When I Fall
Page 3
I’m not a bad guy. I just can’t give them anything more than this.
This is how my Saturday mornings usually start. Sundays too.
Stripping the bed after I get whoever-the-hell out of it, taking a hot shower to remove any trace of sex, sweat, and pussy off my body, and hovering over my Keurig like a strung-out junkie, consuming cup after cup of caffeine until I feel alert.
I can’t do this shit during the week. My job requires my ass to be out of bed by 5:00 a.m., and after a night of fucking, I’m usually dragging until noon. More importantly, I need to be focused while I’m at work. My job isn’t dangerous, not in the same way as Ben or Luke’s, buddies of mine who are both cops, but if I’m not paying attention to what I’m doing, someone could get seriously fucked up.
I’ve been working construction since I was eighteen years old, but I knew how to operate a backhoe long before that. In fact, I knew how to work almost every piece of heavy machinery on the site before I could drive a car. That’s what happens when you’re forced to spend every summer at the shop from the time you can take an order to go fetch a tool. I didn’t complain. I wanted to be there. While my friends were swimming at Rocky Point, I was following my father and grandfather around, soaking up as much knowledge from them as possible.
I loved it. The smell of grease, sweat, and earth. The calluses hardening my skin after lugging around equipment.
Being outside, getting my hands dirty, climbing on all the machinery. I knew I wanted to learn the trade by the time I was thirteen. After getting a taste of working outside all day, the feel of the sun beating down on my back, I knew I’d never be satisfied with a nine-to-five desk job. If I had to wear a suit every day, I’d punch someone. I’d go fucking stir crazy in an office building, and I’d probably end up being admitted into some psych ward somewhere if I had to work in one of those fucking cubicles.
It’s hard work. Really fucking hard work sometimes, but I can’t imagine ever doing anything else.
I roll my shoulders as I flip through the newspaper at my table, sipping on my third cup of coffee. My muscles are a little sore, but it’s nothing I’m not used to. Giving that skinny pussy the hardest fuck of her life warrants a few aches here and there.
The front door opens in the distance, and seconds later, Riley comes walking into the kitchen, hands full of bags and some paper towels stuffed under her arm.
“Morning,” she sings, dropping the bags on the other end of the table.
“You could knock, you know. I could’ve had somebody in here.”
I don’t need to glance up from the paper to know my sister is smiling, but I do anyway.
She looks down at the watch on her wrist. “Please. It’s after ten. You and I both know whoever you had over last night has been long gone for hours.” She drops her hand to her side. “Do you even let the sun come up before you’re shoving them out the door?”
“Sometimes.” I survey the bags in front of me as she lifts out a few items. I set the paper down and lean back in my chair. “What’s all that?”
“I went to Costco last night and picked up some stuff for the soup kitchen. You’re always running low on sandwich bags and coffee creamer, so I bought you some.” She puts some of the items she bought away in the cabinets, and sets the roll of paper towels next to the microwave. “I had coupons and made out like a bandit.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I tease behind my mug. “If you feel like doing some of my laundry for me while you’re here, or vacuuming, I won’t stop you.”
She glares at me over her shoulder as her hand closes another cabinet. “Haha. If I was Mom, I’d be lecturing you on your disgusting habit of sleeping with random chicks every night, and hounding you about not settling down with one already.” She walks over and slides out the chair across from me, slumping down in it.
“They aren’t random. I’m actually very picky when I go about it.”
“It’s still disgusting, Reed. I almost tossed one of those 500 packs of condoms into my cart when I was shopping. But then I thought, no, I’m just encouraging his habit if I do that.”
I let out a slow breath as I set my cup down. My sister and her fucking lectures. “I’ve got plenty of condoms, Riley. Okay? Please, don’t buy me any.”
She shrugs, dropping her gaze to the table. “They were actually a really good deal.”
“Stop.” Christ. Get me the fuck off this topic.
“Do you even bother using them?” she snaps, her pale-blue eyes reaching mine with judgment. “That’s the important part. You could have a million kids running around Ruxton by now. Little baby Reed Tennyson’s everywhere.”
