Mistake

by K. Webster

  “That sweet little pussy of yours is begging to be pounded,” I growl.

  “Yes, please,” she begs.

  Instead of giving in right away, I tightly grip her hips again and trail kisses along the swell of her ass.

  “Thad, you’re such a tease,” she whines and wriggles her butt at me.

  I give her a spank hard enough for her to yelp and buck away from me. “Playtime’s almost over, baby. I’m about fuck you into tomorrow. Every time you sit down at work, you’re going to think of me stretching that tight pussy of yours.”

  And boy, do I spend the rest of the night making good on my promise.

  I wince as I ease myself into my desk chair. Thad left me quite sore but in a way that had me wanting more—and soon. Sex with Drake had always been traumatic and awful. And then sex with Trent was severely underwhelming. But sex with Thad? He is in a whole other league.

  Sex with Thad is addicting.

  “Dreaming about your lover boy?” a familiar voice giggles.

  I glance up from where I was dreamily staring off into space to look my best friend in the eye. I’m still grinning like an idiot until I see her eyes—they’re swollen from crying. My heart squeezes for her.

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, I was. But what’s up with you? Are you okay?” I ask softly. My eyes flit over to Jackson’s office, but the door is closed. It’s always closed when he’s being pissy.

  Andi plasters on a fake smile and nods. Tears are welling in her eyes, so I know that she is not okay.

  “Liar. What’s up? Are you and Jackson having a fight?”

  Before she can answer, his door dramatically swings open and he storms over to her. Instead of shrinking away from his hostile attitude, she melts into his arms when he envelops her in a tight embrace.

  “I’m sorry,” he murmurs into her hair and kisses her as if I’m not sitting there, watching them. I feel slightly awkward about having to witness their exchange.

  She cries into his chest as he leads her back into his office and closes the door behind them. I’m glad they’re seeing Dr. Sweeney, even if he is a quack. They worry me these days, and I’ll be glad when they sort out their problems so Andi can go back to being her happy, fun-loving self.

  An e-mail pops up on my computer and I hold my breath once I realize that it’s from Dr. Ellis.

  Opal,

  I’ve arranged for you to come into my clinic for DNA testing at your earliest convenience. I appreciate you doing this for me. If you come in this morning, maybe I could take you to lunch after?

  Sincerely,

  Martin

  I release the breath I was holding. Yesterday, I agreed to do the testing, but now, I’m nervous. I’ve gone my entire life not knowing my father, and suddenly, I have someone claiming to be him. As much as I don’t want to talk to my mother, I know I need to speak to her about Dr. Ellis. Quickly, I type out a reply to the man who says that he’s my father and then dial my mother.

  “Hello?” she answers in the clipped, annoyed tone I’ve been familiar with my entire life.

  I swallow down my discomfort. She and I haven’t spoken in ages. “Hi, Momma.”

  She’s silent on the other line, which only adds to my irritation. Why can’t she be a normal freaking mother?

  “I’m graduating in two weeks,” I begin hesitantly. I figure that it’s best to talk about something lighter before I drop a bomb in her lap.

  “And?”

  I roll my eyes and struggle not to hang up on her ass. “And,” I snip out, “I thought you would want to watch your youngest daughter walk across stage.”

  “New York is a long way. I’m not sure I can afford to fly out,” she sighs. Her voice is softer this time, so I stupidly hope she’s lost some of her frostiness.

  “Momma, don’t worry about it. I’ll buy your ticket. And you can stay with me or Olive. Or, if you’d rather, I can put you up at a hotel. I’d really like for you to come. Plus, I know Olive wants to see you. Her husband and daughter are really special people—and they want to meet you,” I rush out.

  I’m met with silence again.

  “Momma?”

  “I heard you, child. I’ll think about it. Now, is that all you called for?”

  Anger replaces my hopefulness and I feel like throwing my phone at Jackson’s door—which would really give him something to be pissed about.

  “No. Actually, Momma, I wanted to speak to you about something else. Something important.”

