The Firsts Series Box Set

by M. J. Fields

  “Before you continue digging yourself a hole with me, Mitch Moore, I meant—”

  “I don’t want to hear your whimsical, little façade of forgiveness. That shit doesn’t happen. You have no clue what it can do to a person. Having a mother out there that has two kids but would rather—”

  “I know way more than you think, you big sack of, of, of—”

  “Muscle,” he says snidely.

  I get off the bed and bend down to grab my boots. “Well, it’s not brains, but hey, let it work for you.”

  “Touché, little nun in fuck-me boots.”

  “Hey, go fuck yourself.” I zip the first boot then search for the other.

  “Been doing that a whole lot lately, thanks to you and—”

  I point at him. “You don’t know the first thing about me, asshole face.”

  “How many Hail Mary’s you gonna have to do to repent for all the sins you’ve collected when you get home to your perfect lily-white church family in the Bible belt?”

  I look back down for my other boot that somehow went missing. “I’m black and Baptist, you, you … hick.”

  “The fuck are you doing under my bed?”

  “Don’t worry about it; I won’t mess with whatever vibrating goodies you have shoved under here.”

  He grabs my hips and pulls me out from under his bed.

  “Oh my freaking God, Mitch!” I grab the comforter to climb across the bed to get my boot that’s made its way to the other side.

  “Oh shit!” The sound of one of the guy’s voices from behind me causes me to freeze. He chuckles. “Probably should have locked it, man.”

  “Get the fuck out,” Mitch snaps.

  “Just gonna play a game of Cards Against—”

  “Get! Out!”

  When the door shuts, I look over my shoulder and scowl at him.

  He steps back and raises his hands. “You know—”

  “I know, I know. But what you don’t is that you’re not the only one with mommy issues. But go ahead, sit on your throne of masturbatory mayhem, and leave me alone.”

  “Masturbatory mayhem? Who the fuck says that?” He runs his hands through his hair.

  “Me, I say it.” I start to walk around his bed.

  “Whatever you’re after, leave it alone.”

  “My other fuck-me boot, so I can get the hell out of here.”

  “Won’t that ruin the illusion?”

  I snap my head around and look at him. He’s not pissed anymore. Go figure. “It’s obvious that we can’t pull this off.”

  I watch him duck down and slide under his bed. When he stands, he’s got my boot.

  I walk around the bed and reach my hand out. “Thank you.”

  He holds it above his head. “You can have the boot after you tell me what your mommy issues are.”

  I shake my head. “No. Just—”

  “Come on, Jamie; who the fuck am I gonna tell?”

  I cross my arms again because his eyes are kind, and his voice is low. He’s being sincere, I know he is, so do my fucking nipples, and now, as he looks down, so does he.

  Trying to draw his attention away, I begin talking. “First, she doesn’t know I actually have them.”

  “Makes no sense, but okay.”

  I turn around. “I’m Tyson’s daughter, always.”

  “Tyson’s your dad?”

  I take a deep breath and exhale. “But he’s really not.”

  He doesn’t say anything. He’s either waiting or thinks I’m as he said—a drama queen.

  “She left college nineteen years ago. She and Tyson married eighteen years ago.”

  “Could play out a couple ways in my head. How about you let me know how you drew the conclusion they didn’t meet in college and—”

  “They didn’t go to the same college,” I whisper.

  “Or it could play out that way,” he says, walking around and sitting on the bed. “What did she say when you asked her?”

  “Told you that she doesn’t know I have—”

  “Mommy issues, right.” He nods.

  I close my eyes and shake my head. “How messed up is it that I want to kick your ass and then spill all the freaking tea in the next minute?”

  “You asking me for advice?” he jokes.

  “No.” I hold out my hand for the boot. “I need to get out of here. I think I’m going insane.”

  “I think you should stay.”

  My eyes snap from my boot to his face. “Why?”

