Back Off: Reed Security: Book One

by Robin Leaf

  Back Off

  By Robin Leaf

  Back Up

  Copyright © 2019 Robin Leaf

  All rights reserved

  Robin Leaf, publisher

  Cover art by Marianne Nowicki at PremadeEbookCoverShop.com

  Except for use in a review, no part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names of characters, businesses, places, events, or incidents are fictitious or have been used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The use of actors, artists, movies, TV shows, and song titles/lyrics throughout this book are done so for storytelling purposes and should in no way be seen as advertisement. Trademark names are used in an editorial fashion with no intention of infringement of the respective owner’s trademark.

  This novel is intended for adults only. Contains sexual content and language that may offend some. Suggested reading audience is 18 years or older.

  One

  1995

  Noah

  “Hey, baby,” Aileen purrs lowly.

  I bite my lips together to keep from screaming in her face. One thing I hate is girls who think calling a guy “baby” is anything but gross. I mean I am trying to be a good wing man for Fionn by keeping Aileen busy at this dance he dragged me to so he can put the moves on Layla, but this? It’s too much to ask.

  I do my best to ignore the girl, but she digs her fingernails into my elbow, most likely to signal me that I am taking too long with my friends. She is Fionn’s date’s best friend. They both met us here at the dance, which is probably why she thinks she is my date for the evening. Sure, Aileen’s pretty, some might even call her hot, with her platinum blonde hair, overly-made-up blue eyes, and big boobs, which she likes to push into me every chance she gets. But this chick has been doing shit all night to piss me off. Her voice, her nails, her subtle, passive-aggressive mean-girl comments… complete boner killer.

  “If we leave now,” she leans in and whispers, “someone might totally get lucky.”

  Normally, I might be down for that, but I really, really don’t like her, so much so that my dick shrivels at the thought of being anywhere near her. Plus, plot twist: I doubt I’d actually “get lucky.” I’m getting strong cock-tease vibes. She’s made several comments about me being a “hot senior,” which means she’s definitely using my upper-classmen status to help her reputation. She’d make sure everyone saw us leave together so she can increase her rank in her pack.

  After taking yet another deep breath to keep from barking at her like an asshole, I gently pry her hand off my elbow and lean away from her.

  “Why don’t you go dance?”

  Well, the deep breath didn’t help much. I sounded like a dick instead of an asshole.

  Aileen laughs like what I just said is totally ridiculous. “That’s social suicide. No one dances at these things, silly.” She nods to the dance floor. “Well, except those loser freshmen.”

  You’re just one year removed from what you consider “loser” status, psycho chippie.

  I turn to look at the dance floor, and sure enough, it’s sparsely populated with nothing but a few short guys with the younger-looking girls, so most likely, Aileen’s right. The one act of rebellion I decide to perform in my entire life, cleverly protesting by not dancing at this dance, is spoiled because of an already-existing social protocol.

  Despite the crepe-paper décor, the sweaty-ball smell in our school’s gymnasium is enough of a reminder that we have been granted a cheap-ass alternative to the prom, one that traditionally is held in a ritzy downtown hotel ballroom. Our brand-new principal is a conservative dick. He won’t let out senior class have our usual tradition, and he invited the entire school to what should be for seniors only, spouting off some bullshit about not letting his school sponsor an event which “inevitably leads to licentious debauchery.” One problem: Principal Meyer obviously forgot to give the speech to the DJ, who’s currently playing less-than-wholesome songs.

  While the rest of the senior class just about had a stroke with the no-prom news, Charlene, my sister, suggested an alternative way to give double-fisted middle fingers to Principal Meyer. We were going to protest by not coming at all, until Fionn had other plans when the sophomore he likes mentioned she was coming. So, since Fionn begged us, we’re here standing in the corner of the gym… not dancing. Genius plan. Yeah, that’ll show Meyer.

