by TC Matson
A lay is a lay is a hope for a mind blowing lay.
Max grins as he gets pulled off onto the dance floor by a modelesque brunette leaving me to my drink alone by the edge of the room to scout for myself.
Seductive cat eyes hawk me down, projecting exactly what she’s after as she sashays her hour glass figure across the room and toward me. Her thick plump lips coquettishly quirk up. “I thought your friend would never leave,” she purrs, her accent thick and erotic.
I lick my lips and appreciate the body before me, allowing my eyes to roam. “Had I known you were waiting, I would’ve gotten rid of him earlier. I’m Zachary.”
Her gaze is on my lips. Mine on hers and damn the things I could do with them.
“Mia,” she says. “I’ve seen you around. This is your third Abbot’s, correct?”
I arch a brow taking a taste of my bourbon. “You’re either highly infatuated or obsessively interested.”
She drags her tongue over her teeth. “Both.” She drops her eyes to my dick.
Clear intention. I like that about a woman.
“Would you like a drink, Mia?” I ask, my tone charming.
“One before we get out of here and get better acquainted.”
She hooks her arm into mine and I lead us to the bar where she orders a martini.
As the bartender busies himself making it, Mia leans close. “Please tell me you’re not sharing a room with your friend.”
Cocksure, I smirk. “I’m not.”
She blinks up from under her lashes and nibbles on her plump bottom lip, her gaze eating me alive. “Good. I can be a little salacious with the right person.”
She reaches out and unashamedly grabs a handful of cock. I grab her hand, lifting it to place a kiss to it. “I assure you I’ll have you screaming my name.”
A pale line, one where the sun doesn’t hit, catches my attention. The line where her husband pronounced his love for her. I’m many things—a womanizer, a dog—but a home wrecker, I am not. In my extensive set of skills, an adulterer isn’t listed.
When I bend and place my mouth beside her ear, her breath snags with excitement. “Does your husband know what you’re doing?”
“He’s impotent,” she says casually. “He gives me permission to satisfy my needs elsewhere.” Her voice is low, trailing beside my ear.
Anger floats through my blood. “He may be okay with it, but I am not,” I say impassively and then take a solid step back.
Her long lashes flutter up to me and she laughs low and throaty. Any other time that laugh would have been a hell of a turn on and I would’ve kissed the hell out of her.
She drags the back of her fingers down my cheek and flashes a sweet smile. “With a reputation like yours, Mr. Calloway, you can’t tell me you’ve never made a married woman wish she’d married you instead.”
I love fucking, having different women, feeling different women, but I despise my reputation that comes along with it. Most the time it gets skewed—case in point.
I blow a chuckle from under my breath. “I’ve made many women wish they could marry me, but never a married woman. That’s a sacred line I won’t cross, or hell, even touch.” I rake my view over her body again. “As beautiful as you are, you’re pretty revolting. You should be at home with your husband, the man you vowed to love, and not out trying new things because you can’t control yourself.” I flash a smug grin. “Have a good night, Mia.”
And just like that, my friends, I walk away. I see this a lot—women out to fulfill whatever their marriage is lacking. I’m not saying men don’t do it, but I’m not out trying to pick up men either. Infidelity is wrong—despite the reasoning and regardless if you’re married or dating. The “thrilling high” you experience at the beginning of a fling can certainly nosedive into rock bottom guilt. As it should. And there’s the saying, “what comes around goes around.” I, for one, do not want to have the woman I choose to be with for the rest of my life out bagging random dudes.
I hate a cheater. Yeah, when I was younger, I did. I screwed up, but I’ve also grown up since then. I went from a strapping young man to a handsome man with morals and dignity. I know the importance of commitment, love, and all that other jazz.
I spot Max talking up a blonde bombshell and politely interrupt their conversation. “Sorry,” I tell blue eyes before continuing with Max. “I’m going to call it a night. I’ll talk to you in the morning.” I clap his shoulder and tip my head to his “friend.”