  “Because, if we’re going to keep pretending to be friends just so we can fight behind closed doors—”

  “That’s not what—”

  “Doesn’t matter.” He lies back on the bed. “If you walk out there right now, they’ll know we’re full of shit.”

  “I’m a good actress.”

  He closes his eyes and smirks. “I wouldn’t have a girl bent over my bed and out in five minutes, Jamie. You know that, and so do they.”

  Way to put me in my place, player.

  “Right. Of course.”

  He shakes his head. “I’m not saying—”

  I hold up a hand. “No need to explain or share your game book, player. I got it.” I turn my back and sit on the edge of the bed to unzip my boot.

  “That’s fucked up, and you know it,” he says quietly as I hear clothes rustling, and he gets back in the bed.

  I turn around. “Pants.” My voice squeaks.

  He smirks. “Just trying to give an Oscar-worthy performance. And I am wearing underwear.”

  “Great.” I sigh as I plop one of his pillows between us and lie down, my back to him.

  “You gonna be able to do this?” he asks sincerely, pulling the covers up over himself and me.

  “The world’s been my stage for years, Mitch; this ain’t no thang.”

  Mitch

  Ain’t no thang, but blue balls and a bruised hea—organs, I think, as I lie beside the cause of both.

  I roll to my side and watch her looking up at my ceiling, worry creasing the corners of her eyes. “So, what’s your next move?”

  She looks over at me with question in her soft brown eyes.

  “Your mom,” I explain.

  “I don’t intend on saying anything to her.”

  “Why?” I ask.

  “She has never brought it up, so she obviously doesn’t want to talk about it.”

  “But, you’re pissed at her.”

  “No, I just kind of want answers.”

  “To who your biological father is?”

  She nods.

  “So do one of those at-home DNA kits.”

  “I’ve thought about it. But, what if he has a family and their lives are good? What if he doesn’t even know about me? What if—”

  “What if he’s some dead-beat piece of shit that doesn’t deserve to know you?”

  Her eyes widen. I’ve scared her.

  “I’m just saying—”

  “Do you wish you never knew your mom?”

  I shrug. “I did, so that would be a stupid idea to toy with, you know.”

  She looks back at the ceiling. “Yeah. Sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry. It’s just … she’s not me.”

  “See? And he’s not me. And God, Mitch, how did I not think about that?”

  I reach over and tuck some of her hair behind her ear. “Don’t stress it.”

  “No, really, what if she was …?” She stops and covers her face.

  “Jamie,”—I pull her small, soft hands away—“maybe it was just instinct, or maybe your God stopped you from doing one of those kits to protect yourself, not him.”

  She shakes her head. “I wasn’t even thinking about that before.”

  “Hey, don’t let my shit burden you.”

  “Too late.” She half-laughs as tears fill her eyes.

  I throw the pillow between us to the side and drag her toward me. “Don’t do that.”

  Her eyes snap to mine. “She would have surely told me that,
right? I mean, especially when I chose this school, her—”

  “She went here?”

  She closes her eyes.

  “I’m gonna have to insist that, at the very least, I know what you’re doing, in case he is some shitbag.”

  “I’m not actively seeking him out.”

  “What are you actively doing then?”

  “Letting fate drive the crazy train?” She laughs as I wipe the first or her fallen tears away and do my best not to lick it off my thumb just to taste the forbidden fruit, so to speak.

  “You trust fate, huh?” I ask, catching the next several tears.

  “Not as of late, no.” She sniffs and wipes away more of her tears. “This is so stupid.”

  “No, Jamie, it’s terrifying. It’s like releasing something you have harnessed for years and not being able to control it.”

  She nods and swallows hard. “Maybe that’s the draw, then?” As soon as she says it, she clenches her eyes shut and stammers something that mimics curses at herself.

  “You’re good; chill.”

  “Then talk or … something.” At something, she opens her eyes and looks from my eyes to my lips.

