“Oh, my God,” she says, her voice shaky.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, yeah. Just give me a minute.”

  I place one hand on her hip and the other in the center of her back. “Lean back a little. It will help.”

  She leans back and sighs as her hand slides down so she can touch herself. It takes everything in me not to thrust my hips, but I know she needs time to loosen herself up before she can continue. A few seconds later, her pussy clenches around my cock, and I groan with frustration as she sits up to ride me.

  Grabbing onto her ass cheeks again, I push her ass up every time I slide out, then lower her as I thrust upward. Her pussy feels like heaven in this position, every slippery ridge gliding across my dick like a thousand kisses. It’s too fucking much.

  She lets out the sexiest laugh I’ve ever heard and throws her head back as I slam into her hard.

  “Yes!” she cries out. “Fuck me hard!”

  Grabbing her hips, I pull her down roughly. She yelps as I sit up and wrap my arm around her waist, holding her back against my chest as I flip her onto her stomach.

  “Yes,” she spurs me on. “Like that.”

  I place one hand on the mattress to steady myself as I lift her hips. Then I grab her tiny waist as I stand on my knees. She looks back at me over her shoulder with her gorgeous ass in the air.

  “You want me to fuck you like a stallion?” I ask as I roll my hips slowly, savoring the feeling of her soft flesh around my hard cock.

  She nods as her hand slides between her legs again. “Please.”

  I move my hands to her ass and spread her cheeks. Her breathing quickens as I press my thumb against her puckered opening and rock my hips back and forth. But I have to pause for a few seconds every time I feel I’m about to explode. I want her to come with me.

  I continue massaging her hole as she strokes her clit. And as soon as her thighs begin to quiver, I grab her hips and drive into her full force. She shrieks with pleasure, her face coming to life with every stroke. She removes her hand from between her legs and cries out as my balls smack against her clit.

  The sound of my skin slapping against hers and the smell of her musk combined with our sweat is fucking intoxicating. But the way her pussy constricts around my cock as she orgasms sends me over the top.

  I grit my teeth as the orgasm rockets through me, shooting straight through my spine and flowing through my limbs.

  “Fuck,” I groan as my body grows weaker with each spurt of cum I deposit inside her.

  We both collapse facedown with my cock still inside her. The walls of her pussy twitch as my dick slowly softens.

  I kiss her neck, savoring the taste of her salty skin. “You should take a shower before you go to the spa.”

  She elbows me in the bicep. “Are you saying I stink?”

  I laugh as I kiss her shoulder. “I’m saying you’re fucking filthy, and I wouldn’t want you any other way. But the people at the spa might not feel the same.”

  She gasps as I slide out of her and flip her onto her back. My chest fills with warmth as I brush the hair out of her face and she gazes up at me with that expression I love so much. The one that tells me she’ll do anything I want. That she’s one hundred percent mine.

  I kiss her slowly, letting her know that what we just did may have been dirty, and even a little rough, but it was all about this feeling we get when we kiss. The feeling that no one else exists. That we can survive anything this fucked-up world throws at us. Maybe even the truth.

  The BlueTek office in Palo Alto is near the Googleplex. BlueTek is one of the three tech companies who were interested in investing in my TIPS concept. I honestly didn’t expect anyone outside the public sector to be interested in software that helps first responders reach victims of domestic violence more quickly. Until I realized their interest in the software was not in helping victims. Their interest is in the data collected.

  The way the software works is that it uses machine learning, mostly acquired through natural language processing and GPS data, to track convicted domestic violence offenders, convicted sex offenders, and anyone who has a restraining order issued against them. The software analyzes the data on their phone, including their online purchases, the language used in their social media posts, their GPS location, and data from facial recognition surveillance systems.

  TIPS takes this and compares it to data collected from devices and hard drives seized from previous offenders. It uses machine learning to determine if the person is likely to reoffend, and when and where that will probably occur. I’m working with researchers at MIT to eliminate racial bias in the facial recognition data from the TIPS algorithm.

  With multiple companies interested, I had the luxury of choosing who I wanted to work with. BlueTek wasn’t just the highest bidder. They also have a track record of working successfully with law enforcement on other software projects, which was the one area I needed the most help.

  I’ve only dealt with the legal system through the frustrating process of trying to get the police to protect my mom from my stepdad. After it took them so long to respond to Frankie’s 911 call, I lost my faith in law enforcement’s ability to prevent crime.

  With no one working the reception desk—since it’s the day after Thanksgiving—I head straight up to the third floor of the BlueTek office. I easily find the conference room I’ve sat in about a half-dozen times before today. Elias Greenberg and Cheryl Waters are already seated at the long glass table. They rise from their chairs as I enter the room, and this is the first time I’ve ever seen them wearing casual jeans and sweaters.

  “Jake! How’s it going? How was your Thanksgiving?” Cheryl asks, taking my hand in both of hers as we shake.

  “It was good, thanks,” I say, turning to Elias to shake his hand. “I got to introduce my girlfriend to my sister, so that was nice. How was yours?”

