Persuading Perfection

by TC Matson

Her eyes flutter and she peeks over to me, weak and exhausted. “You’re still here?”

  I smile, rubbing her cheek. “Do you feel like you’re dreaming? I could be the man of your dreams.”

  She blows a titter under her breath and rolls to her back, running a hand over her stomach. “I think I’ve died.”

  “Well then, I’m your angel.”

  “Your face is lying about your presence,” she mutters with a sly smirk, slinging her arm over her eyes.

  I drop my head and laugh. “Try sitting up and taking a sip. Did you call into work?”

  She scoots herself up the bed and takes the glass. “Yeah. This morning. What time is it?”

  “About three thirty.”

  Her eyes go wide dropping her mouth open. “I’ve slept all day…”

  “Well, after a night and half the morning of tossing your cookies, it’s pretty safe to say you needed the rest.”

  She groans. “I need a shower. I feel icky.”

  “Icky?” I’m surprised by her choice of words.

  “Yes, icky. Disgusting. Nasty. Vile. Dirty. With your level of education, you’d think you know what icky means.”

  I pull open the top drawer, and immediately my dick takes notice of all the sexy thongs—red, black, yellow, lacy, stringy, see-through.

  “Please for the love of my dick, tell me you have a matching bra and you’ll show me when you feel better. I’ll beg.” I say holding up a black and light pink thong.

  She leaps off the bed, snatching them from me. “Get out of my drawers!”

  “The goal is to get in them.”

  Ignoring her, I keep rummaging around when something catches my eye. A picture…of Jade and me when we were younger. She’s in her sexy as fuck volleyball jersey stretched out across my shoulders as I’m holding her up in celebration.

  “I remember this.” I hold it up.

  She jerks it out of my hand and shoves it back into the drawer, slamming it shut. “Quit being nosy.”

  “You guys won the championships,” I say.

  “Yeah.” She looks at me like I’m an idiot. “Move so I can grab my clothes without worrying you’re sniffing my panties.” She shoves me out of the way, grabs a pair of blue panties, and quickly slams the drawer shut…catching my curiosity to find out what’s in the drawer she doesn’t want me to see. She’s nervous, fumbling around the other drawers to retrieve the rest of her clothes.

  Interest officially piqued…

  I turn the shower on for her, adjusting it.

  “What are you doing?” She eyes me.

  Throwing my thumb over my shoulder, I offer, “Starting it for you.”

  “Get out.”

  I lick my lips. “Scared I’ll see you naked? I’ve always wondered what your tits look like.”

  Her smile is weak, tired, and definitely annoyed. “I know how you are when I’m naked. Sex is off the table.”

  “But fucking on the table is always good.” I fold her in my arms and kiss the top of her head. “I’m not here for sex.” My voice is tender.

  She’s uncertain as she strips and eases into the water, never taking her eyes off me until she pulls the glass door shut. Of course, my dick grows at the sight—water descending down her slick body, tumbling off her nipples, sliding down her stomach, gliding down her legs. As she washes her hair, she leans back arching and pressing her tits high. I adjust my dick and leave.

  I make a beeline to her dresser. I haven’t seen that picture in years and she didn’t give me time to admire it…at all. I was so proud of her that day. Her team played hard to get to the championships and once there, beat the fuck out of the Greenhawks. I don’t remember the score, but I know it was an intense game.

  I run my thumb over the glossy photo. She’s glowing with triumph, beaming from ear to ear. Her hair is pulled back into a ponytail with her lucky black headband holding down the strays. I’m grinning too, happy for her with my mess of hair because that’s when it looks the best. I shaved for her that day and Max teased me, swearing I was trying to look younger to pick up the high school chicks. I picked one up all right…straight onto my shoulders in celebration.

  Noah was just off frame, pissed as hell that she ran to me first. I’m pretty sure that’s partly my shit-eating grin besides having her thrown over my shoulder celebrating.

  I shouldn’t. I really shouldn’t, but I do anyway…move things in her drawer, taking a peek at what could possibly be in here she’s protective over. Possibly a dildo? We can have some fun with it.

