“Okay,” he says, but encircles my waist with his arms instead of letting go.
He sniffs up my neck.
Down my neck.
Damn it.
My anger has now been snuffed. Damn him and the way he sniffs me with that sniffer of his!
“Plates, please.” My voice cracks as I point to them on the counter. He reaches over and grabs them. “Thanks.”
“Charlotte, you are going to put a bra on later for Brogan’s game, right?” he asks as his fingers glide across my bare back.
“No. I don’t have to with this dress.” I look down at it quickly as I plate the omelets. “Shit, I almost forgot about Brogan’s game.” Good job, Mom!
Mitch’s hands come back around my waist and up my Jersey-cotton dress until he fills them with me. His thumbs circle my nipples. He turns me around to him and inspects my breasts. I stand still, feeling every shade of hot and bothered.
“Bra or sweater, Charlotte.” He flicks my tightened buds gently.
“It’s going to be ninety degrees out today! I can assure you, they won’t show!” I push his hands away. “Stop being so damn controlling—I’m not a child!” I bring the plates over to the bacon and toss some on aggressively. Damn, I hate how he affects me.
“Coffee?” he asks, sounding almost cheerful.
“Yes,” I mumble and bring our breakfast to the nook.
“So ... speaking of a child,” he starts, then settles into the chair across from me.
“Is that my cue?” I bite off a piece of bacon.
“Pretty much,” he says, bringing a bite of omelet up to his mouth.
I wait.
He laughs at me.
I shoot eye daggers, then an encouraging nod.
I wait.
In very slow motion (accentuated by slow-mo sound effects), he brings the forkful to his mouth.
In slower motion, he makes an exaggerated face of pleasure.
“I’ma smack you in a minute!” I announce.
“I’ma?” He chuckles. I throw a piece of bacon at him. It bounces off his nose and hits his plate. He picks it up, shrugs, and eats it.
“Hey!” I reach forward.
“Uh-uh!” He taps my hand. “Come on now, O’Brien. Spill the beans.”
I sigh with irritation at his name reference.
“Charlotte.” He gives me “The Look.”
“Okay.” I take in a deep breath. Here goes nothing—or everything. “Ava and Trent, as you know, have been trying to have a baby,” I say. He nods. “Before you and I met, I offered to be a surrogate for them.” I take a sip of my coffee and swallow hard. I can see Mitch has started putting two and two together—he closes his eyes and massages his temples.
“Go on, Charlotte.”
“About a month ago, Ava asked if the offer was still on the table. She just couldn’t go through another round of the vicious IVF cycle.”
“So, you said yes,” he states instead of questions.
“No. I said I needed to talk to you first.” My heart is beginning to pound.
“Good.” He nods. “The answer is no.” He starts on his omelet again.
I try to keep my cool. “Oh, Mitch, that ship has sailed. You no longer get a say.”
“How do you figure? You’re not pregnant, so you haven’t done the procedure yet—correct?” He sits back and crosses his arms.
“How do I figure?” I scoff.
“Yes.”
“Three weeks, Mitch! I begged you to at least talk to me about this! You ignored me. I didn’t think there was an ‘us’ anymore.”
“I’m here now, and I say no,” he says, his voice calm. He goes back to eating.
“I’ve already said yes.” I grit my teeth.
“Take it back.” He shrugs. I can’t believe he’s being so cavalier about this! We’re talking about a baby and people’s lives here!
“I won’t,” I say as I stab my omelet with my fork.
“You will. End of discussion.” He slams his coffee mug down. “We will help them find somebody else. Christ, I’ll pay for it! But I’ll be damned if I let you carry another man’s baby!”
“Their baby. I’m just the incubator,” I correct him. “The decision’s been made, Mitch.”
“Yes, it has—it’s a no!” He’s all teeth and anger. “We will find somebody else!”
“There’s nobody else!” I yell. “There’s nobody else they trust! I am a sure thing.”
“Yeah, you are, aren’t you?” he snaps.
I gasp.
He shakes his head. I’m sure he’s disappointed in his mouth. I am, too.
