Sideswiped

By Lauren Alsten

Jared might be stuck in an unfulfilling job, but he knows what he wants to be doing. He also knows who he wants to be with -- Tara, a.k.a. The Goth Girl Next Door he’s fantasized about for years. He’s not bothered by their age difference, but everyone else seems to be. Tara thinks he’s just a plaything, his brother thinks she’s a witch, and his parents think she’s trouble.

Jared thinks she’s perfect.

Tara loves her job as a sex streamer, but since quarantine, she’s tired of flying solo. Then she teams up with her zygote of a neighbor, and her tips soar. So does her pleasure, yet she keeps swiping, searching for a mature, responsible LTR-worthy man.

Jared’s convinced he’s everything she needs, but can they keep their relationship hot without their passion self-destructing?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Changeling Press
• Release date: Jul 23, 2021

Book preview

Chapter One

Jared

My infatuation with Goth Girl started early and has only gotten worse with time. Every year, I’ve seen her less and less. Every time, she looks better and better, and I want her more and more. Lucky for me, I’ve been seeing a lot more of her lately. And I mean a lot more. Today I’m hoping for a chance to talk to my boyhood crush live and in-person.

In the kitchen of my childhood home, my mom and I clean up after finishing our sandwiches, our weekly ritual since I moved out. Our conversations usually revolve around which stocks I’ve purchased and which companies I’m pursuing for Armand & Natch, the holding company where I work. I’d much rather work with animals, but according to Mom and Dad, geniuses don’t grow up to play fetch; they grow up to get rich.

You’re a shoo-in for this promotion, dear. They’re blind if they don’t see your potential. She pats my arm as I load the dishwasher. Third time’s a charm. You’ll get it.

I hope she’s right. Armand had hired an outsider for the first new position earlier this year, and for the second, Natch had promoted my colleague, even though I’ve out-earned both of them. I suspect it had more to do with my age and lack of experience than merit, but profit and potential should talk louder. Yeah, I’m young, but I’ve got the investment eye of a seasoned pro, despite Natch’s flippant implication that I still needed babysitting. Guy’s kind of an asshole.

I find out Monday. Fingers crossed.

We walk into the living room as a moving van starts backing into the driveway next door. My mother raises her voice to compensate for the high-pitched, rhythmic beeps. I’m sure everything will work out fine. Why don’t you come back over tomorrow, and we can celebrate both your new position and your bir --

I raise my hand to stop her, swallowing my annoyance as I wait for the obnoxious bleats to subside. Ma, please. You make the best sandwiches in the world, and I love you to death, but no thanks. Not only would that be premature, but I’m twenty-one. No more parties, okay? I don’t want to hurt her feelings, but she tends to go overboard with balloons, streamers and singing. Yes, I was once a socially awkward whiz kid who clung to his mommy and loved blowing out candles, but I’m an adult now. My parties should include beer, bongs and babes, not balloons.

And speaking of babes, I’m sinking into the couch when I spy Tara Callahan, a.k.a. Goth Girl, next door. She and her sister Allie chat with the movers while my mom peers out the bay window, trying not to look like the nosy neighbor she is. Both she and my dad are descendants of Generation Get Off My Lawn. I pray the Callahan sisters don’t notice.

I heard Mrs. Callahan is moving back home. I hope she doesn’t bring Tara with her. That girl has always been trouble.

She’s a woman now, Mom. And I should be a good neighbor and see if they need help. I slip my mask back over my mouth and try to contain my enthusiasm about cutting our conversation short. My mom may think I’m being a gentleman, but my motives aren’t so pure. For the past two months, Tara and I have barely crossed paths. I’m sure as hell not missing this opportunity.

I extricate myself from the couch, the same one I’d perch on as a kid. Usually, I’d watch neighborhood kids play ball in the street, but one day stands out in my memory. Tara raced out onto her driveway, her father hot on her heels. Purple-streaked black hair swept across her face while she screamed at him. I’m legal now, and I can drink whatever I want, whenever I want!

He towered over her as obscenities spilled out of his mouth. Not in my house, and not when that Ryan character is here!

She wilted for a mere second before standing up to him. He’s my boyfriend, Dad! I love him!

Her father leveled an ultimatum. My house, my rules! You don’t like it? Leave! He pointed to the curb and swore some more. The street kids scattered like ants. Tara cowered for a few seconds before picking up her backpacks and stomping to her beat-up VW.

