"We've gotta go," I say, interrupting the tension-filled moment. "My mom's going to kill me."
We run as quickly as we can with me setting a slow, lumbering pace. I'm sure I look ridiculous waddling across the pool deck toward the back room of the house. We make it to the open back doors just as my mother is taking the microphone.
"First off, I'd like you all to meet my lovely daughter, Tessa, who is also here with my soon-to-be-born first grandchild." My mom's eyes fly wildly around the room as she looks for me. I raise my arm into the air and wave. Her eyes alight on me and then flash briefly over to Jax, who nearly ran into me after I stopped abruptly. A quick look of disapproval flashes over her face. "Ah, there she is. Wave to the crowd, Tessa." My mom plasters on a smile as the crowd applauds my appearance. "And right behind her is my new son, Jax. I'm glad to see you and Tessa have become fast friends."
There is a cold evenness to her voice that unnerves me. I tell myself I am assigning meaning to her words that she hasn't intended. I wear a fake smile of my own as I turn around to clap politely for Jax.
Our eyes meet for the briefest instant and I see fire flash across his eyes. It’s soon replaced by his typical, steely-eyed look and a cocky smirk. As soon as the toast is over, he’s gone.
CHAPTER NINE
JAX
The string music needs to fucking stop. I can't fucking take it.
I sip my glass of whiskey in the corner of the room, hoping that I'm well-hidden behind this fern. I know my massive body is easy to spot, but with any luck my father will be occupied enough with his blushing bride and the sycophants milling around to not bother me tonight. It's the last fucking thing I need.
I knock back the rest of the glass and hand it to a server carrying a loaded tray of empty glasses. "Thanks," I mutter, reaching instinctively into my pocket and pulling out a hundred-dollar bill. "Hey, wait a second."
The pimply-faced server looks back at me. He looks a little scared. "Y-yes, sir?" he stammers.
Jesus. I didn't mean to make the kid shit himself. "This is yours if you can keep that man over there-" I point to the silver-gray head laughing along with some country club asshole - "Drunk and away from me for the rest of the night. Okay?"
The kid looks wide-eyed at the money. "Uh-"
"There's another hundred waiting for you at the end of the night, okay?" I say.
He gulps and nods, smiling. "Thanks, mister!"
"Don't thank me yet," I say darkly. "Now go. His glass is empty."
The kid wanders away from me back into the crowd. I lean against the wall. I'm hopeful that the worst of the night is over; the whole crowd gathering to nod at me and my new stepsister was horrifying. Tessa. I feel a tingle go down my leg thinking of her name. Fuck, she's gorgeous. And pregnant. And my new sister.
And 100% off limits.
The forbidden nature of it awakens my dick. I can feel it rising in my pants. I adjust them hastily and try to think of anything else. My mind wanders to the size of her pregnant stomach. I’m not around pregnant women much. She’s pretty far along, though, anyone could see that. Amazing that her weasel-faced man – Bill? Sal? Perry? – was able to get the deed done. I toss back the rest of my drink bitterly.
At that moment, a slurred female voice comes over the speakers and distracts me from the thought of another man touching Tessa.
"Ooookay, ladies and gentlemen," the woman says. I peek out from behind the fern to see an overly-coiffed woman with a face pulled tight by plastic surgery holding the microphone. The quartet players behind her look panicked and stop playing mid-song. "I think that we would all like to see Cassie and Lyle hit the dance floor! Woohoo!" she screeches, the microphone emitting feedback at the excess volume of her scream. Several people instinctively throw their hands up over their ears to protect themselves from the noise. There is a smattering of applause. The woman looks irritated. "Oh come on now, don't be a bunch of fuddy-duddies! I think that the bride and the groom and the bridal party need to get out on the floor and dance!" She turns around and whispers something to the quartet. Within ten seconds, they are playing what sounds unexpectedly like a Styx song. I roll my eyes. Jesus.
Thankfully nobody's going along with this bullshit.
Right?
I look around.
Shit.