  Her annoyed sigh is audible, and I take a deep, calming breath before speaking again.

  “Who is my father?”

  She curses under her breath, which surprises me. My highly religious mother never curses. “Opal, for crying out loud, what is all of this about? Like I told you before, your father left us long ago. End of story. Now, I’ll speak to you another day. I really must go now.”

  I blurt out my next words before I can stop myself. “Is Martin Ellis my father?”

  A rush of exhaled breath into the phone is her first reaction. “How do you know that name?” she hisses shakily into the phone.

  My heart flutters into overdrive. I wasn’t expecting her response to indicate that she knew him, but I can hear the surprise in her voice—she does, in fact, know him.

  “He wants a paternity test done to see if I’m his daughter,” I tell her softly.

  “Opal Elaine Redding! This is absolute nonsense. You are not his daughter! Absolutely ridiculous,” she bellows into the phone.

  I won’t back down now. She has answers and I intend to get them.

  “I want to know my real father, Momma. If Dr. Ellis is my dad, then I want to have a relationship with him.”

  “Doctor,” she whispers out wistfully.

  “I’m going to take the test after we hang up.”

  I hear her sniffle and my heart clenches. She still cares for him—but in true Momma fashion, she steels her voice again.

  “He is not your father, Opal. Please don’t take the test.”

  “There’s no stopping me. I’ll let you know the results,” I advise her firmly.

  I nearly drop the phone when she explodes. “You take that test and you are dead to me! Do you hear that, Opal? Dead. To. Me.”

  Chuckling darkly, I remind her, “I thought I already was.”

  A dial tone is her comeback, and I angrily slam my phone on my desk. Needing to take a breather, I gather my purse and stand from my desk. I’ll just head over to Dr. Ellis’s office early. I pick my phone up and shoot Andi, who still hasn’t emerged from Jackson’s office, a text. Storming over to the elevators, I’m nearly knocked on my ass when over six feet worth of familiar manliness slams into me.

  “Opal?” Trent asks as he steadies me by holding my upper arms.

  When my eyes meet his clear, blue ones, I want to throw up. While he’s a good-looking guy—one I dreamed about for years—he just doesn’t fuel that inner fire like Thad does. And after our awful sexual encounter, I know we’re lacking in the chemistry department.

  “I’m sorry, but I’m late,” I stammer out and struggle away from his hold. Pushing past him, I hurry into the elevator and press the ground floor button.

  “Opal, wait. I need to apologize about the other night—”

  Thankfully, the elevator doors close mid-sentence and I’m granted a reprieve from his embarrassing apologies. During the entire ride down the fifty-seven floors, I try to calm my nerves. Between the upcoming DNA test, the conversation with my mother, and running into Trent, I’m completely rattled.

  As the doors open, my phone chimes with a text from my purse. I fish it out and frown.

  Trent: Opal, I’m so sorry. I need to see you again.

  I sigh but know that a conversation between the two of us is inevitable. My sudden lack of interest in him, especially after we slept together, has to be confusing for him. I need to sever any ideas he might have of us ever being together again.

  Me: Let’s meet for lunch tomorrow. Pick me up at n
oon.

  “We’ll call you with the results in two business days, Miss Redding,” the nurse tells me.

  I thank her and walk back over to my chair to wait for Dr. Ellis. Before I sit down, I hear him call out to me.

  “Opal, I’m so glad you made it.”

  When I turn to him, he’s beaming happily at me. My heart flops as I look him over. Could this sweet man really be my father? I try desperately to find any similarities in our appearances. He’s tall like I am, but that’s not unusual for a man. His eyes are a lighter shade of brown than mine, as is his skin. I try not to frown as I realize I look too much like my mother to be able to see any similarities.

  He picks up the file from the nurse’s desk and briefly glances over it before setting it down. When he looks back up at me, his smile is impossibly bigger.

  “Ready?” he asks as he strides over to where I’m standing.