I was riveted, my knees digging into the cushion and my palm aching as I squeezed the life out of my Matchbox car. Tara Callahan was insidiously fascinating. Out of control, fearless. Beautiful. But even my child-genius mind didn’t realize how much I liked her.

She reminded me of Abby from NCIS, only wilder. In ripped black fishnets, shredded jean shorts, a tight, cropped tank top and high-heeled combat boots, she finally flipped off her father and bent over to stuff the backpacks into the trunk. I watched, my hand growing numb and another part of me feeling quite weird as well.

I ran in front of the television and yanked my pants down. Dad! My penis broke!

My father was not happy when I obstructed his game show for my freak show. What? His face clouded, until he stood, glancing from my crotch to the window. "Jared, pull your pants up. Stop looking at women like her."

I frowned, not understanding what the hell Goth Girl had to do with my dilemma. My body had seriously malfunctioned, and the future of my penis was at stake. I needed answers. Will it be okay?

He waved me away. Don’t worry. It’s normal for it to… change shape.

So it’ll regenerate, like a Transformer?

Dad huffed but didn’t answer me. Go help your mother with dinner. And don’t say anything about your… Transformer.

Back then, I didn’t get it. Today, my little shapeshifter displays excellent recall ability, twitching the minute I slip out of the door and more closely examine Tara’s latest outfit: slightly longer shorts topped with a black V-neck that hugs her ample chest… and holy mother of sexy patent leather boots. Although I’ve seen her naked plenty of times, my current view is the best, because it’s live. With significantly less brattitude than her earlier years, she directs the two men down the truck ramp. Dumb & Dumber stumble while trying to offload the oversized sectional, and it’s not because they’re staring at Allie, who’s wearing a long flowy dress and picking up the mail at the end of the drive.

Tara’s nipples poke through her shirt so hard they’ll gouge my eyes out if I get any closer. But I’m a risk-taker, and I’m willing to die a happy, eyeless man. As I approach, she crosses her arms, her chest plumping up and mercilessly teasing the poor movers… and me.

Come on, boys, nice and easy. She winks at them, knowing exactly why they keep tripping.

When she turns her attention to me, I smile, forgetting she can’t see the bottom half of my face. She saunters over to me as Dumb drops the couch a second time and Dumber swears at him. I decide to take pity on the poor lads.

I block their view of Tara by walking up to the ramp. Need a hand?

Dumber nods, and while the three of us hoist the couch inside, Tara picks up a box and follows. We position the couch along the wall, and I lower my side gently. Tara struts to the center of the room, drops the box she’s carrying, and bends over to open it.

D&D both drop the couch for the third time, the resulting shock jarring it from my grip. It’s heavy as fuck and lands squarely on my foot.

Goddamnit! I turn and punch the wall, immediately regretting my outburst. The brick mantle is nowhere near as forgiving as the drywall I was expecting. It rips into my skin.

Pain shoots up my fist and into my arm, my hand suddenly feeling two sizes too big. The movers bolt back outside. Tara stifles her laugh as I try not to swear like a sailor.

She points. Stay there. I’ll be right back.

I drop silent f-bombs as I sink into the cushion. I don’t know what hurts more: my foot, my hand, or my bruised ego for losing my temper. The minute she returns with an ice pack and a towel, the throbbing in my extremities subsides…

And springs up in my jeans. With blatant disregard for social distancing, Tara positions herself over me, pressing a pack of ice into my fist. As she hovers over my lap, my gaze slides down the sheen of shimmer dust trailing down into her cleavage. I imagined her smelling like clove, incense, or patchouli, but instead, she’s a sweet mix of honey and jasmine. She touches my arm, and the corners of her beautiful black-lined, brown eyes crinkle.

You okay there? Her eyes fall to my lap.

I grab the nearest pillow and crush it into my crotch. Not like she doesn’t know exactly what’s going on, but at least the frilly pillow offers some sense of propriety. Women like Tara know their effect on us mere mortals, but still, I don’t want to be rude. Am I embarrassed? A bit. But could I be more infatuated with this woman? Doubt it.

She lets out a solitary giggle and stands back up, winking. Don’t worry. You’ll look great in an orange jumpsuit.