  My protection-mode kicks in, so I check the entire dancefloor to ensure the safety of everyone. Yeah, okay, it’s mainly to avoid the evil Barbie, but I take my responsibility seriously. Most of the dancers are putting forth their best awkward dance moves to the stupid ass, heavy-bass rap song that’s blaring throughout the gym, all except for one.

  Fuck me running.

  She moves like… well, I don’t know if I’ve ever seen anyone move like that, and she has a body that doesn’t seem like it’s only fifteen. Damn, she has excellent control. Her shirt hugs her curves, and it shows no cleavage, which is way sexier than the low-cut top my psycho “date” is wearing. Her jeans show off a tight, very round ass atop some nice, thick thighs. Wow. And the way her hips move… like the song says, I’m hooked and I can’t stop staring. Her dark hair hangs around her shoulders and bounces with her movements. Even if it is too dark to see her face, I can just tell; she is… beautiful. I don’t know how I know, but I just know.

  Another girl leans into her and says something in her ear. She throws her head back and laughs, and the lights illuminate her teeth. That neck, so long and smooth… I’m definitely hooked, and I’m definitely still staring.

  And my dick wants a closer look.

  “Hey,” Aileen squeaks, pulling on my forearm. “Where are you going?”

  I take notice of my surroundings. Somehow, I’ve moved close to the dance floor. I don’t remember my legs moving. That fucking girl… she is summoning me to her.

  Feeling the nails dig into my skin, I attempt to shake Aileen’s hands off my arm.

  “Fucking claw me again,” I growl, unable to control the anger this time, “and I will leave… alone.”

  Although her claws retract, she doesn’t let go, and she pouts playfully. “You wouldn’t do that. Layla says you’re a nice guy.” She leans into me, rubbing her boobs on my bicep. “Plus, I can tell you want me, Noah.” Batting her eyelashes, she whispers, “Don’t you?”

  I step away from her, wrenching out of her hold. “Not even a little. And I have no problem leaving your ass here.”

  The surprised look I get from her? Priceless. It almost makes me laugh.

  “Wait…You’re turning me down?” Her face transforms into the full-on bitch mode that she normally works so hard to hide, and her voice carries her next whiney statement across the gym. “No one has ever turned Aileen Michaels down.”

  “Yeah, well, I just did.” I smile. “I find it hard to believe I’m the first.”

  Ignoring her reaction, which includes some loudly yelled snarky comments at my back, I turn to walk back to my friends in the corner. Layla just about knocks me down scurrying past me toward her friend.

  I casually walk over to lean against the wall on the other side of where our friends are standing so that I can discreetly watch the angel on the dance floor. I make sure my feet stay planted so I don’t get sucked into her tractor beam again. Since my friends are used to me standing guard, I make sure to assume that stance so they can’t tell my true intentions.

  The song playing now is “That’s
the Way Love Goes.” It’s not the type of music I generally listen to; I usually like rock, preferably the classic kind. But ever since Charlene made me watch the MTV VMAs with her five years ago, Janet Jackson is someone I listen to when no one’s around. Her performance that night of “Black Cat” gave me my first non-spontaneous hard on. Of course, that might have little to do with the song and more to do with the woman singing it, but ever since then, I’ve bought all her albums. Her latest is my favorite, and the accompanying videos? So hot.

  Yes, I’m an almost eighteen-year-old male, who just signed up to be a badass Navy SEAL, with a legit, hard-core, super-secret crush on the pop-star goddess, Janet Jackson.

  And now, there’s the angel on the dance floor. Just when I finally finished reconditioning my dick to not get hard when I hear a song by Janet, I stand here and watch this girl. Her back is to me, which means I have a nice view of her hips as they swivel and bounce to the music. I can tell she is singing along, lost in the magic of the song. It’s fucking hot. Plus, I’m beginning to believe she’s no angel. I feel like my thirteen-year-old self again with my dick hardening in my jeans. Thank God for the darkness.