  “Lemme ask you something. How many people have witnessed this breakdown?”

  “None,” she says crossly. “And I’m sorry to have bothered—”

  “Don’t do that shit, either; that’s my play. Get pissed when someone sees you and try to stuff it all back in as you box them out. Trust me when I tell you that it will fuck up everything.”

  We stare at each other.

  “Then talk to me like I am you, Mitch.”

  I shake my head. “Not gonna do that to you. You’ll be more freaked out than the possibility of a serial rapist father.”

  When she gasps in horror, I feel like a dick.

  “Totally didn’t mean that,” I assure her with a smile. “But having said it, you really need to make sure you be careful of who you let in your panties.”

  Dick move, but hey, takes all the black guys, who are going to try lick what’s mi—what I did first—off the playing field.

  “Who’s Morgan?” she asks, serious as shit.

  When I hesitate, she shakes her head. “Yeah, I spill all the tea, and you popsicle up.”

  “Popsicle up?”

  “You get cold, you freeze, you—”

  “Try to not drag my past with me to college, Jamie. But if you must know, my alcoholic father.”

  She covers her face and says, “No wonder I never had friends. I’m an asshole.”

  “How much have you had to drink?” I try not to laugh as I pry her hands off her face.

  “A couple glasses of wine.”

  “No more Long Island—”

  “Never again.” She starts to turn red.

  “We’ve all been there. As a matter of fact, I was heading there tonight until you threw up a detour sign.”

  “Well, I won’t say I’m sorry. You should be careful with a history—”

  “Well aware of it, Jamie.”

  “Again, I wasn’t trying to be a jerk. I just—”

  “You’re good.”

  I lie back on my bed, not even realizing I took her hand with me. When I try to let go, she holds it tighter.

  I look over at her, and she closes her eyes.

  “I think we can be friends.”

  “Good thing you’re calling it that, because I don’t trust your moves and stalker isn’t a label I’d like to wear.”

  She smiles at me, her eyes still closed. “I told you I’ll be safer. And now that my bio dad may be a serial rapist, I can promise, at the very least, I’ll bring Elle’s billy club when I walk alone.”

  “You have my number, use it.”

  “How long do I have to be in here to, you know, keep up the façade?”

  I run the hand she’s holding over my face. “I’d be on my knees still licking your pussy, maybe knuckle deep in your ass after giving it the attention it deserves, as well, so—”

  “That’s disgusting.”

  “Better work on your acting skills, Jamie. I’m pretty damn sure that just caused your knees to buckle.”

  “I’m not even standing up.” She laughs.

  “You’re right. In my head, you’re bent over my bed, and I’m feasting.”

  She smacks me.

  “And knuckle deep.”

  “So gross.” She laughs.

  “Don’t knock it till you try it.” I smirk and pull my hand away, placing it on her hair and pulling her head to my chest.

  She doesn’t hesitate. She lies against me.

  “You straightened your curls.”

  She looks up at me. “You like it?”

  “I like it fine.” I close my eyes before I kiss her fucking angelic face.

  “My aunt Max sent me—”

  “Conditioning treatment,” I say on a yawn.

  “Tame my crazy before the holidays, you know.”

  I can’t help smiling. “I kind of like the crazy, too.”

  Fucking love it, actually.

  Pushing the wheelbarrow out of the barn after feeding the new boarding horses, I see her running up the driveway as fast as her stick-thin legs will move her.

  “Is that Lily?” Cara yells in my ear.

  “Cara, volume,” I tell her.

  She hugs me tightly around my neck. “Sorry, Mitch.” Then she leans over my shoulder. “Well, is it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Should we call the cops?”

  “No.”

  “It’s Lily.”

  I squat down and let her off my back. “She’s my girlfriend.”

  “Why?” she gasps.

  “Use your manners,” I scold her. “And mind your business.”

  “But, why, Mitch?” She looks terrified.

