.

My words from last week come floating back to me, the image of a topless Vivienne grinding my leg as she sucks my cock.

That’s how you take it, you take it all at once, don’t you, you bad girl.

I feel so guilty, because of what happened on the beach but also because I can’t stop thinking about it.

About the time in her room. About her, period.

She’s always on my mind. She’s especially on my mind when porn is on my laptop and my dick is in my hand.

My mom and Elijah chat, planning their day so that the four of us can make family dinner happen.

That’s a new thing that started when Elijah and Vivienne moved in.

Every night we sit at the dinner table at seven o’clock and eat dinner together, all four of us.

My mom tried to get me to sit with her at the table before, but it always seems so performative.

She and I would text off and on all day, so I knew how her day was going and she knew how mine was going.

A meal at a table wasn’t a necessity. But it is to Elijah, and I find myself wanting to give that to them, he and Viv both.

He told my mother that Vivienne’s therapist recommended keeping the tradition of eating dinner at the table so that everything in her life didn’t change at once, so here we are.

I like it. Because I like Elijah, I like seeing my mom happy, and some days, dinner at the table is the only time I see her. She avoids me, and I get it.

Elijah pats my shoulder as he grabs my mom’s bag. He drives her to work every morning, just to have more time with her.

“Drive safe,” I tell him as I wave them off. Elijah’s smile is the last thing I see before the back door swings shut.

Knowing that I took his daughter’s virginity on the beach the first night we met would not please him. If it were me and I had a daughter in Vivienne’s shoes, I’d fucking slaughter some guy who deflowered my high school senior.

Fuck. There’s that part, too. I’ve been so focused on trying to convince myself that Elijah and my mom wouldn’t care that I forgot she’s still in high school. Just another layer to the fucked up trifle.

Vivienne hasn’t started at Dulce yet. Her old school Dover is in the process of transferring over her credits and class information, which has her starting next week.

I’m grateful that Elijah is home all the time, short of morning and evening when he takes and picks up mom.

If he weren’t here, avoiding her would be that much harder. And it’s plenty hard already.

This morning when I was coming home from my run, she was sneaking down to grab a coffee. We bumped into each other in the hall, and I’ve been replaying those brief ten seconds all morning since. And now that Elijah and my mom are gone, it’s time to take care of that.

I close my computer, and head upstairs, walking light on my toes so she doesn’t hear me. When I get to the top of the stairs, though, her door is open. She’s lying on her stomach, across her bed, flipping through the pages of a magazine, shiny pages full of clothes articles and prices.

Her eyes lift to mine, then drop back down to the page. “Close my door, please,” she whispers, her tone stretched thin, frail and raspy.

“I’m just going to my room, I’m closing my door so if you want to keep yours open, I won’t bother you.” I hook a thumb over my shoulder, pointing it down the hall, where my room door waits.

She slides off the bed, coming to the doorway in a crop top and black little bike shorts, her hair down and wavy, face makeup free.

Thank god I’m already heading to my room to jerk off because holy shit.

She looks so damn good. Not just sexy but fucking gorgeous.

She walks her hand up the doorframe, drumming her long, pink fingernails against the wood as her eyes come to mine.

Her tongue sweeps over the heart-shaped arch in her upper lip, eyes sliding to the tent in my pants. She’s only ever been with me, and that makes my chest tight, because how can a woman so gorgeous have saved herself for so long, and how can I be the lucky fool to have found her?

“Did my dad leave to take Maribel to the office?” she asks as her eyes travel the terrain of my torso, then throat, landing hungrily on my mouth.

My throat is dry, so my response sounds weak. “Yes.”

She flips blonde hair over her shoulder, eyes growing hooded.

Her perfume stings my senses, vanilla and something sweet, something that makes my nipples hard and my blood pump faster.

“You done bogarting my dad? Think maybe I could ask him for some help with my class selection or did you need more of him?”

Her questions slice, and when I lift my eyes from her tits to her face, I see pain twisted up in her expression. Her normally bright eyes have been dulled, lips pressed into a thin line as she continues drumming her nails along the doorframe.

“Wh-what?” She smells so good, and her nipples are poking through her t-shirt, and I’m sure mine are too.

“Yeah we’re done. He was just helping me–” I stop, realizing her frustration is definitely real, I’m just not sure where it’s coming from.

“I’m sorry, does it bother you that I have a bond with Elijah? ”

“Elijah,” she huffs. “Yes, Reed,” she hisses, spitting my name out the same way someone tries a curse word for the first time.

It sounds wobbly, she sounds unsure. “It bothers me. It bothers me because…” she lifts her hands, grabbing her head the way she does when she’s overwhelmed.

“Because it ’s annoying, okay? The relationship you have with him is the kind of relationship I’d want you to have with him if you were my boyfriend!

I’d want my dad to treat my boyfriend the way he treats you!

And now whoever I date is going to be competing with you! You ruined everything!”