  “Care to tell me what happened over there,” Fionn says in his thick Irish accent, the one that comes out strong when he’s irritated. I jump, making it obvious I was thinking something I probably shouldn’t be.

  I shoot a glance his direction. He’s too preoccupied by his anger to notice anything I might have been doing. “Not really.”

  “Well, alright, but it took a whole lot of convincing to get that girl to go out with me, and if ye did something to ruin my chances…”

  “Chill, Fionn. I told you when you asked me to come to this thing, I wasn’t interested in Aileen. I came here as a favor to you,” I lift my arm and point to the scratches, “not to get fucking clawed by that conceited lioness you tried to feed me to.”

  His eyes bug out their sockets. “She did that to –”

  “If you would pay attention instead of being pissed at me for dumping that nightmare, you’d see that your girl is suffering the same abuse that she tried to inflict on me.” I point, making him look over there. “And if you were smart, you’d go swoop in and save Layla instead of giving me a hard time for calling Aileen on her shit.”

  He looks over in the direction of the two girls to see that I’m right. Layla stands in full view, looking defeated, as Aileen stands over her with a stance of intimidation, probably twisting the situation to make Layla feel like she’s to blame for who knows what.

  After he claps me on the shoulder, I watch Fionn approach them slowly, taking in the scene, before he interrupts Aileen’s berating and comes to the rescue of his girl. Layla’s face turns from deflated to all moony at Fionn. Yup, he’s her hero. And that worked better than anything I could have done distracting that evil bitch.

  Evil plus Aileen… equals Evileen.

  I smile at her new nickname.

  I turn my attention back to the dance floor to look at the girl. I don’t care about my social status, so I seriously consider saying “fuck the social suicide” I would commit by joining her. God, that ass… her commanding movements, her command of me. She’s… hypnotic. I picture her moving against me, her ass in my hands, rubbing her breasts against my chest. Fuck.

  Luckily, I stay rooted to my spot, leaning against the wall, inconspicuously creeping on the younger girl. I can’t go near her for several reasons. In three short months, I leave. I don’t need to get tied up in any girl drama, especially with one who is potentially much younger than I am. Not that I’ve ever had a serious girlfriend, but I’ve seen some of the shit my buddies have gone through. I’m not an asshole. I was raised with a strong mother who taught me a healthy respect for women. I just know, after listening to my sister, that teenage girls are… complicated. I need to be able to leave without complications.

  It’s best to just walk away.

  Pushing off the wall, I decide now’s as good a time as any to see if Fionn and Charlene are ready to leave. I should probably offer a ride to Layla, too, since I doubt she wants to be anywhere near Aileen.

  One last long look at the girl on the dance floor gives me plenty of mental ammunition for later. I may not be an asshole, but I’m no angel, either.

  ***

  I turn the key in the ignition and adjust the volume on the radio. The last thing I want to do is talk to the people in my car, and I feel the need to blare some of my kind of music to erase the remnants of the song still playing on repeat in my head and pause the thoughts of what I imagine doing with that dancer girl… at least until I can be alone. And maybe I can finally get my dick under control.

  “Barracuda” blares through the speakers I just installed, and I feel myself smirk. Perfect.

  “I always wondered who owned this car when I see it in the lot at school,” Layla says loudly, sitting forward so she doesn’t have to yell from the backseat. “What kind is it?”

  Resisting the urge to roll my eyes, I lower the volume so I can answer.

  “It’s a 1971 Plymouth ‘Cuda.”

  “And it’s his baby,” Charlene offers, turning to face Layla. “He’s been rebuilding this thing for three years and keeps adding things to it. We both invested our college funds when we were younger, so now he uses his money to pay for the rebuild.” She rolls her eyes. “He even named her Princess.”

  “Oh,” Layla sits back. “With it being purple and all, I wondered why a girl would want a car like this. Guys usually don’t drive purple cars.” I shoot her a look in the rear view, and she realizes what she said. Her face turns almost as red as her hair. “Not that purple can’t be… I mean it’s a manly purple, but I guess I just thought…” she trails off.