Baby Reed Tennyson’s? What the fuck?
“Don’t think I won’t throw your ass out of here too. You’re not exempt just ‘cause we’re related.”
“Funny.” She smiles. “Just let me know if you find out I have any nieces or nephews. You know how I like to do my Christmas shopping early.”
“Is there a reason why you’re still sitting here?” I ask, tilting my head with a glare. “Shouldn’t you be at home . . . with Dick?”
She scowls, wrapping her blonde hair up into a messy knot on top of her head. “His name is Richard.”
“Which is another name for Dick.”
“Why don’t you like him? Is it because we’re dating?”
I stand, carrying my cup over to the sink.
Not only is my sister constantly in my non-existent love life, she’s also always trying to involve me in hers somehow. I couldn’t care less who she dates, just as long as they treat her good.
“He’s a shit worker. That’s why I don’t like him,” I reply with my back to her as I wash out my cup. “He knows damn well he needs to get his ass to the job site by 6:00 a.m., and he’s always late. Then when he does finally show up, he’s walking around like a fucking zombie.”
“A zombie?”
“Yeah,” I reply, turning around after drying my hands with the towel hanging on the stove. I brace myself with my hands gripping the counter. “A love-sick zombie. He looks like an idiot.”
My sister blinks rapidly, and reaches up to adjust her glasses. “Really?” she asks quietly with a trembling lip.
Oh, Christ.
“He’s never actually told me he loves me. Do you really think he does?”
I lean back, grimacing. “How the hell should I know how he feels about you?”
“Don’t you guys talk while you’re at the shop? Or when you’re on your lunch break?”
“No,” I answer, flatly. “The only thing I say to Dick is why the fuck are you late? and go do something. He’s lucky I’m desperate for laborers right now, or I would’ve fired his ass already.”
She gives me a cunning smile, and I know exactly what she’s silently suggesting.
“I’m not asking him.”
Her head falls back with a loud grunt. “You suck as a big brother. If this situation were reversed, I would totally find out how some chick felt about you.”
“I know exactly how chicks feel about me. They’re usually pretty damn vocal when I’m . . .”
This is how my Saturday mornings usually start. Sundays too.
Stripping the bed after I get whoever-the-hell out of it, taking a hot shower to remove any trace of sex, sweat, and pussy off my body, and hovering over my Keurig like a strung-out junkie, consuming cup after cup of caffeine until I feel alert.
I can’t do this shit during the week. My job requires my ass to be out of bed by 5:00 a.m., and after a night of fucking, I’m usually dragging until noon. More importantly, I need to be focused while I’m at work. My job isn’t dangerous, not in the same way as Ben or Luke’s, buddies of mine who are both cops, but if I’m not paying attention to what I’m doing, someone could get seriously fucked up.
I’ve been working construction since I was eighteen years old, but I knew how to operate a backhoe long before that. In fact, I knew how to work almost every piece of heavy machinery on the site before I could drive a car. That’s what happens when you’re forced to spend every summer at the shop from the time you can take an order to go fetch a tool. I didn’t complain. I wanted to be there. While my friends were swimming at Rocky Point, I was following my father and grandfather around, soaking up as much knowledge from them as possible.
I loved it. The smell of grease, sweat, and earth. The calluses hardening my skin after lugging around equipment.
Being outside, getting my hands dirty, climbing on all the machinery. I knew I wanted to learn the trade by the time I was thirteen. After getting a taste of working outside all day, the feel of the sun beating down on my back, I knew I’d never be satisfied with a nine-to-five desk job. If I had to wear a suit every day, I’d punch someone. I’d go fucking stir crazy in an office building, and I’d probably end up being admitted into some psych ward somewhere if I had to work in one of those fucking cubicles.
It’s hard work. Really fucking hard work sometimes, but I can’t imagine ever doing anything else.
I roll my shoulders as I flip through the newspaper at my table, sipping on my third cup of coffee. My muscles are a little sore, but it’s nothing I’m not used to. Giving that skinny pussy the hardest fuck of her life warrants a few aches here and there.
