“Like?”
I love him.
She ran her teeth over her bottom lip. “We ended things back in 2015 with the hope that we would come back to each other one day, but we just drifted apart. So I freed up my heart—or so I thought—and I moved on.”
Luc opened and closed his hand. “You expect me to believe Grenada was the first time you saw him?”
“It was.”
“And you fucked this dude—raw—that you hadn’t seen or spoken to in years?” he asked with a slight curl to his lip.
“I did,” she admitted in a whisper. “And I regretted it as soon as it was over.”
“Where?”
She looked over at him. “What?”
“Where did it happen?” he asked, looking out the window.
“You want details?” she asked in surprise.
“Every last one.”
“No,” Jaime stated firmly.
Experience with her ex-husband had taught her those kinds of details served no purpose but to deepen the pain. He thinks he wants the truth. He doesn’t.
Memories of her blinding white-hot sex with Graham replayed. His roar when he climaxed echoed. Her cries as her climaxes shook her to her core. Those details? No, I won’t do that to him. I can’t.
It would be like firing a gun at a chest that you thought would only cause a simple entry wound, until turning the body over revealed that every organ inside the body and the back suffered massive damage.
“It serves no purpose to go into every detail,” she said, feeling weary as she leaned forward to set her elbows on her thighs and cover her face with her hands.
“Damn, that nasty, huh?” he asked.
She lowered her hands as her body went still as she looked at him in disbelief. It felt too much like when Eric had questioned and berated her about her one-night stand with Pleasure, wanting every sordid detail to then cruelly throw in her face at his sadistic whim.
“Look, I get that you’re angry and I get that you feel I owe you anything and everything at this point, but I won’t share those intimacies with you. If you require that to continue this conversation, then I understand if you want to end it now.”
Luc stared at her in shock. “You’re trying to set the rules right now when you were the one who broke them in the first damn place?” he asked with bitter coldness.
She remained silent.
“If I had fucked one of the women always throwing pussy at me—that I’m blocking left and right out of respect for you—then you wouldn’t want to know nothing?” he asked.
“What purpose would it serve for me to know where and how you fucked another woman?” she asked.
“Liar.”
She sighed.
He rose to stand over her.
Jaime looked up at him.
His hurt flashed in his eyes before he could hide it. “You were mine,” he said in a low voice.
She frowned a little at his possessive tone. The urge to question his claim of ownership felt pressing. She understood he was in pain, but she belonged to no one. She wasn’t a thing to be owned.
Well, what price did he pay for the title on my life? The ring? The lifestyle? What?
She pressed her hands together, taking a breath to set aside her ego and remember the hurt she caused him. “Luc,” she said, reaching for his hand as she rose to her feet before him.
He flinched from her touch.
She dropped her head and her hand. “The very fact that I admittedly lacked the wherewithal to avoid all of this proves I wasn’t ready to be married or to be in a serious relationship,” she admitted.
“Have you gone crazy and convinced yourself you have a choice in us being together?” he balked with a frown.
“No, I’m saying I won’t fight for it,” she declared. “I love you, but I fooled myself into thinking I was ready for everything you have to offer. Everything a woman better than me deserves to have.”
He eyed her long and hard. “So you’re going to be with your ex?” he accused.
“No,” she answered truthfully. “I need to get my shit together and focus on being a mother, not on being someone’s wife or someone else’s long-lost love.”
Luc looked confused. “Why does it feel like you’re dumping me? The fuck?” he balked. “This some kind of game you playing, because this feels fucked up.”
“That I agree we should end things?” she asked.
“I don’t give a fuck if you agree,” he spouted. “It’s over.”
Jaime pressed her lips together and said nothing.
He eyed her in disbelief.
“Luc, I’m admitting that I fucked up because I am fucked up. Forgive me,” she said with desperation as she pressed a hand to her chest. “I already put my desire to be with you or to have him back in my life in any way above what was my best for my child. Because what is best for him or her is to know who his or her father is, and I was willing to lie at first. I was willing to keep that secret.”
Luc moved to the window to stare out of it.
Tears welled and she sniffed as she shook her head. “It’s a bitter ass pill to swallow that—”
“I’m out of here. I can’t do this flip mode bullshit with you, Jaime,” he said, walking to the door with long strides. “It feels grimy as fuck that you looking for sympathy right now. Real grimy.”
She dropped her head as a tear fell from her face to land on the carpet. She crossed her arms over her chest. Admitting to herself that she showed the same selfishness with her unborn child that her mother showed her was hard, but it wasn’t his cross to bear. He had enough on him.
The door to the room closed.
He was gone.
* * *
Later that day, Jaime climbed from her car and crossed the sidewalk in Brooklyn to come to the large metal door of the multi-story factory renovated to an apartment building of lofts. She pressed Graham’s doorbell. Twice. There was a lengthy wait in between each. She raised her hand to the bell again.
The door opened before she could, and Graham’s tall presence filled the entry. His face was stoic. He had a light beard. The clothes he wore were splattered with wet paint she could smell. His feet were bare.