  My fingers slide across of stack of pictures and I grab them. Max, Easton, and I are sitting on the edge of the pool, laughing at something. Summer break before we became seniors. We were young little shits.

  I shuffle to the next one and it causes me to chuckle. We were all at the fair, and Jade and I were in one of those two-bit photo booths making faces. Jade’s sticking her tongue out and I’m scrunching my face and crossing my eyes. The next little square—she’s got her arm thrown around my neck, blowing the camera kisses as I’m laughing with my damn mouth wide ass open. I remember we decided for the last picture we’d be serious. Jade’s smiling, her entire face lit up, gorgeous as ever and me? Well, I’m looking at her.

  The next photo dumbfounds me. It’s just of me. A side profile. I’m sitting with my elbows on my thighs, my hands draped between my legs. I’m in my favorite gray hoodie and black jogging pants looking out in front of me, lost in thought. I have no idea where this is or when this was.

  There’s a familiar feel of paper at the bottom and I set the pictures down to open them up. I puff a chuckle. “I can’t believe you still have this,” I exhale astonished.

  Years ago, many years ago, I sketched her a house. I worked for days to perfect it. My pencil strokes were smooth and bold, outlining everything, and shading the rest to create the home of her dreams from scratch. I paid attention to as much detail as I possibly could, designing her a southern style craftsman. A large front porch with tapered columns meets stone pedestals with the stone extending to ground level to support the overhang and give her a retreat when she wants to sit outside. I drew large gable dormers and exposed rafters paying a ton of attention to all the details I could. I chuckle again. I put so much damn effort into this house. I sketched different angles. Hell, I even made her a fucking blueprint measured out to specs.

  I’m still admiring my seventeen-year-old architectural skills when the water shuts off. My heart slaps my chest and I quickly fold up the papers and scramble to put everything back into their places to cover up my snooping. Except, I take the picture of her on my shoulders and shove it in the corner of the mirror and the frame. No need for that to stay in the drawer any longer. It’ll give her a perfect reminder daily.

  She comes out fully dressed with her hair wrapped in a towel. The skin around her eyes still looks reddish, heavy with the wariness of being sick.

  “You feel better?”

  “I think.” Her voice is peppy, contradicting her eyes.

  “Hungry? You don’t have diddly shit here. We can go grab something or I can call something in,” I say.

  She runs her hand over her stomach and shakes her head, leaving me sitting on the bed as she pads down the hall. I reach the living room just in time to see her plop in the corner of the couch, pull her legs up to her chest, and point the remote, turning on the television.

  “Chinese?” I offer as I take a seat at the opposite end of the couch.

  Her face pinches. “God no. That’s barf city. I don’t want anything. Hell, I can’t have anything. Either everything is too greasy or isn’t good for the baby,” she groans, tugging a throw blanket over her.

  “What time does Freya get off work?” I ask scheming an idea.

  “Four. She’ll be home by four-thirty, but you can go home now if you’d like.”

  “Where’s your phone?” I ask and she’s instantly skeptical. “I’m going to have her grab something for me.”

  She stares at me for many
seconds and I’m assuming she realizes she’s too weak to win an argument with me. “Beside the bed.”

  Jade: Freya, it’s Zach. Could you stop at the store on your way home? I’ll pay you back.

  Freya: It’s your lucky day. Send me the list.

  I send her a bunch of items, and once done, I place Jade’s hot pink phone back to the coffee table and sit beside her, stretching her feet into my lap and digging my thumbs into her heels.

  She pulls her feet back into her. “What are you doing, Zach?” Her sigh is conflicted, both exasperation and apprehensive. “Stop with all this weird shit.”

  “I’m trying to help you feel better.”

  Her eyes narrow, her top lip curling up. “I don’t need you to take care of me.”

  Aggravation creeps up my throat and tightens the muscles around my neck. I shift. “We need to get a few things straight. I am going to be taking care of you and you need to accept it. Learn to deal with it. Do whatever you must because I’m going to be right here whether you fight this tooth and nail or pout like a brat.”