After making my way back to the hotel room and changing, I fall to the bed and start flipping channels on the big screen attached to the wall. Truth is, I don’t mind striking out. Sometimes it’s for the best, like tonight. I’m still trying to gain my bearings after having days of Jade. Every time she leaves, I’m left to rebuild my walls. And that motherfucker has been knocked down hundreds of times by her. You’d think by now I’d learn to keep it up…
You’ve thought wrong, my friends.
Jade
My keys sing a jingle through the air and then hit the kitchen counter, screeching across before making a metal clash against the backboard. I drop into the fluffy chair and flop my feet onto the matching ottoman, exhaling a long, drawn out and over-dramatic groan.
Today has sucked. The epitome of a bad day. Nothing has gone right…at all.
This morning, I dropped my stupid decaf coffee—blasphemy, I know—climbing out of my car heading into work. With still-steaming dress pants, I stood in front of the coffee maker in the break room heart broken. They only offered regular coffee. Bastards.
At lunch my stupid turkey burger was so disgusting, I ended up tossing it. I’ve been starving all day.
Then the hydraulic pump in my chair broke and sent me sinking to the floor on the slowest amusement ride ever. My customer was entertained. Me? Not so much. I was already pissed and hungry. I had to stand all day because heaven forbid the bank has an extra freaking chair I can use.
People have been off the asshole charts, too. They’ve been rude as ever like it’s my fault they waited until the last minute to come in and withdrawal their money. We’ve been open all week. Should’ve come earlier.
I’m so over today.
“Fuck today,” I grumble, half yelling it.
Freya puffs a giggle and it grates my spine, spiking fury through my veins. I glare at her, shooting daggers into her eyes. She holds her hands up. “I’m assuming your pregnancy hormones are in full rage today?”
“It has nothing to do with hormones,” I snap. “People and the fucking universe. Everyone wants to blame everyone else for their mistakes. I can’t have coffee except decaf, which by the way is utterly pointless and registers as a sin in my book. I’m hungry and sick as shit of having to worry if anything that goes into my mouth is bad for the baby. And I have to worry about it for the next seven months.” I want to cry. The tears are there. I feel them stinging the backs of my eyes, but I squeeze them shut and drop my head to the back of the chair.
Freya places a Hershey’s Kiss on the back of my hand, offering a small sad smile. “It’s all I’ve got. If you want, I can pick up ice cream and pickles.”
“Ugh…” I grouse. “That’s such a myth and it sounds disgusting. I want an ice cold root beer and a chicken quesadilla with honey mustard.”
Freya’s lip curls up as she looks at me like I’m a weirdo.
I roll my eyes. “The craving is like you wouldn’t believe.”
She tips her chin to the little chocolate heaven kiss. “Start with that and let’s go to the store so we can get whatever your heart desires.”
Horror widens my eyes. “A hungry, pregnant woman roaming feral in the aisles of a grocery store? Have you gone mad?”
She snickers. “At least you’ll have all the things you want whenever you want them.”
It melts my irritations from the day and makes me laugh. “I do like the genius way you think, but I can’t today. I’m dying for a nap.”
“You’ll have a quiet apartment
in a little bit. I’m gonna grab a drink with Jane at PizzaRate.”
“Oooohhhh.” I sit up with hungry excitement. “Could you bring me some of their potato wedges and a slice of their extreme supreme?”
Her face scrunches in confusion. “You don’t like supremes because of all the mushrooms.”
“Don’t argue with a pregnant woman, Freya. Please.”
I don’t even make it out of my spot before my exhaustion pulls me into a peaceful slumber. Hell, I don’t even know when Freya left. I didn’t hear her leave. But almost three hours later, I’m awakened when she comes springing back into the apartment wielding a small square box and a brown paper bag, instantly causing my mouth to salivate.
She’s beaming when she pulls out a can of root beer. “I only got one.”
“You’re the best baby momma ever,” I moan my delight.