His mood was distant.
“Can I come in?” she asked as her heart pounded like drums.
He shook his head.
Jaime swallowed over a lump and nodded. “I understand you don’t have much to say to me,” she began as she looked down the length of the cobblestone street. “I don’t blame you. I’m here to apologize.”
Graham crossed his muscled arms over his chest. His face was still unreadable. But his eyes—those eyes—were on her and she felt nervous under his gaze.
“Forgive me for not revealing I was in a relationship—”
“Engaged,” he inserted.
“Yes.”
His eyes went down to her left hand before raising back up to her face.
“Forgive me for not immediately telling you that I was pregnant, and the baby could be yours,” she said. “I knew for just two weeks—”
“Just, Jaime?” he asked.
She fought the urge to turn and run. “I was going to tell you that day and Luc—”
“Your fiancé,” he inserted.
“Yes,” she stressed. “My fiancé interrupted that.”
Graham wiped his new beard with his hand as he shook his head. “I just want to be clear that what I care about the most is you not telling me about the baby,” he said. “You weren’t my fiancé. You’re not my woman. We weren’t even a couple. You cheated on him with me . . . the same as you cheated on your husband with me years ago.”
“Right,” she acknowledged. “Look, I really took the time this weekend to evaluate some things and I realize that I’ve got some work to do on myself, especially before my baby arrives. My focus has to be on becoming a good mother. I’m not ready to be someone’s wife or open up my heart to all the love I have for you right now. But I should have realized that
before I got us all into this.”
He looked away from her and bit his bottom lip as if in deep thought.
“Graham,” Jaime said, folding her fingers into a fist to keep from reaching to touch him. “I was going to tell you that day. I swear.”
“It’s pretty fucked up that you even considered not telling me,” he said, still looking down the street.
“We both agreed we didn’t have a future . . . and I felt like I could have one with Luc if I kept from him what I did with you in Grenada,” Jaime confessed, determined to be truthful with them both. “I did what I thought was best for me, not considering the feelings of Luc or you. And it was selfish of me to not think of my baby first. Yes, before even you or him, I should have made sure my baby had what it needed and that’s their father. Even if it meant both of you leaving me alone when I told the truth.”
Graham looked upward as he worked his broad shoulders as if to erase some annoyance he felt. “I’m happy to hear you’re having some self-awareness,” he admitted.
She closed her eyes and released a breath. “I fucked up,” she whispered, feeling emotional.
“You did,” Graham said, finally locking his eyes on her.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she said, reaching to cup his firm forearm with her hand.
“You just proved we were right that we could never have anything serious,” he told her.
“To be honest, Graham, right now I don’t want to try to live up to what anybody wants or needs but my baby,” she admitted as she stroked his brown skin with her thumb.
“It could be our baby, Jaime,” he said, his voice deep.
She smiled. “It could be. Yes,” she said. “But right now, I have to get my shit together and focus on being a mommy. To not be to my child what my mother was to me—controlling and manipulative and only caring about what she thought I needed.”
Graham looked away again as he nodded in understanding. “Right,” he agreed. “I think that’s best, Jaime. I’m pissed at you. I’m still dealing with it all and I’m not perfect, but I’m proud of you for realizing you got shit to work out.”
Jaime squeezed his arm before she stepped back. “I’ll be in touch with the details of the paternity test soon,” she said, before turning to leave.
“Jaime.”
She stopped, but she didn’t turn. She couldn’t. She wasn’t quite sure she wouldn’t beg him to let her stay if she did. She held on to her focus on motherhood and not love or passion.
“I’m hoping it’s my baby,” Graham said.
Feeling her resolve weaken, she quickly rushed to her car and soon sped away.
Chapter 12
Two weeks later
Luc was hurt. Still.
He hated going home.
He left his car and crossed the parking garage to reach the elevator. With a yawn behind his hand, he leaned against the rear wall as it traveled just one floor to the lobby and stopped. He was surprised. It was late on a weeknight and usually he was able to ride up to his floor without interruption.
Through the glass doors, he eyed Miss Too Much in a lime green bodysuit that left little to the imagination. He pulled out his phone and gave it his attention as she stepped on.
“Hey there,” she said, leaning over to press the button for her floor.
“Hey,” he said.
The doors closed and the elevator smoothly began to rise.
“I haven’t seen your fiancé lately.”
Gut punch. He didn’t show it. “We’re not together,” he said.
“Oh. That’s too bad.”
Luc wasn’t in the mood for games. He lowered his phone and looked at her like “Yeah, right.”
“What?” she asked innocently as she turned to stand in front of him.
“Don’t pretend you care about my relationship,” he said.
She shrugged a shoulder. “Okay. I won’t,” she said, flipping her waist-length dark purple hair behind her shoulder. “I’m feeling you and if you’d get your nose out your phone sometimes, you’d feel me too.”
“Really?” he asked.
“Definitely,” she assured him as she placed her hand on her hip and posed.