Somehow, she's managed to get the crowd on her side. The sea of people part and I see my father, drunk already, pulling Cassie out into the middle of the living room floor. Cassie looks reluctant, but there is a flush to her cheeks that implies that she, too, has been enjoying the open bar. I sigh. Well, at least nobody's chanting for me to -
At that moment, a pair of hands grab me by the arm. "Now, Jax, don't think I didn't see your hulking beast of a frame back here!" Fuck. It's Microphone Lady. She reeks of bourbon. She tugs so hard on my sleeve I'm afraid it's going to rip.
I try to object but everyone near me has turned around and started clapping. Fuck. I'm going to have to do this, or face my dad's wrath later. I peel Microphone Lady's hands off of my sleeve. She actually slaps my ass as I walk away. I find an opening on the dance floor and stand there somewhat awkwardly, alone. My father and Cassie are twirling, her head on his shoulder.
I hope against hope that Tessa's gone to piss and that nobody can find her. Pregnant women have bladders the size of peanuts, right? I look across the dance floor and see her face, shiny and slightly sweaty, staring at me. God, she looks better than she did half an hour ago. How is that even possible?
My dick starts to warm as I think about what she looks like underneath all of that fabric. Gorgeous tits, an ass that won't quit - hell, even her enormous belly doesn't bother me. I've always had a thing for pregnant women, even if I'm not interested in the end result of pregnancy. I fucking hate little kids. Sticky hands, screaming, barfing, pissing, shitting - they're like goo machines that ruin your life.
There. That did it. My dick relaxes. I'm going to have to remember that for when I'm touching Tessa in a moment. I can't be raising trouser tents on the dance floor. She'll feel it like she did earlier when I caught her in my arms. I cross the floor towards her in two strides, holding out my hand. She looks furious. Yeah, well, I'm not happy about it either. I don't like looking at the merchandise when I’m not allowed to touch.
And she is entirely off limits. Have I said that enough?
She takes my hand angrily, and I slip my other arm around her waist. Even with her protruding stomach, she is so small I can easily reach the sweet little curve of her lower back. I think for a moment I can feel her shiver, but when I see the look in her eyes I know I must have imagined it. She is just angry. She plasters on a smile for the sake of the crowd watching. We begin to move around the dance floor.
"Enjoying the reception?" I murmur to her just to see her reaction.
"Oh, yeah. It's been wonderful having to stand up all night," she hisses. "My back loves it."
I have a flash of her on her side, naked, with me oiling up her body and working out the kinks there. I blink it away. My brain is telling me to ask the question. It seems important for some reason. I do it. “How far along are you?”
“Eight months,” she says to me.
Something pings in the back of my brain. Eight months. “That’s about how long it’s been since we saw each other. Right?”
The words hang in the air between us for a moment. Tessa clears her throat. “He’s not yours,” she says. “I’ve only had sex with one man without a condom and it wasn’t you.”
My mind flashes to the sight of two lonely condom wrappers on the floor of my bedroom. “Of course not,” I say to her. Eight months. Almost exactly eight months. And what are the odds, anyway? The other half of my brain kicks in. Kids. Babies. Remember? Screaming, crying, pissing kids. Phew. That was close. "Well, this shindig will be over soon enough, I think. I've heard more than one person complain that their feet hurt."
"Yeah, well some guests have already gone to bed," she says with a bitterness I'm not expecting
.
I tilt my head in confusion and then look around the room. Her skinny, asshole partner is nowhere to be found. "You talking about your husband?"
“Husband?” She laughs. “He’s not my husband. Oh, no. He’s just my boyfriend.” She gets a far-away look in her eyes. "And I shouldn't be upset that he already went to bed. He works really hard. It's just, he's been sleeping all day and I've been -"
I cut her off. "On your feet all day and you look like you're about to pop out a baby on this dance floor." Tessa looks hurt. Shit. Backtrack, asshole. "I just meant -"
Tessa shakes her head. "No, I know what you meant. I look like a beached whale right now." Tears prick at her eyes.
Fuck. I made her cry. What do I do now? I spontaneously lift my hand and twirl her around, pulling her back into my body. Hard. I can feel her stomach on my dick. I look at her face and realize I’ve managed to shock the tears right out of her. Good. That was my plan. I lean down and whisper in her ear. "You look fucking gorgeous. Don't let anyone tell you differently."