  Anger glares at me. “First, I don’t want you taking care of me. I am and have been without you in my life. Second, I’m pregnant. I’m totally allowed to pout like a brat. And third, you don’t need to do all this sweet shit. Just be a baby daddy in the distance.”

  I smirk, tug her foot back into my lap, and dig my thumb into its arch. “Scared you’ll fall in love?”

  “No. I’m not. I’m scared you will and think there’s something between us when there isn’t. I don’t want to be with you. I just want you to be in our baby’s life, and I’d appreciate it if you respected those boundaries.”

  But she doesn’t move her foot…

  “Boundaries? You realize you’re knocked up with my swimmers, right?”

  The groan is long and drawn out, muffled by her hands running down her face. She sits up, taking her foot back. “We fuck. That’s what we do. We work better from a distance and always have. Seeing things change, knowing there’s more to come, is making me sick. I hate it. I hate this. I hate you here. I hate you texting and calling me all the damn time. I hate it, dammit.” Her mouth says the words, but those watering eyes are telling me differently. She tucks her legs tighter, crossing her arms in a protest. “I despise how everything you do comes with pain. You make me feel safe, but I know it’s only time until you hurt me. You always do. I don’t need emotional turmoil right now. I don’t need the stress. All I want to do right now is relax and watch this stupid show without an overbearing Zachary fucking Calloway staring at me like I’ve lost my damn mind.” Her tone continues to jump in octaves. “If you insist on being here, sit there and just… just be quiet and don’t touch me. Please.”

  She blinks and turns her attention to the TV, her face blanching.

  Jade

  Bile churns. My mouth salivates as my throat tightens preparing for the inevitable. This baby doesn’t like it when I’m upset. At. All.

  Suddenly, the urge is too much. I spring to my feet, rushing to the bathroom, skid to the toilet, and hold on for dear life as I dry heave the empty contents of my stomach.

  Zach’s right behind me, wetting a cloth and holding it on the back of my neck. He moves my hair and gently rubs my back in tender circles. And I hate it. I hate how he’s making me feel adored, even when I’m kneeling in front of another god.

  “What can I get you?” he asks, his voice soft.

  “A fast forward button to get this crazy baby out of me,” I croak and then my stomach contracts, forcing me to vomit.

  As I catch my breath, I rest my head back on the wall beside the toilet feeling weak and exhausted. Zach slides down the wall and sits beside me. Right now, all I want is to be comforted and babied because I feel awful and I’m miserable. I lean over, laying my head on his knee. He stretches his legs out in front of him, coercing my head to settle in his lap.

  He doesn’t say a word as he runs his fingers through my wet hair. Waves of nausea rise and fall as hot and cold sweats rumble over my skin. I breathe through it, closing my eyes and allowing his tender touch to ease me.

  “Baby…” Zach’s voice sweeps into my mind.

  Opening my eyes, I find myself in my bed wrapped under the covers.

  Sympathy stretches Zach’s lips. “I made you something to eat.” His voice is quiet and caring.

  “She up?” Freya says and then appears at the foot of my bed. “You feeling any better?”

  “Like death,” I mumble and then slowly sit up. I brush away the sweaty hair stuck to the sides of my face and then run my hands down my cheeks and along my neck.

  “I made you something to eat,” Zach repeats. “It’s not much but it’s something simple to put on your stomach.” He holds up a bowl of mashed potatoes.

  Arching a brow, I blink up to him, dubious yet excited. “Did you make these, or did you open a container and plop them in the microwave?”

  He tilts his head with a smug smirk.

  I should’ve known better. “Of course you’d caress my soul with these.”

  He blows out a chuckle.

  “Is it true that all you wanted for your seventeenth birthday was a pot of his mashed potatoes?” Freya asks with amusement riding out on the words.

  Embarrassment creeps up my neck and I hide my face. “Oh god…”

  Zach cracks up. “Jade, you’re blushing.”

  Playfully, I narrow my eyes at him. “You had to tell her?”

  He gives me an impish shrug.