  I want to laugh. She’s so cute and innocent, I can see what draws Fionn to her. It’s a mystery how she got sucked into Evileen’s world.

  “It’s okay, Layla,” Charlene covers for me. “Noah’s not offended. The car was my grandfather’s, and he gave it to Noah on his fifteenth birthday. He didn’t choose the color, but he wanted it to remain as close to the original car as possible when he fixed it up.”

  I don’t hear much of Layla’s response. They talk like girls do, all chirpy and excited. I see Fionn’s irritation in the review mirror, and I chuckle.

  We arrive at Layla’s house, and Fionn helps her out of the car, pulling out all the gentlemanly stops for her. It’s almost cute how much he likes this girl.

  “Aww, they’re so cute together,” Charlene muses.

  Although I just kinda thought the same fucking thing, I’m not about to admit that to my sister. So instead, I shrug in response.

  She turns to face me. “C’mon, Noah. Admit it, they’re perfect together. Twenty bucks says they kiss.”

  “No way, she’s too shy, and Fionn is too much of a wuss to make a move like that.”

  “Fine,” she extends her hand to me. “Then it’s a safe bet.”

  I look at her hand and roll my eyes before placing mine in hers and shaking. “Fine, you’re on.”

  She smiles and turns to watch them on the poorly-illuminated front porch. We can make out the outlines of the two of them, awkwardly standing there, not talking.

  Fionn reaches over, takes her hand, releases it quickly, and nods before turning to walk down the steps.

  “Looks like you owe me twenty, little sister.”

  She throws a smirk in my direction. “Wait for it.”

  We watch Layla say something to Fionn and he pauses on the second step, turning to face her. She moves to him, crashes her lips quickly on his, and runs inside.

  “Ha! Looks like you owe me twenty bucks, dumbass.”

  “Why do I have to be a dumbass?”

  “Because you know nothing of love, Noah. That girl is smitten like a kitten.” She sighs. “He’s gonna be so good for her.”

  Fionn opens the door and waits for Charlene to lift the seat so he can climb in the back.

  “How was it?” Charlene ask
s.

  My best friend in the world, love struck fool that he is, blushes.

  “I really like her.”

  Charlene smiles and lowers her voice. “She really likes you, too, Fionn.”

  He tilts his head. “You think so?”

  “I know so.” Charlene turns toward the front. “Oh, hey, invite her to my beach birthday party next week. We’ll be surfing all day, and you’ll get to see her in a bathing suit.”

  Fionn blushes even more. “Thanks, Char. You really think she’ll come?”

  “I know she will, Fionny. I mentioned surfing earlier, and she said she loves the waves.” She giggles. “We’ll just have to make sure to get the super-industrial strength sunscreen for you. Can’t have what happened last time.”

  I chuckle again. “Yeah, lobster boy here peeled for two weeks.”

  “Oh God,” Charlene nods, laughing. “I forgot about that nickname. Lobster boy…” she snorts, breathing in, “molting…”

  “Both of ye can kiss my arse.”

  I smile. “Well we’ll have no problem finding it.” I look in the rearview to see him glaring at me. “Follow the glowing beacon.”

  He fights his smile. “Fuck ye, Noah.”

  “Nope, I’ll leave the popping of your cherry to the red head.”

  “It’s not red,” Charlene interrupts. “She’s strawberry blonde.”

  “Grace be to God,” he whispers. “Why do I put up with your shit?”

  I turn into his driveway and stop, leaning my arm over the seat. “It’s the car.”

  He laughs as he steps out of the car. “Yeah, that’s a good reason.”

  Two

  “I thought she said she had surfed before,” I say to Charlene, while we sit on our boards watching Fionn give Layla a lesson.

  She giggles. “She has, Noah. Do you know nothing about girls? If she pretends she’s never done it before, she gets a wet Fionn,” she wiggles her eyebrows, nodding their direction, “touching her… helping her.”