  Things will seem more comfortable once I know for sure if he’s my father or not. Right now, the air between us feels awkward and unsure on my part, while he seems overly hopeful. For his sake, I hope the test reveals that we are a match.

  “Sure. Where should we go?” I question nervously.

  He seems like he’s about to pull me in for a hug, so I take a step toward the door. For some reason, I don’t want to get my hopes up about this man. As much as I would like to know my father, I can’t force the one in front of me to be him simply because he’s a cool guy. I need proof before I can open my heart up to him.

  “There’s an Italian restaurant on the corner. We can walk. They have the best manicotti in town. Would that be okay?” From the look in his eye, I could probably tell him that I want McDonald’s and he’d agree.

  “Perfect.” What I fail to mention is that manicotti is my favorite. Is it a coincidence that he’s suggesting my favorite food?

  Opal, get it together. There’s a huge chance that he’s not your father.

  I’m quiet the entire walk to the restaurant, only nodding in response to his nervous chatter about everything under the sun. After we’ve been seated and each ordered the famous manicotti, I finally speak again.

  “What did you ever see in her, Dr. Ellis?” I question in disbelief. Honestly, I can’t begin to understand how such a nice person could ever be remotely interested in a mean woman like my mother.

  His smile falls and he regards me with a longing look as he remembers her. “Opal, first of all, please call me Martin. At least for now.”

  I swallow down his insinuation that he might like for me to call him Dad one day.

  He continues. “The Yolanda you know and the one I knew sound like two totally different people. She was feisty, I’ll give you that. But she had a huge heart. She loved Olive and protected her fiercely. I was impressed at what a wonderful mother she was to that little girl. That’s why I’m surprised to hear the animosity in your voice toward her.”

  I tear off a piece of bread and chew it as I mull over his words. Wonderful mother? On what planet? After I swallow it down, I look back up into his warm, brown eyes.

  “Martin, she’s vile. The word wonderful and Momma don’t even belong in the same sentence. Do you know that she hardly even speaks to Olive anymore? That she hasn’t even seen her only grandchild, who happens to be four years old? She even seems bothered about coming to my graduation at CUNY in two weeks—even after I offered to pay her way and give her a place to stay. She’s not so wonderful anymore.”

  He frowns at my words, and I feel guilty about having gone off on him about her.

  “I’m sorry she’s been horrible to you. She wasn’t always that way. Had she allowed herself to love me, maybe things could have been different for you. In some ways, I feel responsible for that,” he tells me sadly.

  I feel bad for the man sitting in the booth across from me—the man pining for my bitch of a mother. If only he knew. And the guy’s quick to take responsibility for her actions. Who is this man? Some kind of saint?

  My father, the saint. Kind of has a ring to it.

  Shit. He’s probably not your father, Opal.

  “It’s not your fault,” I say softly.

  He forces a smile and visibly pushes away thoughts of my mother. I can see it written all over his face that he wants to remember her as the woman he loved all those years ago.

  He clears his throat and smiles more broadly at me. “Tell me about this graduation you speak of.”

  I can’t help the grin that tugs at my lips. This man, even though there’s only a chance he could be my father, seems proud at my achievement.

  “I’ll be graduating with a degree in investments. It’s just a bachelor’s degree,” I reply, my voice dropping on the last sentence. I was proud until the Ice Queen, Dr. Sutton, shot me down.

  “Just a bachelor’s degree? Opal, I’m delighted to hear that. You’ve worked hard in your studies. That’s to be commended. Don’t sell yourself short, kid.”

  Opal, he’s probably not your father. Wipe that stupid grin off your face.

  “Sorry. I was recently made to feel like that wasn’t enough,” I confide.

  His face hardens and my heart nearly leaps from my chest. The look is one of utter protectiveness—a look only a father would have as he protects his child.

  He is not your father…

  “Well, that person is an asshole,” he grumbles.

  I can’t help the giggles that burst from me at his statement. The curse word coming from the older man seems out of place but funny nonetheless. He rewards me with a crooked smile—a smile that warms me to my soul.