“We’ll do everything we can to get the best person for them. Somebody local so they can be very involved. I’ll pay double. Whatever it takes, baby, we’ll do.” He reaches across the table for my hand. I pull it away.
I stare down at my plate, unable to take another bite. I wipe away my tears before they plummet down my face.
“Baby.” He sighs.
“No! You shut your mouth and listen to me right now, Mitch!” I bring my eyes up to look him straight in the face. “You are the only man I have ever done that with. I’m not a whore, and I’m not a gold digger, which is what you implied last time!”
“Baby—” he tries to cut in.
“Don’t ‘baby’ me!” I stand up. “I don’t deserve to be treated like this, Mitch! I made an unselfish decision and I would do so again, because it’s not about me—it’s about my kids and making sure they have everything they need! I will, though. I will be a whore and lay down with a hundred men if it keeps a roof over their heads,” I say through my tears. “If I mean more to you than that fucking contract, I wouldn’t go waving it around in my face if I were you!”
“You will lay down with another man over my dead body!” He shoots up out of his chair, catapulting it across the kitchen and onto the floor, and charges around the table. I back up to the wall. His hand dives into my hair, pulling my face to his. “No other man will ever touch you again,” he breathes into my face. “No other man will ever kiss you again.” He pulls my bottom lip into his mouth and sucks—I swear to God—the plump right out of it. “No other man will ever get the chance to love you.” Forehead to forehead. My pounding heartbeat will surely burst my eardrums.
“Mitch,” I pant.
“I wasn’t looking for this, Charlotte. It wasn’t even a thought. But here it is, and I want it. I want it all. I’m not afraid of it anymore. I think I knew,” he says as he opens his eyes to find mine, “from the moment I first laid eyes on you. The first time I touched you.”
“At the table?”
“You felt that, too?” He smiles and kisses me.
“Yes.”
“Baby?”
“Yes?”
“When I get mad, I say stupid shit just to one-up you. I’m sorry. What I’m not sorry about is the way you kick my ass over it. And ... I care, baby. I care about how my words affect you.” He strums my bottom lip with his thumb.
“I’m not changing my mind about the baby,” I say, before I drop all my defenses. He tenses up.
“Let’s just stop discussing it for now,” he says with a sigh.
“There’s no discussion, Mitch. You bailed. I made a decision that I will not go back on.” I place my hand on his chest to give myself some distance.
“I didn’t bail.” His tone is biting.
“You did.”
“Give me time to see how I feel about it.” His voice lowers as he calms down.
“Take your time, but you will not waste Ava and Trent’s.” I try to push away from him, and he just pulls me closer.
“Charlotte, goddamn it.” He rests his forehead against mine. He lifts his away and lays a prolonged kiss on mine. “I’m going to go for a walk.”
Well. That’s it, then. He’s leaving me—again. I knew that the chance of this happening was greater than it not happening.
“Can you at least leave me the half for this month to tide me over? It’ll
give me time to figure out what I’m going to do.” I quietly mourn my pride as the words come out.
He looks at me strangely for a moment before I see a flicker of comprehension in his eyes, followed by disappointment and sadness.
“I’m not walking out, baby—just going for a walk. I need to sort my head out.” He palms my face and brushes my lips with his. “I promise.”
“I won’t change my mind.”
“You’ve said that.” He nods.
“And you’re okay with that?” I glance up from under my lashes.
“No. No, I’m not. You know I’m not. But I’m not okay with losing you either—hence the walk. I need to calm down.” He kisses me again and lets go. I watch him as he leaves the house.
“Pfbbt.” I blow some hair out of my face. The best way for my thinking to stay on a constructive path is for me to keep moving. I can’t sit and marinate in my thoughts; I need to feel the ground beneath my feet.
I’m noisy as hell. Clatter and chaos helps me to focus clearly. I know ... it’s odd.
Clank of the dishes in the sink.
Faucet on at its highest capacity.
Disposal chewing up unwanted food.
Each sound represents a “loud” thought in my mind. Slowly, I pull one thought at a time, lining them up in order.