Cracking it open, I guzzle a long swallow allowing the bubbles—the cold, the bitter, and the sweet—to nurture my soul. “Yeessss…” I sigh.
She sets the bag down on the kitchen counter, her eyes questioning me. “When are you going to announce it?”
I shrug, pulling the pizza out of the bag and shoving an enormous bite into my mouth. My eyes roll.
“I wanted to tell Jane so badly. I didn’t. But man, I wanted to.”
“There’s a safety bump I want to get past. I read somewhere that most women wait until the beginning of their second trimester to say anything because the chances of a miscarriage drop significantly.”
“You’ve been studying.” Her amber eyes sparkle. “I really think you need to tell your brother…and like soon.”
“I will when I’m ready.” I take another glorious sip of root beer.
“When? When you spit the baby out of your vagina?”
I choke on laughter. “No. Before then.”
“When you’re in labor cursing the baby daddy and universe? Don’t expect me to make that phone call to him. That one is all you, girl.”
“I want to tell Zach first. And hopefully after, we can devise a plan on how to tell Max. I’ve been contemplating just going there this weekend and telling him.”
“Surprise visits don’t seem like a good idea with him.”
I shake my head. “He doesn’t bring women home. I don’t think.”
“And what happens if he does?”
My lips quirk. “Guess I’ll ruin his date.” And possibly puke on the floor.
“A week ago, you couldn’t get past screwing him. Think you can this time?”
A grin slices my lips as I look up to her under my lashes. “Doubt it. But it’s going to be mind-blowing as hell to try.”
Okay. So maybe this wasn’t my most thought out plan. My stomach is threatening to purge in the middle of his living room. I’m shaking like a leaf, my thoughts all over the place. I’ve surprised him before…many of times. But those were for glorious nights in the sack. I’ve never come here to say, “Hey, you. I’m pregnant. And surprise. It’s yours.”
I’ve tried sitting on his couch—no go. I’ve tried standing, resting my back on the wall—I can’t be still. I’ve tried his recliner—it squeaks as I bounce my knee. I’ve paced, striding back and forth, but nothing is helping to get rid of my restlessness. I’ve moved all over the living room, continuing my repetitive cycle—couch, stand, recliner, pace.
The sun drops behind the trees and then melts behind his privacy fence before soon halting its warm glowing rays altogether and allowing the darkness of the night to settle in. It’s been three hours and I’m beginning to feel like this is a waste. I don’t even know if he’s in town.
It’s past eleven when the grumble of the garage door sends my pulse into my throat. My body awakens, vibrating and throbbing. The purr of his engine causes the unpleasant, yet all too familiar, bile to churn. My entire body pulsates and I want to run out the front door as he steps into his house. He strides straight into the kitchen, tossing his keys onto the large island, and yanks open the refrigerator to grab a bottle of water. He twists the top, brings the plastic to his lips, but freezes.
“You?” He keeps his back toward me.
Knowing he can sense me makes me smile. “Yeah.”
He pivots with a smug smirk. His eyes roam my body. “I was a little disappointed you didn’t bid me farewell. Back to do so?”
He starts to stalk to me. His shoulders pulled back, his eyes shining, his hands at his side. The urge to run into his arms floods me along with the cold dreaded fear of what I’m about to say.
I hold up a finger and stumble backward. “I’ve been trying to tell you something for weeks now.”
The heated glimmer his eyes possess dissipates. His feet stop suddenly and his body tenses. “Is this where we end? Where you tell me you’ve met someone? Because I’m not ready for it.”
My breath is caught in my throat. My chin is trembling as I blink back my tears. My hands are clammy as I wring my fingers. I shake my head. “Zach, I’m pregnant.” My voice falters.
His head flinches, cocking to the side and his eyes narrow. “Whose?” he asks, his voice deep and harboring vexation.
I’m desperate for air to enter my lungs, for my pulse to calm down enough to take the throbbing from my muscles. “Yours.”
He stands there frozen, unblinking as he stares. He opens his mouth to say something, but quickly clamps it back shut. His chest rises and falls. “Fuck.” He storms off, up the stairs and slams the door behind him.