Entirely without meaning to, I nuzzle my nose into her slender neck. God, she smells good. And she's so tiny. One of my hands could wrap around her entire head. I feel Tessa's breathing get heavier. Her belly is pressing harder into my crotch.
I realize with a jolt that the room is silent. I look around the room and see the crowd gaping at me. Fuck. How long has the dance been over? Tessa's face is unreadable. I pull my hands away from her and see that goosebumps are covering her bare arms. I hope that it's from what I said to her. My father is staring at me with harsh disapproval. Cassie looks scandalized. I kiss Tessa's hand and drop it, walking away through the whispering crowd.
What the fuck did I just do?
CHAPTER TEN
TESSA
SEVEN MONTHS LATER
I wake up to the sound of Paul walking around. "Honey?" I mumble into the dark room.
"Yeah?" he asks. I look over and realize that his hand is already on the knob of the bedroom door. "I'm leaving for work."
I roll over to face. "Did you feed Ryan yet?"
I hear Paul sigh. "No, he's not awake and I wasn't about to wake him up. I've really, really got to go. I have a lot of work to get ahead on before we fly out tonight, okay?"
His words sting. I would have a lot of work to do as well, but today will just be another day with my six-month-old baby instead. I love Ryan; he is a bundle of chubbiness and giggles and is overall an incredibly mellow baby. But I’m going stir-crazy stuck at home all day without adult interaction. To make matters worse, today is going to be spent with the mind-numbing tasks associated with travel: getting the house cleaned up for our return, packing everything up, and cleaning out the fridge. "You already packed your suitcase, right?" I ask Paul.
He opens the door and starts to walk out. "No, Tessa, I didn't. Seriously, I need to go. You're going to have to figure it out on your own." He leaves the room without another word.
I hold back tears as the front door slams and the key clicks in the slot, locking me in behind him. A moment later, I hear Ryan's startled cries ring out through the hallway. So much for another half hour of sleep; the sound of the door slamming woke him out of his tenuous slumber.
I push my feet into slippers and hastily wrap myself up in my warmest robe. Paul is insisting on saving money by not turning the heater on until January first. Unfortunately for us, winter arrived with a biting ferocity two months early.
I walk into Ryan's nursery; in the glow of the night light I see my breath forming puffs in the air. I put my hand into Ryan's crib. He is like a little nuclear reactor. In his fleece sleep suit, he is actually sweating. He gurgles as he looks up at me. "Hey there, buddy," I whisper, reaching into the crib and lifting his warm, rubbery body into my arms. He laughs jovially as I carry him into the kitchen.
I flip the light switch and the peeling, laminate cabinets greet me along with a chorus of cracked tile backsplash and the backing vocals of a leaky faucet. I’ve been asking Paul to fix it for months. He keeps saying he will get to it, but has forbidden me to try to fix it or call someone. “It’s too expensive,” he always mutters.
I set Ryan into his high chair, buckling him in safely. I pour water into the kettle and hit the switch. The steam will warm the room up a little. I busy myself with preparing Ryan's bottle of formula. I weaned him off of breast milk a few weeks ago. My milk has dried up but miraculously, they’ve maintained the size they were during my pregnancy. I still love them, even if I don’t love the tire of fat that doesn’t seem to be budging from around my midsection. I know that Paul doesn’t like either. He can barely bring himself to look at me.
Last week, we had a half-hearted sexual interaction, the first since Ryan’s birth. Paul had finished in about three minutes and refused point-blank to let me have my turn.
The kettle whistles. I pour water into a mug and sink a teabag into it, then use the rest of the hot liquid to mix up Ryan's powdered formula. It’s so cold in the kitchen that I know it will cool down quickly to a safe temperature. Ryan is babbling to himself, banging his sticky palms on the metal tray of his high chair.
"Hold on, baby," I intone. I shake the bottle of formula and then twist off the top, letting the steam rise into the frigid air of the kitchen. Within two minutes the formula is the perfect temperature. I walk over and hand Ryan the bottle, his hands happily smacking together with glee.