  “Oh, wow! That’s quite a milestone. Congratulations!” Cheryl says, her dark eyes widening as she takes a seat. “Mine was wonderful. My baby came home from Columbia, and we did it up right. All the fixings and blessings of family. Can’t ask for more than that.”

  “Amen,” Elias says as he leans back in his chair. “So, what did you want to talk about, Jake? Not trying to rush you, but this meeting was sort of last-minute, and my wife is probably counting down the seconds until I get back.”

  I chuckle and hope they can’t hear how nervous I am. “Yeah, I just felt I should tell you I won’t be transferring to Stanford for the spring semester. I know you guys hoped that would be the case, especially so I could work with Dr. Lao on the structured prediction aspect. But I really need to stay in Seattle for now.”

  They both look disappointed, though Cheryl is hiding it much better.

  Elias glances at his partner a few times, then turns back to me. “I totally understand. We were just hoping you could get Dr. Lao involved in the output side, since he’s the lead researcher in that field right now. It’s pretty rare for him to express interest in a thesis project outside of Stanford. Can I ask—I mean, I hope it’s not too personal—but are you really sure you want to pass up an opportunity like this?”

  Cheryl shakes her head at his inquiry. “I don’t think that’s a fair question. I think there’s a good possibility Dr. Lao would still be willing to work with you if you transfer to Stanford next fall, instead. I think you still have some time to figure out what you want to do.”

  I release a stale breath. “Trust me, I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t think it was the best decision for me. I just… have a lot going on right now with trying to study for finals and… Well, with my girl. We’re both dealing with some private stuff.”

  “Your mom?” Elias asks, and his expression has softened, making me wonder if he knows the secret I’ve been keeping from Colette.

  I wouldn’t put it past him, as deft as they are at harvesting data.

  “That’s part of it, yeah. I’m really sorry. I thought I could make it work, but then we got back together, and there’s this creep in her building who won’t leave her alone, and—” I stop myself before I give too much away. “Anyway, I’d like to keep the lines of communication open with Dr. Lao. I may still decide to transfer next fall.”

  Cheryl flashes me a reassuring smile. “We’re always in touch with Dr. Lao. I’ll let him know you need some more time.”

  Elias purses his lips and expels a loud sigh through his nose. “Yeah, can’t pretend I’m not disappointed, but I really like working with you. So, I trust you’re making the right decision. Best of luck to you, man.”

  “Thanks.”

  As I leave the BlueTek office building, I can’t help but wonder if I made the right decision. Did I just mess up my chance to make this project a success? What if I eventually tell Colette the truth about the night my mom died, and she never wants to speak to me again? Is it worth risking the biggest project of my fledgling career? Is it worth risking the lives that could be saved by this software?

  Sliding into the backseat of the black Mercedes, I loosen my jaw as I realize I’m clenching my teeth again. If I drank, I’d probably stop at a bar before heading back to the hotel. But as the car pulls out of the office park, my phone buzzes in my hand, and the message on the screen changes my mood instantly.

  There’s no text. It’s just a picture sent from Colette. In the photo, she and Frankie are dressed in white bathrobes. Colette’s arm is wrapped around my sister’s shoulders, and their faces beam with huge grins as they hold up glasses of something that looks like cucumber water.

  Another text message comes through as I’m still admiring the picture.

  * * *

  Colette: Frankie has arrived safely, and she’s high as fuck.

  * * *

  Me: Sometimes you take the edible. Sometimes the edible takes you.

  * * *

  Colette: Wow. That’s incr-edible-y insensitive.

  * * *

  Me: No.

  * * *

  Colette: I know. That was painful to even type. I’ll make it up to you later.

  * * *

  Me: You’d better.

  * * *

  Colette: Gotta go. Thanks for making today possible. xx

  * * *

  Me: You both deserve it. See you later, baby.

  * * *

  As I hit send, I lean back and breathe a deep sigh, feeling much more relaxed now.

  I’m making the right decision.

  I need to be in Seattle with Colette right now. As long as Frankie continues to do well—or well enough—at Stanford, I can hold off a little longer before I decide whether I should transfer. I probably have until at least March of next year to decide. That’s about three months away.

  I just have to figure out a way to tell Colette about my mom before then. The problem is trying to break the news to her in a way that doesn’t hurt her or make her feel responsible.

  I also have to figure out how to tell Frankie that Colette is the girl I was with when our mom was murdered in front of her. I got lucky yesterday when the topic of how Colette and I met didn’t come up. It certainly helped that I was actively steering the conversation away from anything related to that.

  But I can’t rely on this strategy of deflection to work forever.

  Three months.

  I can figure this out.

  I have to figure this out.

  19

  Abandonment

  Anissa cocks an eyebrow as she reaches for my car stereo and presses the power button to turn it off completely. “Excuse me? You’re telling me Dee got to see your man, and I didn’t?”

  “I’m sorry, but I used the excuse of FaceTiming Gary, and Gary was at Dahlia’s.”

  Anissa glares at me. “So, what? You can’t FaceTime me if I’m not babysitting your dog?”

  I grimace as I’m seized with guilt. “I promise I’ll FaceTime you the next time I’m with Jake.”

  She huffs as I pull my car into my parents’ driveway. “If you don’t, I’m gonna show up at your place with a damn film crew.”