  Please be my father.

  “That person is a she. Total asshole. Actually more like total bitch,” I agree.

  With a chuckle, he tears the top of the paper from the straw and blows it over at me. I dodge it and it flies over the booth behind us.

  “Hey!” I laugh.

  His smile once again falls and his face reflects sadness. “Opal?”

  “Yes?” I tear off another piece of bread and begin chewing.

  “Elaine is my mother’s name.”

  Swallowing down the bread, I try not to choke on not only my food, but his words as well. “That’s my middle name,” I whisper finally.

  He winks at me. “I looked at your chart. I know.”

  I blink at him in disbelief. Coincidence?

  Raising his glass of water to me, he grins at me. “Here’s to hoping, kid.”

  Here’s to hoping you’re my dad.

  With a smile, I raise my glass too.

  As I walk into Zoe’s Pizzeria, I’m assaulted with delicious, garlicky aromas and fond memories. I’m feeling nostalgic as my eyes scan the small restaurant, bringing me visions of a happier time in my life. The tattered, vinyl, red-and-white-checkered tablecloths are the same as I remember. Several aging arcade relics sit tiredly along the wall, occasionally chiming familiar tunes.

  “Take a seat wherever you like,” a friendly hostess smiles, interrupting me from my reminiscing.

  Realizing that I’m here before Trent, I find a table in the corner and sit down. Recent conversations with my brother haven’t been enjoyable ones, so I’m slightly anxious about our meeting. While I wait for Trent, I pull out my phone and call Opal.

  “How’s your day going?” I ask once her voice greets me on the other end.

  “Actually, pretty well. I just had lunch with the man who may or may not be my father,” she says cryptically.

  With one statement, I realize that we still know so little about each other.

  “Sounds interesting, O. I think you and I should have story time later,” I laugh.

  She giggles on the other end and a dorky grin spreads across my face.

  “Does this story time take place in bed?” she purrs.

  I groan as I feel my cock thicken from just imagining her in bed. “Story time in bed will have to take place right after work.”

  “Rain check, Thad. I actually wanted to ask you something. Tonight, I’m supposed to be going
over to my sister’s for dinner. Would you like to come?”

  “Of course, Opal. I’d love to meet your sister.”

  Her breath is heavy into the phone as she sighs her relief. Did she really think I’d say no? To hell with that—she’s not getting rid of me that easily.

  When the bell on the door of the restaurant sounds, my eyes lift and automatically meet those of my brother. “I’ll pick you up after work at your house, O. Talk soon.”

  We hang up just as Trent saunters over to the booth and sits down across from me. Neither of us says anything for a brief moment as we eye up the other. He’s Mr. Perfect, of course, with his styled, blond hair and impeccable suit, while I’m the lowly brother in my dirty work jeans and worn, gray Foo Fighters T-shirt.

  “What’s up, bro?” My voice is low, nervous almost.

  He huffs out a breath of frustration and crosses his arms over his chest, looking me squarely in the eyes. “I don’t know, little bro. You tell me. You’re the one taking time out of my work day to ‘talk.’ So talk.”

  Fucking asshole.

  My mind is flooded with images of seeing him with Opal the night she and I met. The night he made her feel like nothing by calling her a friend. Then, a couple of nights later, when he was passed out on his bed after fucking her—my woman—wearing nothing but a used condom. Rage bubbles to the surface and I angrily slam my fist down onto the table.

  “Fuck you, Trent,” I seethe between gritted teeth.

  His face softens as he raises his hands in mock surrender. “Thad, chill out, man. Just say your piece. No need to flip the hell out.”

  I take several deep breaths as I try to cool my blistering resentment. My eyes skitter over to the menu board near the counter where you place your order. A cold beer would really take the edge off about now.

  Trent clears his throat and my eyes fly back to his.

  “I’m seeing a therapist. He’s helping me with my recovery.”

  He nods slightly in approval. It’s just enough of a push that I continue.