The worst is over. I’ve told him. I was about ninety-five percent sure he would respond the way he did, though I wasn’t expecting the passion he backed it up with. I feel the guilt of my choice slowly rise as I realize the stubbornness behind it.
He’s right. Nothing medical has happened—yet. Well, I did stop my birth control (probably should’ve mentioned that to him). But I haven’t done anything else. I could hold off.
No!
Ava has been my best friend more than half of my life. I’ve watched her emotional suffering for years, all over trying to have something I could easily give her.
It’s nine months. If he’s being honest about his feelings (and I hope he is) about me, then nine months is not a big deal. Hell, he’ll probably be away for most of it! Besides, love or not, he’s only been in my life a few months. And because I’m a woman, I must mention again—he was M.I.A. for one of them. (Us women folk can’t help it!)
That aside, I’m sure this is going to play at his psyche a bit. Deep inside, he probably wants a baby. Not a replacement of Isabella, but a chance to have what was ripped from him so tragically. My being pregnant with some other couple’s kid may prove difficult for him.
Since I’ve gone and traveled down this road already—do I even want more kids? I take in a very deep breath and ponder the idea.
My three fill my cup so wonderfully that I would be perfectly fine with not having any more. Yet ... I can’t ignore the feeling that someone is missing. Maybe even two someones. I’ve always wanted five. My pregnancies weren’t the easiest, but man do I love being pregnant. Yes, I’m one of those girls.
What if Mitch actually doesn’t want his own kids? I think for a moment. No, he does. I got that much from his rant. I’m not waiting. It doesn’t matter what he wants now. What if I put this off for five months and Mitch leaves me again—permanently? That’s five months longer Ava and Trent may have to wait for their dream. No. I won’t delay them.
Mitch’s hand reaches past me and turns off the faucet, then the disposal. His arm encircles my waist and I feel his cheek press against mine.
“Okay. I’m on board. Not that I have a choice, but I thought about it and I came up with a very good reason for you to do this now.” His voice is steady and calm. I turn around to face him, encouraging him to continue. “At first, I thought maybe you could hold off. Let us have a baby, then do this for them,” he says. I feel my eyes widen with shock. “Then I realized that wouldn’t be good for us. Any of us, including your kids. It’s too much to throw at them, never mind us.” He takes a break and my expression, I’m sure, matches the warmth for him I feel in my heart. “I told you I want it all with you, Charlotte. That doesn’t mean we need to act with haste, possibly sabotaging ourselves. I want us settled with each other and our feelings, and to have a stable home for your kids. A baby now would just force the transition rather than properly nurture it. You know I’m already very fond of your kids. I want this to be smooth for them, too.” He pauses to take another breath.
I stand frozen, amazed ... flabbergasted. I may ask him to pinch me. I may pinch him!
“I realized this would be the best way to do things,” he continues. “You have a baby for them first. That’s it, though. Then you are mine. If you get pregnant again, it will be ours. If they want another, we will find someone else to carry it for them.” He stops.
“Are you real?” I ask.
His smile crooks sexily, as it always does. “What do you think?”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you.” I smile and cup his cheek, then lean up and kiss him. “Uh ... there is something else I need to tell you. I should’ve mentioned it last night, but honestly, I didn’t think about it ‘til after the fact.”
“What is it, baby? Am I going to need to take another walk?” He chuckles nervously.
I wince. “You may.”
“What?”
“I’m not on birth control anymore. I didn’t get my shot. We may be in the clear, though, because I only just skipped it.”
“Grab your purse and whatever else you need.” He pats my ass.
“Why?”
“We’re going to BJ’s or wherever the hell you have a membership.”
“Okay. Why?” I ask again.
“Condoms.”
“But ...” I trail off and gesture with my hand. I’m about to mention the local CVS. But before I can finish, he shoots me the “are you kidding?” look.
“Bulk, Charlotte—we need to buy in bulk.”
“Right. Bulk,” I agree, then say a silent prayer for Kitty.