  I laugh as I press the ignition button to turn the car off. “Or, we could just visit him at the bar and get some drinks? Make it a girl’s night?”

  She hits me with some serious side-eye as she reaches into the backseat to grab her handbag. “Do you think he’d want to meet us while he’s working?”

  “Probably not.”

  As we walk up the front path toward the house, I get a text from Dahlia.

  * * *

  Dahlia: Should be there in about an hour. Sorry! I can’t believe they made me work on Black Friday weekend!

  * * *

  Anissa reads the text on my screen and shakes her head. “Who the hell else are they gonna get to work this weekend?”

  I laugh as I tuck my phone in the back pocket of my jeans and open the front door. “Gotta love capitalism.”

  The living room is empty when we enter the house, but I can hear the faucet running in the kitchen. As usual, my mom has the heater turned up full-blast. The air is stiflingly hot and scented with the warm, spicy aromas of pumpkin pie and my mom’s famous herb-cornbread stuffing.

  Anissa and I immediately peel off our hoodies. “Girl, is your mom trying to roast me or the turkey? ’Cause I ain’t trying to be food for white folks today.”

  “She always forgets to turn down the heater when she’s baking,” I say, pulling a hair-tie off my wrist to twist my hair into a quick bun.

  On the way to the kitchen, I stop at the thermostat near the stairs to turn the heat down from seventy-two degrees to sixty-five. We’ll see how long it takes my mom to notice.

  In the kitchen, my mom is drying off a large metal bowl. Judging by the milky-white dish full of green bean casserole on the island, the bowl was just used to make my dad’s favorite side dish. My mom’s face lights up as she glances over her shoulder and sees Anissa.

  Setting the bowl on the counter, she rounds the island toward us, going for Anissa first. “Oh, my goodness. Look at you, honey,” she says, pulling her into a tight hug. “You didn’t have to dress up for me. You look gorgeous.”

  Anissa looks like she’s trying not to smile too widely as my mom releases her. “Thank you. But you know I gotta look my best.”

  “You’d look good in a sack of potatoes,” my mom says as she turns to me and pauses for a moment before she says, “You, too.”

  I laugh along with Anissa as my mom hugs me. “Thanks a lot, Mom. I really felt your sincerity.”

  My mom shrugs as she lets go of me. “You both are too beautiful for your own good. But I so rarely see Anissa these days. I have to shower her with love to encourage her to come more often.”

  Anissa flashes me a smug grin. “Sorry, baby. It’s my time to shine.”

  I roll my eyes as I head for the refrigerator to get us something to drink. “Where’s Dad?”

  My mom’s gaze flits toward the back door. “He’s working in the backyard. He’s just putting away the patio set before the snow comes.”

  I don’t remark on how my dad is always doing something—anything—other than engaging with me and my mom. Anissa’s already heard me gripe about my dad’s new workaholism enough times before. I have to save some angst for my therapist.

  “So, tell me all about your trip to California?” my mom says as she opens the pantry and grabs a bag of panko breadcrumbs. “Are you still going to pretend this guy is just a friend?”

  “Mom, are you seriously putting breadcrumbs on the green bean casserole? Dad is going to kill you if you don’t put the fried onions.”

  She waves off my criticism. “It’s not green bean casserole. It’s haricot vert casserole. I’m changing it up.”

  Anissa covers her mouth to hide her laughter as she takes a seat on a barstool at the island.

  I shake my head as I sit on the stool next to her. “They’re French-fried onions, Mom. Like, seriously. They’re fine.”

  “There’s nothing French about those onions, Colette,” she corrects me as she sprinkles panko breadcrumbs over the casserole.

  “Panko is a Japanese word, Mom.”

  “Please,” Anissa whispers through her laughter.

  “Stop changing the subject,” my mom says, pointing a bony finger at me. “I moved Thanksgiving to Saturday for you. Now you have to tell me about your trip to California.”

  I lean forward on the barstool and focus my attention on the casserole, so I don’t have to look my mom in the eye. “He’s my boyfriend, okay?”

  “No, it’s not okay,” my mom replies, smiling at the shocked expression on my face. “It’s not okay that it took you this long to admit it. I don’t care if you have a boyfriend. I’m happy for you, sweetheart. You deserve to find love.”

  “Ugh. Mom, can we please not do this? I’m not trying to find love.”

  She glances at Anissa, but Anissa just shrugs. “Oh, so you’re just looking to get laid?”

  “Stop it!” I shout as my face gets hotter than it was when we entered the house.

  Anissa throws her head back with laughter. “Girl, your mom really said, ‘you tryin’ to—”

  “No!” I interrupt her before she can finish the thought. “No, please. I can’t talk about this with you, Mom.”

  My mom shakes her head as she puts the bag of breadcrumbs back in the pantry and returns with a bottle of olive oil. “Well, if you’re not looking for love and you’re not looking to get laid, maybe you are just friends.”

  “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

  My mom rolls her eyes at me. “What’s his name again?”

  “Jake.”

  “Jake what? What’s his last name?” she asks as she drizzles olive oil over the breadcrumbs with a deceptively innocent expression on her face.