  “Because she’s different with me.”

  “Hey,” Lily pants out as she leans down, hands on her knobby knees, trying to catch her breath.

  “Hey back.”

  When she looks up, I see she has a busted lip.

  “What the hell happened?”

  “Fell.” She smiles. “I’ll be fine.”

  I walk toward her, lift her chin, and look at my dirty as fuck hands.

  She smiles. “Feel free to kiss it clean.”

  “Ew …” Cara says from behind me.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake, I’m sorry I didn’t see you there.”

  “She’s cool. Right, Cara?”

  Cara crosses her arms and taps her foot.

  Lily smirks. “Gotta be cool with a brother like you.”

  “Go grab me a wet paper towel.”

  “Pft, we haven’t had paper towels in months.”

  “Grab the ones under the sink,” I tell her.

  “They’re only for when guests stay over,” Cara smarts back.

  “Dad’s girlfriends aren’t guests, Cara, and don’t be a pain in the ass; go grab me some.”

  “I’m fine, really.” Lily licks her lower lip and my dick twitches. Been doing that a lot lately.

  “Cara,” I warn, eyes still on Lily’s mouth.

  “He has a girlfriend now. She looks kind of like you.” She points at Lily then runs toward the house.

  “Like me meaning—”

  She stops when I grab the back of her head, pull her toward me, and do what she asked—I kiss it clean.

  I deepen the kiss, always wanting more. Doesn’t matter if she tastes like blood or like bubble gum; she’s always Lily.

  When we hear the screen door shut, she steps back, face red but smiling, and her eyes are glued to mine, just as I like them.

  “Here.” Cara thrusts the wad of paper towels at me. “And Dad wants you to go to the store and get chicken and shrimp. His girlfriend is staying for dinner.”

  “Tell him to do it his damn self. I’m busy.”

  “He doesn’t have his license, duh. And besides, maybe she can cook.”

  “Cara, I cook just fine.”

  “I b
et she can cook something besides the crap we get.”

  “That crap is from our garden and the freezer,” I remind her.

  Lily smiles at Cara. “Better than state cheese, huh?”

  “State what?” Cara scrunches up her face and Lily giggles

  “Go grab me the keys and some money.”

  When she takes off again, I clean up Lily’s lip, this time without using my tongue.

  “She’s cute.”

  “She’s a twelve-year-old terror.”

  When Cara runs back out, she hands me fifty bucks.

  “Where the hell did this come from?”

  “New horses came, and he’s on the wagon again.” She shrugs. “Can I come?”

  “No, stay here.”

  “Aw … come on; let her come.” Lily grabs her hand and tugs Cara behind her.

  Cara sticks her tongue out as they both run to the truck.

  Dad insisted on Lily staying for dinner, and since he’s not drinking this week, I decide it’s as good a time as any. Sober and a lady friend that he’s actually going to feed and not just fuck; chances are he won’t be too belligerent.

  When Nadia, Dad’s new ‘friend,’ walks in, she looks at Lily, and the first thing out of her mouth is, “Girl, who did that to your hair?”

  I was ready to take on the role of belligerent man of the house when Lilyanne starts laughing.

  “Haven’t had a decent braid since my mom offed herself. White foster family.” She shrugs.

  “Well, I happen to know a thing or two about your hair type.” Nadia winks at her.

  “She’s a stylist,” Dad says with the same pride as he does when he tells new borders that I’m his son like he’s the one who should get the pat on the back for other’s accomplishments.

  “That’s cool.” Lily nods as she starts to run her hand over her hair.

  “You ever think about trying a relaxer?” Nadia asks her.

  She just shrugs, and her face starts to redden.

  I look at Lily and make a fucking statement that’s one hundred percent truth, “I like her hair how it is.”

  We eat dinner, and when the house phone rings, I answer it. Lily’s foster mom says they are looking for her. Not wanting her to leave, I look at her.