“So, where’s that dickless pussy?” CiCi bellows to me as I slice oranges for Brogan’s baseball team. I look over my shoulder to find her followed by the other super asswhores. I silently thank God the bleachers haven’t filled in this section yet.
“Maddie, I thought you were captain?” I ask playfully, then turn my focus back to my sister. “Ceese, aren’t all pussies dickless?”
“Cut the crap! I know you were with him last night!”
If anyone seeing us didn’t know us, this would be where the switchblades came out, if they had that sort of imagination.
“Sorry, Charley,” Jay pipes up from behind the girls.
“No surprise seeing you bringing up the rear, Jay!” I bark at him.
“What, Charley?” he shouts obnoxiously, “you want me to give it to you in your rear?” he asks. Everyone laughs except for CiCi and I, who snarl. Except not really—we’re just fighting ... fighting the urge to laugh along, that is.
I give in first. “Damn it!”
“Can I get a woot woot?” CiCi cheers in victory. Collective “woot woots” ensue. I start slicing oranges again. “Yes, he was with me last night. We’ve made up. We’re working things out, so please don’t be an asshole toward him.”
“I have to be an asshole toward him.”
“Why?” I wave the knife in irritation. Mitch and I are already on shaky ground; we don’t need any more crap blocking our path to happiness.
She points. “Watch it with the knife, killer! If I’m not an asshole to him, he’ll think I hate him. I don’t hate him. I’m just mad at him.” She shrugs.
“Well, that’s true.” I shrug along.
“Where is he?” Julie asks.
“He went to pick up Gram. They’ll be here soon. Don’t tell Brogan, though—he wants to surprise him.”
“Aw ...” A collective asswhore sigh, plus one Jason—the original and still reigning champion asswhore.
“I nominate Jay as our mascot,” I announce. The girls look in his direction.
“All those in favor, say aye,” Madd
ie states, then does so. Julie, Ava, CiCi, and I follow suit.
“I don’t know what you crazy bitches are up to, but I’m in! Aye!” Jay holds up his hand. We take turns congratulating him on his promotion, then follow it up with a slap on the ass from each of us.
“Mom ... what are you guys doing?” Brogan asks, looking a little embarrassed.
“Oh, one of those silly things you do when you’re twelve,” I say, pushing the air around me away gently.
“You guys aren’t twelve, though.” He looks at us, confused.
“So we didn’t get the memo, yet,” CiCi says. “Sue us!”
“Hey, your team’s getting ready to do warm-ups!” I point past his shoulder.
“Oh, okay.” He smiles and shakes his head at us before jogging over to join the other kids.
“That kid’s going to commit me the minute he turns eighteen,” I say, watching him meet up with them.
“Well, they’ll have to get through us first,” Ava says.
I give them all another once-over and sigh. “Well ... that’s comforting.”
The five of them stand side by side in a “Care Bear Stare” stance. Though their signs demand presence, they aren’t pretty, and they aren’t meant to give me the warm fuzzies. But in the end, it always makes us all laugh—nobody else does, but that’s par for the course.
“Okay, take your warm fuzzies and go sit down.” I throw my knife into my bag.
“Oh, it’s warm,” Julie says. “Never fuzzy, though.”
“Oh my God, go!” I point.
“You know, I knew you were a twisted bitch the first day I met you,” CiCi says to Julie, dragging her away.
“It was on that playground right over there, Ceese.” She points. “And we’ve been in love ever since,” she adds in a dreamy fashion.
I giggle—assholes.
I continue organizing the refreshment table for the boys. Just as I throw the last Gatorade in the ice, a pair of hands greets my hips.
“Damn, Charley—your ass looks hot in these yoga shorts,” Josh says next to my ear before kissing it. I fight through the sudden, overwhelming need to vomit and throw his hands off my hips as I turn. “Shh ... shh, sweetie ... don’t cry.” He touches my face, speaking softly. Is he for real? Apparently when he pictured this moment, I was crying, and his ego left no room for improvisation in case my weeping wasn’t in celebration.
Under Contract (The GEG Series) Page 20