  I roll my eyes, hiding my laugh. “You should try them. You’d fall in love with him too.” Quickly I realize my sucky choice of words. “I mean, his potatoes,” I fumble out. “You’ll fall in love with his potatoes.”

  He kisses my forehead and leaves the room. I frown at Freya. “I hate he’s here.”

  She arches her perfect eyebrow, doubting me. “Uh-huh. I’m sure it’s a hardship.” She rolls her eyes and ambles her ass back out of the door.

  I despise he’s stirring up the feelings I don’t want to feel and filling me with hope. Zach doesn’t love well. It’s laced with hurt and heartache. After the smiles come the tears. I’m not interested in the pain…again. We’re like toothpaste and orange juice. Apart, we appeal, but together we don’t mix.

  The moment I take a bite I moan. I haven’t had much to eat in a day and then coupled with it being Zach’s amazing mashed potatoes…it’s heaven in a bowl. He won’t tell me the secret of how he makes them, something about his grandmother teaching him her recipe when he was young.

  He comes back in and sets a glass on the table beside my bed.

  “You really should sell these.” I’ve told him this before.

  “I’m not sure I’d enjoy mashing potatoes for a living,” he replies.

  “I think you’d get rich the first year and then you could hire other people to mash them,” I say and then take another small bite.

  He flashes a mega-dignified smirk. “I am rich. And no amount of mashed potatoes can make me walk away from my company. I’m happy with the payment of your smile.”

  I don’t respond, taking a few more bites, and then decide I want another shower to wash away the nasty I feel. I gather my clothes as he watches, hawking my every move, and then he frowns when I refuse to let him in the bathroom. I need a break. A breather. He’s killing my strength.

  “I think I’m good now,” I tell Zach as I step out of the bathroom. My stomach doesn’t feel as pissed although I feel weak. “I just want to go back to sleep. You can text me when you get home. I’ll text you back when I get up.” I’m desperate for him to leave.

  “I’m going to borrow your shower,” he dismisses me and carries a small pile of clothes into the bathroom, leaving the door open.

  It’s torture knowing he’s naked just on the other side of the wall. His sexy body shining from the water, his tattoo brighter, his muscles lickable. Images of soap running over his skin, around his dick, down his ass…He’s got to get the fuck out of here. I s
lam onto my side, ripping the covers over my shoulder, and nuzzle into my pillow, desperate to quit thinking about the exquisite specimen of a man, fantastically naked and handsome as ever in the other room.

  The water turns off and I can hear the rustling of the towel as he dries off his body. After a few silent moments, the covers lift, and he snuggles my back into his chest.

  I tense. “What are—”

  “Please don’t fight me on this. Please,” he begs softly into the back of my hair.

  All the lies I try filling myself up with don’t help the buzz of delight and I smile. “You know I’m a bed hog, right?”

  “If you’re trying to discourage me, keep trying. I love it when you wake me up in the middle of the night by flopping your hand across my face.”

  It makes me titter. “I don’t do that.”

  The muscles in his arms tighten slightly. “You also snore.”

  I gasp a giggle and try jerking up, but his grip doesn’t allow it. “I do not!”

  He’s laughing behind me, but never responds. Soon the room falls quiet, all but my thoughts. “I’m sorry for being a bitch earlier. I don’t hate you’re here. I guess I resent you’re here out of obligation.”

  “I’m here because I want to be.” His words are sweet.

  “You’ve never been here before,” I counter.

  He smooths my hair and then trails his fingers down my arm, lacing his fingers with mine. “You being pregnant gives me an easy way to stray away from all the boundaries we’ve laid. I’ve always wanted to be here and do this.”

  “You have to stop saying sweet shit. You’ll fill me up with fake hope,” I whisper with the feelings of heartache and love ricocheting in my chest

  “It’s not fake…” he kisses the back of my head. “Never has been. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

  I swallow my feelings and resort to my best weapon. “That’s a new one. Does it feel weird to tell a woman that?”

  “Nice jab,” he says, squeezing my fingers slightly.

  “Good night, Zach.”

  “Good night.”