Um, what?

Standard issue for convicted pillow molesters.

She can’t see me smile, but once again, I have to pry my eyes off her tits. Something about her is different. I can’t put my finger on what.

Hey, you all right? Your eyes are glazing over. She sets her hand on my arm and sits next to me.

I attempt a coherent sentence while wiping a bit of blood from the side of my hand. Yeah, fine. Good. Great. Peachy.

Jesus H. I might as well say, "My brain is devoid of blood and consequently I possess the conversational capacity of a two-year old."

Her eyes smile. It’s nice to see you again, Jare. Thanks for helping. What have you been up to, since… Wow. I guess the last time I saw you, you were… She hums a little tune, which tells me she saw me in the bathroom window the day she washed her dirt bike. Now, her voice scrapes across me, hot and rough like a wet washcloth on my teenage psyche. A bit preoccupied, I do believe.

I was sixteen, which means she’d been about thirty the summer Dane returned from college and caught me in the bathroom. Mr. and Mrs. Callahan weren’t home when Tara roared into their back yard on her bike, radio blaring. She and Allie danced while washing their respective wheels. My eyes danced exclusively over Tara. Once she’d shed her tank top and shorts, miles of pale leg skin captivated me. A colorful tattoo covered one of her upper arms. From my vantage point, I discerned what looked like a mermaid on one arm, and on her right shoulder blade, a small red tat, like a little apple or strawberry. The silver belly charm hanging from her waist kissed her navel as it dangled above her barely-there black bikini. Aside from her boots, the only thing she wore was that skimpy two-piece and a smile. Aside from my towel, the only thing I wore was a boner and a fistful of Nivea.

I might have tested out of high school, but I was still a teenage boy, full of hormones with no legitimate outlet. I probably watched them splash around for an hour, chasing each other with soapy sponges while I wielded my own personal hose. Tara torturously dunked the damn sponge into the water bucket. Over. And over. And over, dousing her bike, helping Allie with the car. Driving me insane. Treated to a spectacular view of her tits, my fist pumped fast and furious under my bathroom window. My eyes feasted on the bubbles dripping down her cleavage, gifting me months of spank bank material. It felt so wrong; it felt so right. It felt like I was in love with the woman next door. Or at least lust.

Then Dane barged in and caught me seconds away from spewing. He glanced out the window before whipping a wet washcloth at my face and smirking.

Now that I’m pre-law, I must advise you to stop badgering your witness.

I threw him a dirty look. And you wonder why people hate lawyers.

He bit back a laugh. Fine. Cuff the carrot all you want, but the Goth Girls I knew on campus would stick a spear through your dick and roast it over an open cauldron if you gave them half a chance. I ignored him and stared back at Tara, torturously rinsing every blessed bubble from her chest.

My balls were about to explode. What the fuck are you talking about?

He laughed. They’re all witches! Hang around in covens, cursing people with black magic spells. Probably smoke pot, too.

I whipped the washcloth at his chest. Wearing black doesn’t make you a witch, moron. Bumping him out of the way, I stomped back to my room to toss in peace. I loved my brother, but he was clueless. Brainwashed by our strict parents, he thought everyone who wasn’t just as uptight had to be a deviant drug freak.

Besides, I didn’t care if she was a witch. Weeks ago, when I found her online, I most certainly fell under whatever spell she cast. Today, I’m still enchanted as fuck.

Your eyes are glazing over again.

Her voice is different. And not because of her mask. On-screen, it’s deeper, and more… voluminous? Breathy. She stares at me while I squirm.

Last time I saw you over here, you were bending over your bike. Thank you, by the way, for stealing my innocence and ruining me for all other females.

She winks again. Your generation grew up on the Internet. Chances are, you weren’t that innocent to start with. Between your parents and your brother, I’m guessing you hid in the bathroom quite a bit? My family’s disdain for her must have been fairly obvious.

Sorry my parents were jerks to you. And Dane. My grandparents were very religious and super strict. Not the most open-minded.

It’s okay. But what about you? You open-minded?

With my non-throbby hand, I swipe my hair back from my forehead and shift a bit sideways to face her, aiming for at least a three-foot buffer. I’d like to think so.

Our eyes meet. So would I.

Without miles of cyberspace between us, her beauty is even more evident. She doesn’t need all the