The floor falls out below me. I drop to the edge of the foot stool and sob with my head in my hands.
Long after I hear the shower turn off, he still doesn’t reappear, so I gather myself, pick up my purse, and leave. The street lights are blurry, the lines on the road squiggly messes as tears of devastation pour down my cheeks. My arms feel heavy as I grip the steering wheel. My body is numb.
“Did you do it?” Freya answers with enthusiastic hope.
“Yeah.” I exhale and then sniffle.
“I take it things didn’t go well?”
“He stormed off.” I take another steady breath. “I’m coming home.”
“Jade.” Her tone is heavy with concern. “It’s late. Go stay with your brother for the night.”
“And tell him what when he asks why I’m in town?” I raise my voice, bitter from the night. “That I’m pregnant by his best friend who just walked away from me? Fuck. That.” I hang up on her because I’m pregnant. And mad. And all my rational thoughts are drowned by the hurt.
The two-hour drive felt like the beginning of a bad dream—blurry at the edges and broken into a million pieces. Blanketed with fog. Everything seemed real but felt fake, like if I reached out and touched something, ripples would flood in and the image would implode. I wanted to wake up, but I couldn’t.
Unlocking the door, I sneak into the apartment in a vain attempt to not wake up Freya. It’s late and she’s the world’s biggest asshole if she doesn’t get her sleep. I tiptoe in, no sounds echoing from my steps, until…
I trip over the corner of the stupid rug, stumble forward and into the chair, stubbing my toe in the process.
“Shit!” I whisper hiss in pain, bending to hold my foot while bouncing on the other.
The hall light bursts on. “Jade? Is that you or do I need to come out shooting?”
“Shoot with what? Rubber bands?” I deadpan with a laugh.
She ambles her half-naked ass down the hall in a white tank top not hiding anything from the imagination, her shorts tight and almost up to her lady bits. She wobbles her head, bouncing it from shoulder to shoulder. “It would still hurt.”
I roll my eyes. Although I may have laughed, I’m not in the mood to politely people, even if it is my best friend. “I’m home. Go back to bed.”
Her concerned gaze searches my face. “Are you okay?”
I fall back on diversion. “I may have broken my toe on your stupid chair, but I’m fine.”
“Has he called?”
I exhale. “No. He
will but it won’t be tonight. Please don’t ask me anything more about it. I’ve finally got myself collected and quit crying.”
I hate how she looks at me with pity. Like I’m broken. “I’m here if you need me. You know…a door away.” She points behind her and then slowly turns away. I know she has more to say, something comforting I’m sure, because that’s who she is. But she also knows I’m far too fragile right now and I can’t handle it.
Even with his reaction, I want Zach’s arms, but the closet thing I’ve got to him is the shirt he got me before he went back to college after spring break. It’s bright pink with black script writing—Unfinished Complications. He gave it to me in front of everyone, which made it that more fascinating. His grin held the private message. His eyes held his feelings.
That was his last break for a long while, and although he was excited about college, and enjoyed it, he hated the distance it was putting between us. No more secret rendezvouses. No more late nights in the back of my car or in his truck. No more…He was going to be hours away, doing whatever he damn well pleased with whomever he damn well wanted to. Even though I knew we’d never be anything, the thought alone used to destroy me. It shattered my heart into a thousand little pieces over and over until the only thing holding it together was faith I would move past him.
Now my faith is riding on the hope that I’ll have the strength to handle what life is throwing at me.
Jade
The past two days have gone by painfully numb. I haven’t heard a word from Zach and honestly, I’m surprised I haven’t. He has many negative traits tacked onto his ridiculous reputation, but being a deadbeat isn’t one of them. It’s not like him to run from his problems. He’s always faced everything head on. He presses on despite any setbacks. He fights for the top vigorously, puts strenuous efforts toward any goal, and strives for success. Which is why I’m taken aback by how he’s acting now.