The squeak of the chair legs screeches out across the kitchen. My mug of tea warms my hands. I run through my mental checklist. We will be staying at my mother and stepfather's house for seven days. I am already panicking about flying across the country with an infant.
My cell phone rings. I pull it out of my robe pocket. It’s Jillian. “Hey,” I say sleepily.
She shrieks. “Girl, please tell me that you’re all packed and ready to go!”
I look at the clock. “What on earth are you doing up? It’s like three in the morning in California.”
She laughs. “I haven’t gone to bed yet, to be honest. I was just calling to check in. I’ll be down in Santa Barbara in a few days for Thanksgiving. Wanted to make sure you’re holding up alright!”
I sigh and rub my eyes as Ryan sucks on his bottle. “I just have this feeling that Paul is going to cancel. I don’t know why.”
Jillian makes a disapproving noise.
“Spill, Jill,” I say.
“It’s nothing. It’s just – I still don’t know why you’re with him. He’s an asshole.”
“We are having a baby, Jillian.”
“Terrible reason to stay with someone, honestly,” Jillian replies. “I mean, Ryan is going to grow up in an unhappiest household with a bitter mother who blames him for her being stuck in an awful relationship.”
Ryan throws his bottle onto the ground and formula sprays everywhere. “Wrap it up, Jill. Anything else you want to add while I’m on the line?”
“I can’t promise I won’t punch Paul when I’m down there,” she says. “Love you, girl. Travel safe.”
“Love you, too,” I reply, hanging up the phone. I grab paper towels and clean up the formula mess while Ryan laughs. I still can’t shake the feeling that Paul is going to miss the flight.
I shake my head. Why would I think that? He's never done that before. The plane tickets were expensive. There is no way he will want to cancel.
I reach over as Ryan suckles the bottle and take another look at my phone. I see that I have twelve text messages from my mother, which is par for the course with her. Most of them are reminders to not be late (as if I have any control over that) because dinner tonight is at eight o'clock on the dot and her chef has to leave early for some family obligation.
The rest of the texts are links to articles about how the flu is spreading across the country and to make sure that I don't touch any bare part of my body to anything on the airplane. I roll my eyes.
I scroll to the weather app. I see with relief that the weather at my mother's house is going to be sixty-ei
ght degrees and sunny the whole week. Maybe it’s being housebound with the baby or maybe it’s the fact that our heater isn't turned on yet, but this winter is already wearing me down.
Ryan finishes his bottle and throws it onto the ground with a clatter. The noise makes him burst into uncharacteristic tears. I reach over and grab him, cradling him in my arms to soothe him. He calms down almost immediately and starts playing with my hair. I let him do it. I open my phone and send a text to Paul. "Hope your day is a good one, honey," I type with one thumb. I hover over the send button, reluctant for some reason to ship it off into the great void.
I have the feeling that Paul is avoiding me.
Two can play at that game. I delete the message and set my phone down, gulping down my already lukewarm tea. I squeeze Ryan’s butt and realize he needs a new diaper.
Well, Paul won't be able to avoid me once we are in California. In California, everything will be better.
Ryan screeches in my ear as if to punctuate this thought.
Six hours later, I am standing in the foyer of our house with Ryan in his car seat and three suitcases next to me. Paul isn't answering his phone. I dial for the tenth time and he finally picks up. He sounds like he’s out of breath. "Hey, Tessa," he says. He sounds happy, which is a mood I haven’t found him wearing in months.
"Where are you?" I ask, rocking my foot on Ryan's car seat to keep him asleep. "We need to leave for the airport in five minutes. If I miss this flight, my mother is going to kill me."
Paul actually laughs at this. I am stunned by the sound. "Come on, Tessa, we're the only ones coming this Thanksgiving anyway, right? What's the big deal?"
"Paul, you know how my mother is. I'm not arguing about this with you. Where are you?"
He exhales. "Tessa, I'm going to have to take a different flight. Maybe one tomorrow?"
Forbidden: A Stepbrother Secret Baby Romance Page 5