The front door opens in the distance, and seconds later, Riley comes walking into the kitchen, hands full of bags and some paper towels stuffed under her arm.
“Morning,” she sings, dropping the bags on the other end of the table.
“You could knock, you know. I could’ve had somebody in here.”
I don’t need to glance up from the paper to know my sister is smiling, but I do anyway.
She looks down at the watch on her wrist. “Please. It’s after ten. You and I both know whoever you had over last night has been long gone for hours.” She drops her hand to her side. “Do you even let the sun come up before you’re shoving them out the door?”
“Sometimes.” I survey the bags in front of me as she lifts out a few items. I set the paper down and lean back in my chair. “What’s all that?”
“I went to Costco last night and picked up some stuff for the soup kitchen. You’re always running low on sandwich bags and coffee creamer, so I bought you some.” She puts some of the items she bought away in the cabinets, and sets the roll of paper towels next to the microwave. “I had coupons and made out like a bandit.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I tease behind my mug. “If you feel like doing some of my laundry for me while you’re here, or vacuuming, I won’t stop you.”
She glares at me over her shoulder as her hand closes another cabinet. “Haha. If I was Mom, I’d be lecturing you on your disgusting habit of sleeping with random chicks every night, and hounding you about not settling down with one already.” She walks over and slides out the chair across from me, slumping down in it.
“They aren’t random. I’m actually very picky when I go about it.”
“It’s still disgusting, Reed. I almost tossed one of those 500 packs of condoms into my cart when I was shopping. But then I thought, no, I’m just encouraging his habit if I do that.”
I let out a slow breath as I set my cup down. My sister and her fucking lectures. “I’ve got plenty of condoms, Riley. Okay? Please, don’t buy me any.”
She shrugs, dropping her gaze to the table. “They were actually a really good deal.”
“Stop.” Christ. Get me the fuck off this topic.
“Do you even bother using them?” she snaps, her pale-blue eyes reaching mine with judgment. “That’s the important part. You could have a million kids running around Ruxton by now. Little baby Reed Tennyson’s everywhere.”
Baby Reed Tennyson’s? What the fuck?
“Don’t think I won’t throw your ass out of here too. You’re not exempt just ‘cause we’re related.”
“Funny.” She smiles. “Just let me know if you find out I have any nieces or nephews. You know how I like to do my Christmas shopping early.”
“Is there a reason why you’re still sitting here?” I ask, tilting my head with a glare. “Shouldn’t you be at home . . . with Dick?”
She scowls, wrapping her blonde hair up into a messy knot on top of her head. “His name is Richard.”
“Which is another name for Dick.”
“Why don’t you like him? Is it because we’re dating?”
I stand, carrying my cup over to the sink.
Not only is my sister constantly in my non-existent love life, she’s also always trying to involve me in hers somehow. I couldn’t care less who she dates, just as long as they treat her good.
“He’s a shit worker. That’s why I don’t like him,” I reply with my back to her as I wash out my cup. “He knows damn well he needs to get his ass to the job site by 6:00 a.m., and he’s always late. Then when he does finally show up, he’s walking around like a fucking zombie.”
“A zombie?”
“Yeah,” I reply, turning around after drying my hands with the towel hanging on the stove. I brace myself with my hands gripping the counter. “A love-sick zombie. He looks like an idiot.”
My sister blinks rapidly, and reaches up to adjust her glasses. “Really?” she asks quietly with a trembling lip.
Oh, Christ.
“He’s never actually told me he loves me. Do you really think he does?”
I lean back, grimacing. “How the hell should I know how he feels about you?”
“Don’t you guys talk while you’re at the shop? Or when you’re on your lunch break?”
“No,” I answer, flatly. “The only thing I say to Dick is why the fuck are you late? and go do something. He’s lucky I’m desperate for laborers right now, or I would’ve fired his ass already.”
She gives me a cunning smile, and I know exactly what she’s silently suggesting.
“I’m not asking him.”
Her head falls back with a loud grunt. “You suck as a big brother. If this situation were reversed, I would totally find out how some chick felt about you.”
“I know exactly how chicks feel about me. They’re usually pretty damn vocal when I’m . . .”