He eyed her from head to toe as the elevator slowed to a stop. “This your floor,” he said before turning his attention back to his phone. “You have a good day.”
The doors slid open.
She didn’t get off.
Luc closed his eyes and shook his head before he looked at her. “What do you want from me? You want to be in a video or just hang out with somebody you think is famous?” he asked. “You got a demo you want to give me? You’re looking for someone to fund your lifestyle? What is it?”
She looked perturbed.
“Look, I’ll be honest. My head is still pretty much wrapped up in my ex,” he admitted. “I would just be using you. And you’re not some random dude’s cum catcher—”
“Cum catcher!” she snapped.
The elevator doors began to close. He reached out past her to stop it. “I’m not calling you a cum catcher. I’m saying you shouldn’t be someone’s cum catcher.”
“Oh you think you need to tell me not to be a cum catcher?” she asked with attitude.
Luc lightly held her upper arms to guide her back off the elevator. “Let’s pretend this conversation never happened,” he said, easing back just as the doors once again began to close.
Yo, please don’t stop it.
She didn’t.
The elevator continued its ascent to his floor and Luc made his way down the hall, wishing he had never ventured into conversation with the woman he had offended by trying to avoid using her. Because all he could offer any woman at that time was meaningless sex. “Fuck love,” he muttered as he unlocked the door and entered his condo.
Cloaked by darkness and broken by moonlight, everything was beautiful but haunted. Jaime had removed her physical things but her presence—the imprint of her in the apartment—remained. Reminding him of how he had believed in her and her lies. Mocking him.
And at times making him miss her.
“Shit,” he swore as he kicked off his shoes and removed his jacket, leaving them behind in the foyer, before he moved to stretch out on the sofa.
He hadn’t slept in their bed since she left.
He turned over onto his back and picked up his phone on the sofa beside him. Long gone was the photo of Jaime from their first date on his screen, but buried in his albums was one he couldn’t bring himself to delete. In it, Jaime held the ultrasound from her first doctor’s appointment.
Luc wanted to be happy and excited about the baby again.
He wished he could forget the thought of Jaime fucking another man. There was nothing he wanted more than to be in the home with his child helping to raise his child. A family. The same one he never had.
“For loving both of you.”
Those words from her mouth when she admitted to having feelings for him and her ex had destroyed him then and still pained him. Walking away from Jaime and her betrayal meant walking away from living in the home with his child.
Might be my child.
He checked the time. It was three in the morning.
“Fuck it,” he said, dialing her full number because he had erased her from his contacts.
It rang four times.
“Luc?” Jaime said, her voice raspy with sleep. “What’s wrong? Is everything okay?”
Like you give a fuck, he thought, wishing he didn’t still give that fuck. But he did.
He sat up on the sofa. “Jaime, what’s the update on the paternity test?” he asked.
“Luc, what time is it?” she asked.
“Three.”
“Studio session?” she asked, sounding amused.
“Yeah,” he replied, turning his head to look out the window at the night sky.
The line went silent.
“Jaime—”
“How are you, Luc?” she asked.
“Like you give
a fuck,” he shot at her, unable to deny himself.
More silence.
“Can you ever forgive me?” she asked, filling the quiet.
“Nah,” he answered quickly, saying it more than he felt it. “The paternity test?”
“Right,” she said, clearing her throat. “My next appointment is in two weeks. I think they do it by blood tests—”
“Me, you, and your ex,” he inserted.
A pause.
“Yes,” she eventually said. “At my next appointment, I’ll speak to the doctor about making the arrangements for testing.”
There was so much he was tempted to say. Questions. Reprimands. Maybe even reconciliation.
He swallowed them all down. He needed to know if he was going to be a father or not. Right now, that’s all that mattered, and everything banked on that. For his child, he would do anything. Even fight to forgive his or her mother.
“Text me the details when you have them,” Luc said before ending the call and tossing his phone onto the coffee table.
* * *
Hell on earth took on a whole new meaning for Jaime.
The accommodations were lush. Food was readily available to feed her growing cravings. The skills of Margaret, the housekeeper and cook, was above par. Even the view from her window down at the pool and garden was sublime. Suburban life had its privileges.
But this bit of suburbia included her mother’s mouth and controlling nature.
Jaime drove her vehicle onto the drive of her parents’ three-story brick colonial home. She couldn’t bring herself to climb from her vehicle and enter. “Fuck this shit,” she muttered as she called her realtor.
It rang just once.
“Jaime. How are you?” Reynold asked in his big and booming voice.
“Ready to move. Update, please,” she said bluntly, cutting to the chase and skipping the niceties. Spare me the bullshit.
“Okay. So they aren’t finished with the repairs to the apartment—”
Jaime pounded her fist on the wheel. “How much more?” she asked.
“A week. That’s firm,” he added before she could ask.
“Seven days or five business?” she asked.
“Seven.”
“Okay. I love the apartment. The lease is just for a year. It will make my commute better because the Jersey Turnpike is killing me,” she reasoned.
Her Pleasure Page 16